Barbara. And first there came out two of the most beautiful—the Royal livery, madam!
Miss Foster. Of course, of course: the Duke of York arrived last night. I trust you did not hail the Duke’s footmen?
Barbara. O no, madam, it was after they were gone. Then, who should come out—but you’ll never guess!
Miss Foster. I shall certainly not try.
Barbara. Mr. Menteith himself!
Miss Foster. Why, child, I never heard of him.
Barbara. O madam, not the Beau’s own gentleman?
Miss Foster. Mr. Austin’s servant. No? Is it possible? By that, George Austin must be here.
Barbara. No doubt of that, madam; they’re never far apart. He came out feeling his chin, madam, so; and a packet of letters under his arm, so; and he had the Beau’s own walk to that degree you couldn’t tell his back from his master’s.
Miss Foster. My dear Barbara, you too frequently forget yourself. A young woman in your position must beware of levity.