“'Egad! And would gladly have ridden straightway to Newgate, in a ducal chariot!” cried his Lordship, in a fit of laughter.
“'I rode to Hanover Square,' the doctor continued, 'where we discussed the matter over a bottle. His Grace's generosity was such that I could not but cry out at it, for he left me to name any settlement I pleased. He must have Dorothy at any price, said he. And I give you my honour, mon cher Courtenay, that I lost no time in getting back to Arlington Street, and called Dorothy down to tell her.'”
“Now may I be flayed,” said Comyn, “if ever there was such another ass!”
The doctor took more snuff and fell a-laughing.
“But hark to this,” said he, “here's the cream of it all:
“You will scarce believe me when I say that the baggage was near beside herself with anger at what I had to tell her. 'Marry that misshapen duke!' cries she, 'I would quicker marry Doctor Johnson!' And truly, I begin to fear she hath formed an affection for some like, foul-linened beggar. That his Grace is misshapen I cannot deny; but I tried reason upon her. 'Think of the coronet, my dear, and of the ancient name to which it belongs.' She only stamps her foot and cries out:
“'Coronet fiddlesticks! And are you not content with the name you bear, sir?” 'Our name is good as any in the three kingdoms,' said I, with truth. 'Then you would have me, for the sake of the coronet, joined to a wretch who is steeped in debauchery. Yes, debauchery, sir! You might then talk, forsooth, to the macaronies of Maryland, of your daughter the Duchess.'”
“There's spirit for you, my lad!” Comyn shouted; “I give you Miss Dorothy.” And he drained a glass of punch Scipio had brought in, Doctor Courtenay and I joining him with a will.
“I pray you go on, sir,” I said to the doctor.
“A pest on your impatience!” replied he; “I begin to think you are in love with her yourself.”