_Eliza._ In what sense am I to understand you? But in fine, by the word aversion, I'm sure you dissemble; for I never knew woman yet used it who did not. Come, our tongues belie our hearts more than our pocket-glasses do our faces. But methinks we ought to leave off dissembling, since 'tis grown of no use to us; for all wise observers understand us now-a-days, as they do dreams, almanacs, and Dutch gazettes, by the contrary: and a man no more believes a woman, when she says she has an aversion for him, than when she says she'll cry out. _Oliv._ O filthy! hideous! Peace, cousin, or your discourse will be my aversion: and you may believe me. _Eliza._ Yes; for if anything be a woman's aversion, 'tis plain dealing from another woman: and perhaps that's your quarrel to the world; for that will talk, as your woman says. _Oliv._ Talk? not of me sure; for what men do I converse with? what visits do I admit? _Enter_ Boy. _Boy._ Here's the gentleman to wait upon you, madam. _Oliv._ On me! you little unthinking fop; d'ye know what you say? _Boy._ Yes, madam, 'tis the gentleman that comes every day to you, who-- _Oliv._ Hold your peace, you heedless little animal, and get you gone.--[_Exit_ Boy.] This country boy, cousin, takes my dancing-master, tailor, or the spruce milliner, for visitors. _Let._ No, madam; 'tis Mr. Novel, I'm sure, by his talking so loud: I know his voice too, madam. _Oliv._ You know nothing, you buffle-headed stupid creature you: you would make my cousin believe I receive visits. But if it be Mr.--what did you call him? _Let._ Mr. Novel, madam; he that-- _Oliv._ Hold your peace; I'll hear no more of him. But if it be your Mr.--(I cannot think of his name again) I suppose he has followed my cousin hither. _Eliza._ No, cousin, I will not rob you of the honour of the visit: 'tis to you, cousin; for I know him not. _Oliv._ Nor did I ever hear of him before, upon my honour, cousin; besides, han't I told you, that visits, and the business of visits, flattery and detraction, are my aversion? D'ye think then I would admit such a coxcomb as he is? who rather than not rail, will rail at the dead, whom none speak ill of; rather than not flatter, will flatter the poets of the age, whom none will flatter; who affects novelty as much as the fashion, and is as fantastical as changeable, and as well known as the fashion; who likes nothing but what is new, nay, would choose to have his friend or his title a new one. In fine, he is my aversion. _Eliza._ I find you do know him, cousin; at least, have heard of him. _Oliv._ Yes, now I remember. I have heard of him. _Eliza._ Well; but since he is such a coxcomb, for Heaven's sake, let him not come up. Tell him, Mrs. Lettice, your lady is not within.