_Niece._ Was it not my gallant that whistled so charmingly in the parlour before he went out this morning? He's a most accomplished cavalier. _Aunt._ Come, niece, come; you don't do well to make sport with your relations, especially with a young gentleman that has so much kindness for you. _Niece._ Kindness for me! What a phrase is there to express the darts and flames, the sighs and languishings, of an expecting lover! _Aunt._ Pray, niece, forbear this idle trash, and talk like other people. Your cousin Humphry will be true and hearty in what he says, and that's a great deal better than the talk and compliment of romances. _Niece._ Good madam, don't wound my ears with such expressions; do you think I can ever love a man that's true and hearty? What a peasant-like amour do these coarse words import! True and hearty! Pray, aunt, endeavour a little at the embellishment of your style. _Aunt._ Alack-a-day, cousin Biddy, these idle romances have quite turned your head.[86] _Niece._ How often must I desire you, madam, to lay aside that familiar name, cousin Biddy? I never hear it without blushing--Did you ever meet with a heroine in those idle romances, as you call 'em, that was termed Biddy? _Aunt._ Ah! cousin, cousin, these are mere vapours, indeed; nothing but vapours. _Niece._ No, the heroine has always something soft and engaging in her name; something that gives us a notion of the sweetness of her beauty and behaviour; a name that glides through half-a-dozen tender syllables, as Elismonda, Clidamira, Deidamia, that runs upon vowels off the tongue; not hissing through one's teeth, or breaking them with consonants. 'Tis strange rudeness those familiar names they give us, when there is Aurelia, Sacharissa, Gloriana, for people of condition; and Celia, Chloris, Corinna, Mopsa, for their maids and those of lower rank. _Aunt._ Look ye, Biddy, this is not to be supported. I know not where you learned this nicety; but I can tell you, forsooth, as much as you despise it, your mother was a Bridget afore you, and an excellent house-wife. _Niece._ Good madam, don't upbraid me with my mother Bridget, and an excellent house-wife. _Aunt._ Yes, I say she was; and spent her time in better learning than you ever did--not in reading of fights and battles of dwarfs and giants, but in writing out receipts for broths, possets, caudles, and surfeit-waters, as became a good country gentlewoman. _Niece._ My mother, and a Bridget! _Aunt._ Yes, niece, I say again, your mother, my sister, was a Bridget! the daughter of her mother Margery, of her mother Sisly, of her mother Alice. _Niece._ Have you no mercy? Oh, the barbarous genealogy! _Aunt._ Of her mother Winifred, of her mother Joan. _Niece._ Since you will run on, then I must needs tell you I am not satisfied in the point of my nativity. Many an infant has been placed in a cottage with obscure parents, till by chance some ancient servant of the family has known it by its marks.