Although the presence of his unknown guest was particularly annoying to him, Doctor Plympton addressed the Little Black Porter with his usual suavity, and begged he would resume his seat. A very awkward silence of several moments ensued; during which Cæsar took snuff with great self-complacency, brushed away the particles which had fallen on his frill, threw himself back in the chair, and seemed to be proud of the curiosity which he excited.
“My friend Doctor Plympton,” at length observed the attorney, fixing his eye on Cæsar so firmly—to use his own expression—that he could not flinch from it, “my friend here, sir, would, doubtless, be happy to know what fortunate circumstance he is indebted to for the honour of your company?”
“I dare say he would,” replied Cæsar; “but my business is with the young lady.”
“With Isabel Plympton!” exclaimed George.
“Ay, sir!” replied the porter; “Cupid, the little blind god of hearts, you know—eh! Doctor? Ha, ha!—Well! who has not been young?—Cupid and his bow, and then his son Hymen! My toast, when I'm in spirits, always is—May Cupid's arrows be cut into matches to light Hymen's torch, but his bow never be destroyed in the conflagration.”
“Come, come, sir!—this is foolery,” said Wharton, who seemed to be much agitated;—“your business, at once.”
“Foolery!” exclaimed Cæsar; “I will not suffer the dignity of man to be outraged in my person, remember; so take warning. Foolery, indeed!—but never mind; time is precious; wisdom has been rather improperly painted as an old woman with a flowing beard, and some of us have not long to live: so, as we are all friends, I will speak out my business without delay, provided I am honoured with Miss Isabel's permission.”
“I would rather hear it in private,” said the young lady. “Then I am dumb,” quoth Cæsar: “Venus has sealed my lips with adamant.”
“You are joking, Bell;—surely you are joking!” exclaimed young Wharton.
“Decidedly you are, child,—I say, decidedly,” cried the Doctor.