Trim. Well, then, your lesson is this. She, out of respect to me, and understanding Mr. Campley was an intimate of my friend, my Lord Hardy, and condescending (though she is of a great house in France) to make manteaus for the improvement of the English—which gives her easy admittance—she, I say, moved by these promises,[26] has vouchsafed to bring a letter from my Lady Harriot to Mr. Campley, and came to me to bring her to him. You are to understand also that she is dressed in the latest French cut; her dress is the model of their habit, and herself of their manners. For she is—but you shall see her. [Exit.
Ld. H. This gives me some life! Cheer up, Tom—but behold the solemnity. Do you see Trim's gallantry? I shall laugh out.
Enter Trim leading in Mademoiselle.
Trim. My dear Lord Hardy, this is Mademoiselle d'Epingle, whose name you've often heard me sigh. [Lord Hardy salutes her.] Mr. Campley—Mademoiselle d'Epingle. [Campley salutes her.]
Mad. Votre servante, gentlemen, votre servante.
Cam. I protest to you I never saw anything so becoming as your dress. Shall I beg the favour you'd condescend to let Mr. Trim lead you once round the room, that I may admire the elegance of your habit? [Trim leads her round.
Ld. H. How could you ask such a thing?
Cam. Pshaw, my lord, you are a bashful English fellow. You see she is not surprised at it, but thinks me gallant in desiring it. Oh, madam! your air! the negligence, the disengagement of your manner! Oh how delicate is your noble nation! I swear there's none but the clumsy Dutch and English would oppose such polite conquerors. When shall you see an Englishwoman so dressed?
Mad. De Englise! poor barbarians; poor savages; dey know no more of de dress but to cover dere nakedness [Glides along the room]. Dey be cloded, but no dressed—But, Monsieur Terim, which Monsieur Campley?
Trim. That's honest Tom Campley.