He looked, as if he knew not whether he should stay or go. Sit down, my lord, said I; we are not particularly engaged. He came nearer, his hat under his arm, bowing to her, who sat as stately as a princess on her throne: but yet looked disobliged. You give yourself pretty airs, my lord—don't you?
Pretty airs, madam!—Pretty airs!—By my soul, I think, madam—And with such a glow in your face, madam—Taking his laced hat from under his arm, and, with an earnest motion, swinging it backwards and forwards, as unknowing what he did—
What, sir, am I to be buffetted, sir?—
He put his hat under his arm again—Buffetted, madam!—Would to
Heaven—
What has Heaven to do with your odd ways, Lord G——?
I beg pardon for intruding, madam—But I thought—
That you had a privilege, sir—But marriage itself, sir, shall not give you a privilege to break into my retirements. You thought, sir—You could not think—So much the worse if you did—
If I have really offended—I will be more circumspect for the future—I beg pardon, madam—Miss Byron, I hope, will forgive me too.
He was going, in great discomposure, and with an air of angry humility.
Charlotte, whispered I, don't be silly—