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

ANTHONY. What is the meaning of all this, ma'am? I don't like it.

MISS FOSTER. Nothing, child, that I know. You spoke of Mr. Austin, our
dear f