Aunt. All he says is, methinks, so like a sermon.
Niece. All he speaks savours of romance.
Aunt. Romance, niece? Mr. Pounce! what savours of romance?
Niece. No, I mean his friend, the accomplished Mr. Clerimont.
Aunt. Fie, for one of your years to commend a young fellow!
Niece. One of my years is mightily governed by example! You did not dislike Mr. Pounce.
Aunt. What, censorious too? I find there is no trusting you out of the house—A moment's fresh air does but make you still the more in love with strangers, and despise your own relations.
Niece. I am certainly by the power of an enchantment placed among you, but I hope I, this morning, employed one to seek adventures, and break the charm.
Aunt. Vapours, Biddy, indeed! Nothing but vapours. Cousin Humphry shall break the charm.
Niece. Name him not—Call me still Biddy rather than name that brute. [Exeunt Aunt and Niece.