Fenwick. Good God, who told you?
Anthony. Ay, Jack; it’s hard on me, Jack. But you’ll stand my friend in spite of this, and you’ll take my message to the man, won’t you? For it’s got to come to blood, Jack: there’s no way out of that. And perhaps your poor friend will fall, Jack; think of that: like Villiers. And all for an unworthy sister.
Fenwick. Now, Anthony Musgrave, I give you fair warning; see you take it: one more word against your sister, and we quarrel.
Anthony. You let it slip yourself, Jack: you know yourself she’s not a virtuous girl.
Fenwick. What do you know of virtue, whose whole boast is to be vicious? How dare you draw conclusions? Dolt and puppy! you can no more comprehend that angel’s excellences than she can stoop to believe in your vices. And you talk morality? Anthony, I’m a man who has been somewhat roughly tried: take care.
Anthony. You don’t seem able to grasp the situation, Jack. It’s very remarkable; I’m the girl’s natural protector; and you should buckle-to and help, like a friend of the family. And instead of that, begad! you turn on me like all the rest.
Fenwick. Now mark me fairly: Mr. Austin follows at my heels; he comes to offer marriage to your sister—that is all you know, and all you shall know; and if by any misplaced insolence of yours this marriage should miscarry, you have to answer, not to Mr. Austin only, but to me.
Anthony. It’s all a most discreditable business, and I don’t see how you propose to better it by cutting my throat. Of course, if he’s going to marry her, it’s a different thing, but I don’t believe he is, or he’d have asked me. You think me a fool? Well, see they marry, or they’ll find me a dangerous fool.