“No such thing,” cried he; “Sha'n't go; come for you myself; take you to my own house. Got every thing ready, been to the broker's, bought a nice blanket, hardly a brack in it. Pick up a table soon; one in my eye.” “I am sorry you have so totally mistaken me, Sir; for I am now going into the country with Mr and Mrs Delvile.” “Won't consent, won't consent! what will you go there for? hear of nothing but dead dukes; as well visit an old tomb.” Here Mr Delvile, who felt himself insulted in a manner he could least support, after looking at him very disdainfully, turned to Cecilia, and said “Miss Beverley, if this person wishes for a longer conference with you, I am sorry you did not appoint a more seasonable hour for your interview.” “Ay, ay,” cried the impenetrable Mr Briggs; “want to hurry her off! see that! But 't won't do; a'n't to be nicked; chuse to come in for my thirds; won't be gulled, sha'n't have more than your share.” “Sir!” cried Mr Delvile, with a look meant to be nothing less than petrific. “What!” cried he, with an arch leer; “all above it, hay? warrant your Spanish Don never thinks of such a thing! don't believe 'em my duck! great cry and little wool; no more of the ready than other folks; mere puff and go one.” “This is language, Sir,” said Mr Delvile, “so utterly incomprehensible, that I presume you do not even intend it should be understood; otherwise, I should very little scruple to inform you, that no man of the name of Delvile brooks the smallest insinuation of dishonour.” “Don't he?” returned Mr Briggs, with a grin; “why how will he help it? will the old grandees jump up out of their graves to frighten us?” “What old grandees, Sir? to whom are you pleased to allude?” “Why all them old grandfathers and aunts you brag of; a set of poor souls you won't let rest in their coffins; mere clay and dirt! fine things to be proud of! a parcel of old mouldy rubbish quite departed this life! raking up bones and dust, nobody knows for what! ought to be ashamed; who cares for dead carcases? nothing but [carrion]. My little Tom's worth forty of 'em!” “I can so ill make out, Miss Beverley,” said the astonished Mr Delvile, “what this person is pleased to dive at, that I cannot pretend to enter into any sort of conversation with him; you will therefore be so good as to let me know when he has finished his discourse, and you are at leisure to set off.” And then, with a very stately air, he was quitting the room; but was soon stopt, upon Mr Briggs calling out “Ay, ay, Don Duke, poke in the old charnel houses by yourself, none of your defunct for me! didn't care if they were all hung in a string. Who's the better for 'em?' “Pray, Sir,” cried Mr Delvile, turning round, “to whom were you pleased to address that speech?” “To one Don Puffendorff,” replied Mr Briggs; “know ever such a person, hay?” “Don who? Sir!” said Mr Delvile, stalking nearer to him, “I must trouble you to say that name over again.”