I thanked her heartily. But said, that I must take the liberty to observe, that good folks were generally so uncharitable, that, devil take me, if I would choose to be good, were the consequence to be that I must think hardly of the whole world besides.
She congratulated me upon my charity; but told me, that to enlarge her own, she hoped it would not be expected of her to approve of the low company I had brought her into last night.
No exception for thee, Belford!—Safe is thy thousand pounds.
I saw not, I said, begging her pardon, that she liked any body.—[Plain dealing for plain dealing, Jack!—Why then did she abuse my friends?] However, let me but know whom and what she did or did not like; and, if possible, I would like and dislike the very same persons and things.
She bid me then, in a pet, dislike myself.
Cursed severe!—Does she think she must not pay for it one day, or one night?—And if one, many; that's my comfort.
I was in such a train of being happy, I said, before my earnestness to procure her to favour my friends with her company, that I wished the devil had had as well my friends as Miss Partington—and yet, I must say, that I saw not how good people could answer half their end, which is to reform the wicked by precept as well as example, were they to accompany only with the good.
I had the like to have been blasted by two or three flashes of lightning from her indignant eyes; and she turned scornfully from me, and retired to her own apartment.
Once more, Jack, safe, as thou seest, is thy thousand pounds.
She says, I am not a polite man. But is she, in the instance before us, more polite for a woman?