- pany; your women of fashion, as they call 'em. I
don't know what to say to them, for my part.
Stanhope. Have you ever conversed with them?
Englishman. No, I never conversed with them; but I have been sometimes in their company, though much against my will.
Stanhope. But at least they have done you no hurt; which is, probably, more than you can say of the women you do converse with.
Englishman. That's true, I own; but for all that, I would rather keep company with my surgeon half the year, than with your women of fashion the year round.
Stanhope. Tastes are different, you know, and every man follows his own.
Englishman. That's true; but thine's a devilish odd one, Stanhope. All morning with thy dry-nurse; all the evening in formal fine company; and all day long afraid of old Daddy in England. Thou art a queer fellow, and I am afraid there's nothing to be made of thee.
Stanhope. I am afraid so, too.
Englishman. Well, then, good-night to you; you have no objection, I hope, to my being drunk to-night, which I certainly will be?
Stanhope. Not in the least; nor to your being
