No intrusion, Sir, I dare say:  the lady is good-humoured.  She will be so kind as to step down into the parlour, I dare say.  As she stays so little a while, I am sure she will not wish to stand in my way.

No, Madam, that’s true, if she be good-humoured, as you say—­Has she been with you long, Madam?

She came but yesterday, Sir—­

I believe I just now saw the glimpse of her.  She seems to be an elderly lady.

No, Sir! you’re mistaken.  She’s a young lady; and one of the handsomest I ever saw.

Cot so, I beg her pardon!  Not but that I should have liked her the better, were she to stay longer, if she had been elderly.  I have a strange taste, Madam, you’ll say; but I really, for my wife’s sake, love every elderly woman.  Indeed I ever thought age was to be reverenced, which made me (taking the fortune into the scale too, that I own) make my addresses to my present dear.

Very good of you, Sir, to respect age:  we all hope to live to be old.

Right, Madam.—­But you say the lady is beautiful.  Now you must know, that though I choose to converse with the elderly, yet I love to see a beautiful young woman, just as I love to see fine flowers in a garden.  There’s no casting an eye upon her, is there, without her notice?  For in this dress, and thus muffled up about my jaws, I should not care to be seen any more than she, let her love privacy as much as she will.

I will go and ask if I may show a gentleman the apartment, Sir; and, as you are a married gentleman, and not over young, she’ll perhaps make the less scruple.

Then, like me, she loves elderly folks best perhaps.  But it may be she has suffered by young ones.

I fancy she has, Sir, or is afraid she shall.  She desired to be very private; and if by description inquired after, to be denied.

Thou art a true woman, goody Moore, thought I.

Good lack—­good lack!—­What may be her story then, I pray?

She is pretty reserved in her story:  but, to tell you my thoughts, I believe love is in the case:  she is always in tears, and does not much care for company.

Nay, Madam, it becomes not me to dive into ladies’ secrets; I want not to pry into other people’s affairs.  But, pray, how does she employ herself?—­Yet she came but yesterday; so you can’t tell.

Writing continually, Sir.

These women, Jack, when you ask them questions by way of information, don’t care to be ignorant of any thing.

Nay, excuse me, Madam, I am very far from being an inquisitive man.  But if her case be difficult, and not merely love, as she is a friend of your’s, I would give her my advice.

Then you are a lawyer, Sir—­

Why, indeed, Madam, I was some time at the bar; but I have long left practice; yet am much consulted by my friends in difficult points.  In a pauper case I frequently give money; but never take any from the richest.