MENTEITH _shows him out_.)
SCENE V
AUSTIN
AUSTIN. Upon my word, I think the world is getting better. We were none of us young men like that-in my time, to quote my future brother. (_He sits down before the mirror_.) Well, here ends Beau Austin. Paris, Rome, Vienna, London-victor everywhere: and now he must leave his bones in Tunbridge Wells. (_Looks at his leg_.) Poor Dolly Musgrave! a good girl after all, and will make me a good wife; none better. The last-of how many?-ay, and the best! Walks like Hebe. But still, here ends Beau Austin. Perhaps it's time. Poor Dolly-was she looking poorly? She shall have her wish. Well, we grow older, but we grow no worse.
SCENE VI
AUSTIN, MENTEITH
AUSTIN. Menteith, I am going to be married.
MENTEITH. Well, Mr. George, but I am pleased to hear it. Miss Musgrave is a most elegant lady.
AUSTIN. Ay, Mr. Menteith? and who told you the lady's name?
MENTEITH. Mr. George, you was always a gentleman.
AUSTIN. You mean I wasn't always? Old boy, you are in the right. This shall be a good change for both you and me. We have lived too long like a brace of truants: now is the time to draw about the fire. How much is left of the old Hermitage?
MENTEITH. Hard upon thirty dozen, Mr. George, and not a bad cork in the bin.
AUSTIN. And a mistress, Menteith, that's worthy of that wine.
MENTEITH. Mr. George, sir, she's worthy of you.
AUSTIN. Gad, I believe it. (_Shakes hands with him_.)
MENTEITH (_breaking down_). Mr. George, you've been a damned good master to me, and I've been a damned good servant to you; we've been proud of each other from the first; but if you'll excuse my plainness, Mr. George, I never liked you better than to-day.
AUSTIN. Cheer up, old boy, the best is yet to come. Get out the tongs, and curl me like a bridegroom. (_Sits before dressing-glass_; MENTEITH _produces curling irons and plies them_. AUSTIN _sings_)-
'I'd crowns resign To call her mine, Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill!'
DROP
ACT III.
MUSICAL INDUCTION: the 'Minuet' from '_Don Giovanni_'
_The stage represents Miss Foster's lodging as in Act I_.
SCENE I
DOROTHY, R., _at tambour_; ANTHONY, _C._, _bestriding chair_; MISS FOSTER, _L.C._
ANTHONY. Yes, ma'am, I like my regiment: we are all gentlemen, from old Fred downwards, and all of a good family. Indeed, so are all my friends, except one tailor sort of fellow, Bosbury. But I'm done with him. I assure you, Aunt Evelina, we are Corinthian to the last degree. I wouldn't shock you ladies for the world-
MISS FOSTER. Don't mind me, my dear; go on.
ANTHONY. Really, ma'am, you must pardon me: I trust I understand what topics are to be avoided among females-And before my sister, too! A girl of her age!
DOROTHY. Why, you dear, silly fellow, I'm old enough to be your mother.
ANTHONY. My dear Dolly, you do not understand; you are not a man of the world. But, as I was going on to say, there is no more spicy regiment in the service.
MISS FOSTER. I am not surprised that it maintains its old reputation.
You know, my dear (_to_ DOROTHY), it was George Austin's regiment.
DOROTHY. Was it, aunt?
ANTHONY. Beau Austin? Yes, it was; and a precious dust they make about him still-a parcel of old frumps! That's why I went to see him. But he's quite extinct: he couldn't be Corinthian if he tried.
MISS FOSTER. I am afraid that even at your age George Austin held a very different position from the distinguished Anthony Musgrave.
ANTHONY. Come, ma'am, I take that unkindly. Of course I know what you're at: of course the old put cut no end of a dash with the Duchess.
MISS FOSTER. My dear child, I was thinking of no such thing; _that_ was immoral.
ANTHONY. Then you mean that affair at Brighton: when he cut the Prince about Perdita Robinson.
MISS FOSTER. No, I had forgotten it.
ANTHONY. O, well, I know-that duel! But look here, Aunt Evelina, I don't think you'd be much gratified after all if I were to be broke for killing my commanding officer about a quarrel at cards.
DOROTHY. Nobody asks you, Anthony, to imitate Mr. Austin. I trust you will set yourself a better model. But you may choose a worse. With all his faults, and all his enemies, Mr. Austin is a pattern gentleman: You would not ask a man to be braver, and there are few so generous. I cannot bear to hear him called in fault by one so young. Better judges, dear, are better pleased.
ANTHONY. Hey-day! what's this?
MISS FOSTER. Why, Dolly, this is April and May. You surprise me.
DOROTHY. I am afraid, indeed, madam, that you have much to suffer from my caprice. (_She goes out_, _L._)
SCENE II
ANTHONY, MISS FOSTER