Anthony. The women? I take you, sir. But then, you see, a man’s relatives don’t count. And besides, Mr. Austin, between men of the world, I am fairly running away from the sex: I am positively in flight. Little Hortense of the Opera; you know; she sent her love to you. She’s mad about me, I think. You never saw a creature so fond.
Austin. Well, well, child! you are better here. In my time—to which you have referred—I knew the lady. Does she wear well?
Anthony. I beg your pardon, sir!
Austin. No offence, child, no offence. She was a very lively creature. But you neglect your chocolate, I see?
Anthony. We don’t patronise it, Mr. Austin; we haven’t for some years: the service has quite changed since your time. You’d be surprised.
Austin. Doubtless. I am.
Anthony. I assure you, sir, I and Jack Bosbury of the Fifty-second——
Austin. The Hampshire Bosburys?
Anthony. I do not know exactly, sir. I believe he is related.
Austin. Or perhaps—I remember a Mr. Bosbury, a cutter of coats. I have the vanity to believe I formed his business.