_Lady Betty._ No, Madamoiselle, I must run away--Lord it's six o'clock--I shall be too late. I have an appointment there--Signora Sorethroatini is to take notice of me, after her first Song.

_Harriet._ That will certainly do your Ladyship a great deal of Honor.

_Lady Betty._ a.s.surement, it will--there was my Lady Scatterbrain making Interest for it--but she can't have a Curts'y 'till Tuesday--and who wou'd choose to have it on a Tuesday--there will be n.o.body there to see it. But it will be charming tonight, when at the End of her Song she drops me a Salute--then I rise up and I return it; then all the Eyes are directed to me, and the whisper runs along the Rows, "Did you not see the Sorethroatini do the Honors to Lady Betty Mockmode?"

(_Without_) Jarnie! Les Anglois sont les Diables.

_Jack._ Hey! What's the meaning of all this?

(_Enter French Servants and throw themselves on their Knees one with his Nose b.l.o.o.d.y, another without a Wig_)

_St. Louis._ Monsieur, pour l'amour de Dieu!

_Bourguignon._ Ayez pitie de moi Monsieur.

_La Fleur._ Ah mon Dieu! Partagez nous Monsieur.

_Jack._ How comes this?

_St. Louis._ (_Pointing to his nose_) De Englishman bob wid his head.

_Bourguignon._ And give me one knock in my Stomach make me tink my Soul and Body, and all come up.

_La Fleur._ Monsieur--tare all my Coat.

_Jack._ Who's without there? Roger--let some attend.

(_Enter_ ROGER _with his fist doubled_)

_Roger._ It's my Opinion Master I cou'd beat a dozen of 'em, I cou'd indeed.

_Jack._ What is all the meaning of this?

_Roger._ They're always doing Keekshaws, and quarrelling with the Cook--so that there's no Peace for us below stairs, and when I was abroad they were always jeering me, and so I bethink me now that I am in a Land of Liberty, a free born Briton shou'd not be impos'd upon by such Powder-Puffs.

_Jack._ Sirrah! Get out of the Room, or you shall walk off with two Ears less.

_Roger._ I will Master, thoff an' I said, it's my Opinion I cou'd beat a dozen of un--I cou'd indeed. (_Exit_)

_Jack._ Pauvre St. Louis, Bourguignon, La Fleur, courage. I will accommodate you better in a few days.

_St. Louis._ Fort bien Monsieur.

(_Enter_ SIR ROBERT)

_Sir Robert._ I don't like all these strange doings here in my House.

But come, come, Harriet, I must desire you to show this Lady into the next Room. Here's your Father coming upstairs, and he desires to have a little private conversation with my Son.

_Lady Betty._ So mon pauvre Marquis, they are going to make you a mere John Trott of an English Husband, sullenly civil to your Spouse, and morosely disobliging to the rest of the World--so a l'honneur, I leave you to your Tete a tete. Ma'm'selle Harriet, a good Evening, you shall certainly have one of my faces, and the Receipt--but I must run away to the Sorethroatini. (_Exit_)

_Sir Robert._ Now Jack, be upon your Guard--why don't those French Fellows get out of the Room? Go down Stairs Monsieur. I wou'd not have Mr. Quicksett see 'em for the world. Mr. Quicksett has his oddities, Jack, and hates the French so at this Juncture, that he wou'd willingly pay half his Estate in Taxes, to help 'em to a good drubbing, but be upon your guard, and talk discreetly.

_Jack._ Had not I better get St. Louis to arrange my dress before I receive the Gentleman's Visit?

_Sir Robert._ No, no, you must show no French Airs--he is willing to settle his Estate on his Daughter--and I long to have the Match concluded--so take care you don't spoil all. Here he comes.

(_Enter_ QUICKSETT)

Mr. Quicksett, this is my Son--Son, this is Mr. Quicksett, and so now I'll leave you together. (_Exit_)

_Quicksett._ Ay, he answers the Description I had of him.

_Jack._ Pardie, voila un droll de figure--I wish I was dress'd out that I might make the Man of Quality for him--but I'll shew him a pretty Gentleman as it is. Monsieur, votre tres humble--your commands with me, Sir.

_Quicksett._ (_Takes a chair and sits_) Why look ye young Man, your Father is my old Acquaintance, and as he propos'd this Match, I had as soon marry my Daughter into Sir Robert Broughton's Family, as any at all--but I then must not throw my Girl away and I must like the Man before I settle her for Life do you see?

_Jack._ Ma foi, voila un homme sans facon, sans Ceremonie--I'll sit down too. (_Draws a chair_)

_Quicksett._ But your French Education, young Gentleman, I am afraid won't recommend you to me. Odds my Life, it seems to have made a downright c.o.xcomb of you.

_Jack._ Mr. Quicksett, if you are for indulging your Raillery, I shall be oblig'd to you--I love Raillery of all things--it is to me a party of pleasure, but prenez garde a vous--take care Mr. Quicksett. My Raillery is so brisk, it is like your fire Arms that discharge I don't know how often in a minute--Pi! Pa! Pauf!

_Quicksett._ Yes, it's just as I heard. (_Aside_)

_Jack._ Well, but courage, Mr. Quicksett, don't be frighten'd--you set out very well--keep it up. Vous ne repondez rien--'tis your turn now.

(_Pauses_) Hem! Plait-il Mr. Quicksett, I wait your pleasure, Sir.

Pardie! I believe the Gentleman is going to take a Nap. O--this is an English Visit, and I'll sustain an English Conversation. (_He continues silent for some time, looks at Mr. Quicksett and at last addresses him_) How do you do? How do y'do? What News? A very dull day. Egad I wish Monsieur Abbe were looking in upon us, it wou'd furnish him with some pleasant Hints for his Remarks on the English Nation. En bien, Mr.

Quicksett--upon my Soul you have a great deal of very pretty Phrases, and most admirable repartee.

_Quicksett._ I hear you, Sir, I observe you--this is your French Education.

_Jack._ French Education is the only thing in the World to form a pretty Gentleman--it gives a man a notion how to live, and a taste for Intrigue.

_Quicksett._ You've had a great many Intrigues, I suppose.

_Jack._ Intrigue, Mr. Quicksett is the Pleasure of Life. If you were to see me in a Circle of French Ladies--before I went abroad I had not a.s.surance to look a modest Woman in the face--but now--Je badine--I amuse them with small Talk--Je papillon--I am a very b.u.t.terfly.

_Quicksett._ That I do verily believe--go on, Sir, give yourself Airs.

_Jack._ A Frenchman is the only Person breathing that knows how to give himself Airs--a Frenchman has manners and in short everything. Is a Frenchman in a circle? He takes care neither to say anything nor do anything but what is perfectly obliging. He possibly lends his Ear to one--makes an obliging answer to another, recommends himself to this person with a whisper--to that with a Smile. He declares a civil War of Raillery upon some Person of Wit, says a handsome thing to the Mother, and a soft thing to the Daughter. Do you pay a visit to a Frenchman's Wife? He commodiously withdraws knowing that he is there de trop, that there is no manner of Occasion for him. And if he goes to take a Walk, he does it, thus--with an air--Ha! Ha! Head erect--with a Mien that says, "See me go by," and then the Ladies, they do so ogle, and so admire, and their hearts do so pit-a-pat, and they say to themselves, "Well to be sure that's a pretty fellow." Then cries he, "I know what you'd be at; vous voudriez me possesser--you would be glad to have me, you would be glad to have me." And then in all public places he smiles content, as much as to say, "Well to be sure, Je suis un aimable fripon--I am an agreeable Devil."

_Quicksett._ So, so, there's enough of it--it will never do--here. I don't come often to Town--but when I do, I generally see everything strange. Here, here's three Shillings for you.

_Jack._ What is this more of your Raillery, Sir?

_Quicksett._ There, take it (_Throws the Money down_)--you're worth three Shillings of any man's Money, and so now I'll go and see the Dromedary, and the tall man at Charing Cross.

(_Enter_ SIR ROBERT)