AUSTIN. But it is merited, and I thank you for its utterance. You tell me that the true victory comes when the fight is won: that our foe is never so noble nor so dangerous as when she is fallen, that the crowning triumph is that we celebrate over our conquering selves. Sir, you are right. Kindness, ay kindness after all. And with age, to become clement. Yes, ambition first; then, the rounded vanity—victory still novel; and last, as you say, the royal mood of the mature man; to abdicate for others . . . Sir, you touched me hard about my dead friend; still harder about my living duty; and I am not so young but I can take a lesson. There is my hand upon it: she shall be my wife. FENWICK. Ah, Mr. Austin, I was sure of it. AUSTIN. Then, sir, you were vastly mistaken. There is nothing of Beau Austin here. I have simply, my dear child, sate at the feet of Mr. Fenwick. FENWICK. Ah, sir, your heart was counsellor enough. AUSTIN. Pardon me. I am vain enough to be the judge: there are but two people in the world who could have wrought this change: yourself and that dear lady. (_Touches bell_.) Suffer me to dismiss you. One instant of toilet, and I follow. Will you do me the honour to go before, and announce my approach? (_Enter_ MENTEITH.) FENWICK. Sir, if my admiration— AUSTIN. Dear child, the admiration is the other way. (_Embraces him_. MENTEITH _shows him out_.) SCENE V AUSTIN AUSTIN. Upon my word, I think the world is getting better. We were none of us young men like that—in my time, to quote my future brother. (_He sits down before the mirror_.) Well, here ends Beau Austin. Paris, Rome, Vienna, London—victor everywhere: and now he must leave his bones in Tunbridge Wells. (_Looks at his leg_.) Poor Dolly Musgrave! a good girl after all, and will make me a good wife; none better. The last—of how many?—ay, and the best! Walks like Hebe. But still, here ends Beau Austin. Perhaps it’s time. Poor Dolly—was she looking poorly? She shall have her wish. Well, we grow older, but we grow no worse. SCENE VI AUSTIN, MENTEITH AUSTIN. Menteith, I am going to be married. MENTEITH. Well, Mr. George, but I am pleased to hear it. Miss Musgrave is a most elegant lady. AUSTIN. Ay, Mr. Menteith? and who told you the lady’s name? MENTEITH. Mr. George, you was always a gentleman. AUSTIN. You mean I wasn’t always? Old boy, you are in the right. This shall be a good change for both you and me. We have lived too long like a brace of truants: now is the time to draw about the fire. How much is left of the old Hermitage? MENTEITH. Hard upon thirty dozen, Mr. George, and not a bad cork in the bin. AUSTIN. And a mistress, Menteith, that’s worthy of that wine. MENTEITH. Mr. George, sir, she’s worthy of you. AUSTIN. Gad, I believe it. (_Shakes hands with him_.)