Sid.  Well, but, dear Charles, you are not to wed my lord,—­but his daughter.

Eger.  Who is as disagreeable to me for a companion, as her father for a friend, or an ally.

Sid.  What—­her Scotch accent, I suppose, offends you?

Eger.  No, upon my honour—­not in the least,—­I think it entertaining in her;—­but were it otherwise—­in decency—­and indeed in national affection (being a Scotchman myself), I can have no objection to her on that account,—­besides, she is my near relation.

Sid.  So I understand.  But pray, Charles, how came Lady Rodolpha, who, I find, was born in England, to be bred in Scotland?

Eger.  From the dotage of an old, formal, obstinate, stiff, rich, Scotch grandmother, who, upon a promise of leaving this grandchild all her fortune, would have the girl sent to her to Scotland, when she was but a year old, and there has she been ever since, bred up with this old lady in all the vanity and unlimited indulgence that fondness and admiration could bestow on a spoiled child—­a fancied beauty and a pretended wit.

Sid.  O! you are too severe upon her.

Eger.  I do not think so, Sidney; for she seems a being expressly fashioned by nature to figure in these days of levity and dissipation:—­ her spirits are inexhaustible:  her parts strong and lively; with a sagacity that discerns, and a talent not unhappy in painting out the weak side of whatever comes before her:—­but what raises her merit to the highest pitch in the laughing world is her boundless vanity and spirits in the exertion of those talents, which often render her much more ridiculous than the most whimsical of the characters she exposes—­[in a tone of friendly affection.] and is this a woman fit to make my happiness?—­ this the partner that Sidney would recommend to me for life?—­to you, who best know me, I appeal.

Sid.  Why, Charles, it is a delicate point,—­unfit for me to determine—­besides, your father has set his heart upon the match.

Eger. [Impatiently.] All that I know:—­but still I ask and insist upon your candid judgment,—­is she the kind of woman that you think could possibly contribute to my happiness?  I beg you will give me an explicit answer.

Sid.  The subject is disagreeable;—­but, since I must speak,—­I do not think she is.

Eger. [a start of friendly rapture.] I know you do not; and I am sure you never will advise the match.

Sid.  I never did.  I never will.

Eger. [With a start of joy.] You make me happy,—­which I assure you I never could be with your judgment against me in this point.

Sid.  And yet, Charles, give me leave to observe, that Lady Rodolpha, with all her ridiculous and laughing vanity, has a goodness of heart, and a kind of vivacity that not only entertains,—­but upon seeing her two or three times, she improves upon you; and when her torrent of spirits abates, and she condescends to converse gravely—­you really like her.