Har. That is not the heiress, Jack, (pointing off the stage) the tall lady in the middle is she. But if your Dulcinea could coin her words into farthings, she would be one of the best matches in the kingdom.
Op. Pest take it! she was pointed out to me as Miss Withrington. Pest take my stupidity! the girl is well enough, but she is not altogether— (Mumbling to himself.)
Har. So you bestowed all your attention on this blue feathered lady, and let the other two pass by unnoticed.
Op. No, not unnoticed neither: Miss Withrington is too fine a figure to be overlooked any where, and for the other poor little creature, who hung upon her arm so familiarly, I could not help observing her too, because I wondered Miss Withrington allowed such a dowdy looking thing to walk with her in publick. Faith? Prettyman and I locked a vulgar looking devil up in the stable the other morning, who insisted upon going with us to the pump-room: men of fashion, you know, are always plagued with paltry fellows dangling after them.
Har. Hang your men of fashion! mere paltry fellows are too good company for them.
Op. Damn it, Harwood! speak more respectfully of that class of men to whom I have the honour to belong.
Har. You mistake me. Opal, it was only the men of fashion I abused, I am too well bred to