MARLOW. No, no, I tell you. (Looks full in her face.) Yes, child, I think I did call. I wanted--I wanted--I vow, child, you are vastly handsome. MISS HARDCASTLE. O la, sir, you’ll make one ashamed. MARLOW. Never saw a more sprightly malicious eye. Yes, yes, my dear, I did call. Have you got any of your--a--what d’ye call it in the house? MISS HARDCASTLE. No, sir, we have been out of that these ten days. MARLOW. One may call in this house, I find, to very little purpose. Suppose I should call for a taste, just by way of a trial, of the nectar of your lips; perhaps I might be disappointed in that too. MISS HARDCASTLE. Nectar! nectar! That’s a liquor there’s no call for in these parts. French, I suppose. We sell no French wines here, sir. MARLOW. Of true English growth, I assure you. MISS HARDCASTLE. Then it’s odd I should not know it. We brew all sorts of wines in this house, and I have lived here these eighteen years. MARLOW. Eighteen years! Why, one would think, child, you kept the bar before you were born. How old are you? MISS HARDCASTLE. O! sir, I must not tell my age. They say women and music should never be dated. MARLOW. To guess at this distance, you can’t be much above forty (approaching). Yet, nearer, I don’t think so much (approaching). By coming close to some women they look younger still; but when we come very close indeed--(attempting to kiss her). MISS HARDCASTLE. Pray, sir, keep your distance. One would think you wanted to know one’s age, as they do horses, by mark of mouth. MARLOW. I protest, child, you use me extremely ill. If you keep me at this distance, how is it possible you and I can ever be acquainted? MISS HARDCASTLE. And who wants to be acquainted with you? I want no such acquaintance, not I. I’m sure you did not treat Miss Hardcastle, that was here awhile ago, in this obstropalous manner. I’ll warrant me, before her you looked dashed, and kept bowing to the ground, and talked, for all the world, as if you was before a justice of peace. MARLOW. (Aside.) Egad, she has hit it, sure enough! (To her.) In awe of her, child? Ha! ha! ha! A mere awkward squinting thing; no, no. I find you don’t know me. I laughed and rallied her a little; but I was unwilling to be too severe. No, I could not be too severe, curse me! MISS HARDCASTLE. O! then, sir, you are a favourite, I find, among the ladies? MARLOW. Yes, my dear, a great favourite. And yet hang me, I don’t see what they find in me to follow. At the Ladies’ Club in town I’m called their agreeable Rattle. Rattle, child, is not my real name, but one I’m known by. My name is Solomons; Mr. Solomons, my dear, at your service. (Offering to salute her.) MISS HARDCASTLE. Hold, sir; you are introducing me to your club, not to yourself. And you’re so great a favourite there, you say?