Menteith. Honoured madam, I have had the pleasure to serve Mr. George for more than thirty years. This is a privilege—a very great privilege. I have beheld him in the first societies, moving among the first rank of personages; and none, madam, none outshone him.
Barbara. I assure you, madam, when Mr. Menteith took me to the play, he talked so much of Mr. Austin that I couldn’t hear a word of Mr. Kean.
Miss Foster. Well, well, and very right. That was the old school of service, Barbara, which you would do well to imitate. This is a child, Menteith, that I am trying to form.
Menteith. Quite so, madam.
Miss Foster. And are we soon to see our princely guest, Menteith?
Menteith. His Royal Highness, madam? I believe I may say quite so. Mr. George will receive our gallant prince upon the Pantiles (looking at his watch) in, I should say, a matter of twelve minutes from now. Such, madam, is Mr. George’s order of the day.
Barbara. I beg your pardon, madam, I am sure, but are we really to see one of His Majesty’s own brothers? That will be pure! O madam, this is better than Carlisle.
Miss Foster. The wood-note wild: a loyal Cumbrian, Menteith.
Menteith. Eh? Quite so, madam.
Miss Foster. When she has seen as much of the Royal Family as you, my good fellow, she will find it vastly less entertaining.