"Your neighbor is Lord Foppington; a butterfly of some standing, and a little gouty." "Sir Charles Pomander." "Oh," cried Mrs.Vane.

"It is the good gentleman who helped us out of the slough, near Huntingdon.

Ernest, if it had not been for this gentleman, I should not have had the pleasure of being here now." And she beamed on the good Pomander.
Mr.Vane did not rise and embrace Sir Charles.
"All the company thanks the good Sir Charles," said Cibber, bowing.
"I see it in all their faces," said the good Sir Charles, dryly.
Mrs.Woffington continued: "Mr.Soaper, Mr.Snarl; gentlemen who would butter and slice up their own fathers!" "Bless me!" cried Mrs.Vane, faintly.
"Critics!" And she dropped, as it were, the word dryly, with a sweet smile, into Mabel's plate.
Mrs.Vane was relieved; she had apprehended cannibals.

London they had told her was full of curiosities.
"But yourself, madam ?" "I am the Lady Betty Modish; at your service." A four-inch grin went round the table.

The dramatical old rascal, Cibber, began now to look at it as a bit of genteel comedy; and slipped out his note-book under the table.