alice, as I have seen her bestow upon a woman of true beauty,
when the men first toasted her:[A] so in the middle of my wisdom, she
told me she desir'd to be alone, that I would take my odious proud
heart along with me and trouble her no more. I bow'd very low, and as
I left the room I vow'd I never wou'd, and that my proud heart should
never be humbled by the outside of a fine woman. About an hour after,
I whipp'd into my chaise for London, and have never seen her since."

[Footnote A: Many of the wits of the last age will assert that the
word (toast), in its present sense, was known among them in their
youth, and had its rise from an accident at the town of Bath, in the
reign of Charles II. It happened that, on a public day, a celebrated
beauty of those times was in the Cross Bath, and one of the crowd of
her admirers took a glass of the water in which the fair one stood,
and drank her health to the company. There was in the place a gay
fellow half fuddled, who offered to jump in, and swore, though he
liked not the liquor, he would have the toast. He was opposed in his
resolution; yet this whim gave foundation to the present honour which
is done to the lady we mention in our liquors, who has ever since been
called a Toast.--The _Tatler_.]

* * * * *

What a quaint, circumspect and very ceremonious affair must that
lovers' row have been. No swearing, no slang or loud talking, but
everything deliberate and in the best of form. Lady Betty telling
Morelove to go about his business, and that quickly, but doing so with
a stately elegance worthy of the great Mrs. Barry; the suitor bowing
low, with his white hand pressed against that "odious proud heart"
which is gently breaking at the thought of departing. What a nice
painting it would make for a Watteau fan.

Thus nearly all our characters have their entrances, Lady Betty is
revealed to us through the medium of the lively dialogue quoted a few
pages back, and then there is another stir. In comes Lord Foppington,
otherwise Colley Cibber, in all the vapid glory of fine clothes, and
a great periwig. A very prince of coxcombs, with his soft smile and
conscious air of superiority--a mere bag of vanity, whose emptiness is
partly hidden by gorgeous raiment, gold embroidery, rings, snuff-box,
muff and what-not. With what genteel condescension does he greet Sir
Charles; how gracefully nonchalant is he to my Lord Morelove. "My dear
agreeable! _Que j