MISS HARDCASTLE. (after a pause). But you have not been wholly an
observer, I presume, sir: the ladies, I should hope, have employed some
part of your addresses.

MARLOW. (Relapsing into timidity.) Pardon me, madam, I--I--I--as yet
have studied--only--to--deserve them.

MISS HARDCASTLE. And that, some say, is the very worst way to obtain
them.

MARLOW. Perhaps so, madam. But I love to converse only with the more
grave and sensible part of the sex. But I'm afraid I grow tiresome.

MISS HARDCASTLE. Not at all, sir; there is nothing I like so much as
grave conversation myself; I could hear it for ever. Indeed, I have
often been surprised how a man of sentiment could ever admire those
light airy pleasures, where nothing reaches the heart.

MARLOW. It's----a disease----of the mind, madam. In the variety of
tastes there must be some who, wanting a relish----for----um--a--um.

MISS HARDCASTLE. I understand you, sir. There must be some, who,
wanting a relish for refined pleasures, pretend to despise what they
are incapable of tasting.

MARLOW. My meaning, madam, but infinitely better expressed. And I
can't help observing----a----

MISS HARDCASTLE. (Aside.) Who could ever suppose this fellow
impudent upon some occasions? (To him.) You were going to observe,