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amongst you, seated on a high-legged drawing-room chair, the back of which she would not have touched on any account, for the ruffling of her pinched frill and collar. And when you showed her a butterfly or flower from the garden, and said, "Is not that beautiful?" she would draw herself up most precisely, and say, "I believe it is considered so." (Laughing again.)

LADY SHREWDLY.

Move on, foolish boy.

BLOUNT.

She would not give her opinion, but with prudent reserve, on the merits of a beetle or a cockchafer.

LADY SHREWDLY.

Go, go!

BLOUNT.

And that too was affectation; for she was a careless hoyden first of all, and took to sense and preciseness afterwards.

LADY SHREWDLY.

Move on, I say. We are losing time here, and may be prevented.

[Exeunt, she pushing him gently off the Stage, and he still continuing to laugh.