you suffer my lady to huff me every day as if I were her dog, or had
no more concern with you--I declare I won't bear it and she shan't
think to huff me. For aught I know I am as agreeable as she; and
though she dares not take any notice of your baseness to her, you
shan't think to use me so--"

* * * * *

But enough of this delectable conversation. The picture which it gives
us is unpleasant and coarse; there is about it none of the glitter
that can make vice so alluring. We will also skip an interview between
Sir Charles and Lady Easy (who thinks it the part of diplomacy to
hide her knowledge of her master's peccadilloes), and hurry on to the
entrance of Lord Morelove, our hero. Morelove, who must have been
admirably played by the fiery, impetuous Powell, is neither a
libertine, nor, on the other hand, a prig; he is simply a gentlemanly
and essentially human fellow who is consumed with an honest passion
for Lady Betty Modish. Nay, he would be glad to marry the fine
creature, but she has quarrelled with him and he is now telling Sir
Charles all about it:

* * * * *

"So, disputing with her about the conduct of women, I took the liberty
to tell her how far I thought she err'd in hers; she told me I was
rude and that she would never believe any man could love a woman
that thought her in the wrong in anything she had a mind to [Rather
exacting, are you not, Lady Betty?], at least if he dared to tell her
so. This provok'd me into her whole character, with as much spite and
civil malice, as I have seen her bestow upon a woman of true beauty,