Enter Victoria and Betty.
Vict. This was, indeed, Betty, a very diverting accident, that I should be employed to write to her lover. Now, I can't but think how angry my cousin Pen is. She frets, I warrant, at her very looking-glass, which used to be her comforter upon all occasions.
Bet. I would not be in poor Mrs. Lettice's place for all the world. Nothing, to be sure, can please to-day; did you mind how she nestled and fumed inwardly to see your ladyship look so well? Nay, indeed, madam, you were in high beauty.
Vict. Yet I must confess I was myself a little discomposed. I was ashamed for my friend, and then to see her show such a regard for a fellow!
Bet. But I swear, were I to have my will, you should be always angry at me. It gives your ladyship such a pretty fierceness, and quick spirit to your features—not that you want it—yet it adds——
Vict. There are some people very unhappily pretend to fire and life; there's poor, stupid, insipid Lady Fad, has heard of the word spleen, and distaste, and sets up for being out of humour, with that unmeaning face of hers.
Bet. You're in a fine humour, madam.
Vict. Her ladyship's physician prescribed anger to her; upon which she comes in public with her eyes staringly open. This she designs for vivacity, and gapes about like a wandering country lady. She pretends to be a remarker, and looks at everybody; but, alas, she wants it here, and knows not that to see, is no more to look, than to go is to walk. For you must know, Betty, every child can see, but 'tis an observing creature that can look; as every pretty girl can go, but 'tis a fine woman that walks.
Both. Ha! ha! ha!
Vict. But, by the way, there's Mrs. Penelope, methinks, does neither; I have a kindness for her, but she has no gesture in the least. My dear——