Neverout. She may pass muster well enough.
Lady Answ. Pray, how old do you take her to be?
Col. Why, about five or six and twenty.
Miss. I swear she's no chicken; she's on the wrong side of thirty, if she be a day.
Lady Answ. Depend upon it, she'll never see five and thirty, and a bit to spare.
Col. Why they say, she's one of the chief toasts in town.
Lady Smart. Ay, when all the rest are out of it.
Miss. Well; I woudn't be as sick as she's proud for all the world.
Lady Answ. She looks as if butter woudn't melt in her mouth; but I warrant, cheese won't choke her.
Neverout. I hear my lord What d'ye call him is courting her.
Lady Sparkish. What lord d'ye mean, Tom?
Miss. Why, my lord, I suppose, Mr. Neverout means the lord of the Lord knows what.
Col. They say she dances very fine.
Lady Answ. She did; but I doubt her dancing days are over.
Col. I can't pardon her for her rudeness to me.
Lady Smart. Well; but you must forget and forgive.
Footman comes in.
Lady Smart. Did you call Betty?
Footman. She's coming, madam.
Lady Smart. Coming! ay, so is Christmas.
Betty comes in.
Lady Smart. Come, get ready my things. Where has the wench been these three hours?
