S. I had rather not hear it!

H. Or what am I to think of this story of the footman?

S. It is false, Sir, I never did anything of the sort.

H. Nay, when I told your mother I wished she wouldn't * * * * * * * * *
(as I heard she did) she said "Oh, there's nothing in that, for Sarah
very often * * * * * *," and your doing so before company, is only a
trifling addition to the sport.

S. I'll call my mother, Sir, and she shall contradict you.

H. Then she'll contradict herself. But did not you boast you were
"very persevering in your resistance to gay young men," and had been
"several times obliged to ring the bell?" Did you always ring it? Or
did you get into these dilemmas that made it necessary, merely by the
demureness of your looks and ways? Or had nothing else passed? Or have
you two characters, one that you palm off upon me, and another, your
natural one, that you resume when you get out of the room, like an
actress who throws aside her artificial part behind the scenes? Did you
not, when I was courting you on the staircase the first night Mr. C----
came, beg me to desist, for if the new lodger heard us, he'd take you
for a light character? Was that all? Were you only afraid of being
TAKEN for a light character? Oh! Sarah!

S. I'll stay and hear this no longer.

H. Yes, one word more. Did you not love another?