Damon and Delia | Page 9

at his toilette. His face was painted and patched,
his whole person strongly perfumed, and he had continually in his hand
a gold snuff-box set with diamonds. His voice was naturally hoarse and
loud, but with infinite industry he had brought himself to a
pronunciation shrill, piping, and effeminate. His conversion was larded
with foreign phrases and foreign oaths, and every thing he said was
accompanied with a significant shrug.
The same period which had introduced this new pretender to the heart
of Delia, had been distinguished by the arrival of a Sir William
Twyford, who paid his addresses to Miss Fletcher. Sir William was
exactly the reverse of Mr. Prettyman. With a genteel person, and an
open and agreable phisiognomy, his manners were perfectly careless
and unstudied. A predominant feature in his character was good nature.
But this was not his ruling passion. He had an infinite fund of wit and
humour, and he never was so happy as when he was able to place the
foibles of affectation in a whimsical and ridiculous light.

As it was vanity alone, that had induced Mr. Prettyman to pay his
addresses to the lady, who was universally allowed to surpass in beauty
and every elegant accomplishment in the place in which he was, he
would have been less pleased that his amour should have terminated in
a marriage, than that by his affectation and coquetry he might break the
heart of the simple fair one. Accordingly, it was his business to make
the affair as public as possible.
Lord Martin, had been sufficiently irritated by the pretensions of
Damon. The new intruder had wrought up his passion to the highest
pitch. In the mean time he had renewed an acquaintance which he had
formerly made with sir William Twyford. Sir William, upon all
occasions, cultivated the intimacy of such, as, by any striking
peculiarities, seemed to furnish a proper subject for his humour. He
now contributed every thing in his power to inflame his lordship
against Mr. Prettyman. He offered to become the bearer of a challenge,
and to be his lordship's second in any future combat.
Lord Martin broke off the conversation somewhat abruptly, and began
to reflect with himself upon what had passed. He had hitherto contrived,
by some means or other, though he dealt very largely in challenges,
never to have come to actual battle. But he had too much reason to
think, that if he made sir William his messenger, he should not be able
with any degree of honour to contrive an evasion. "It is true," said he,
"I am in a most confounded passion, but a wise general never proceeds
to action without having first deliberated. Zounds, blood and fire!
would I could put an end to the existence of so presumptuous a villain!
But then it must be considered that Mr. Prettyman is six foot high, and I
am not five. He is as athletic as Ajax, but to me nature has been
unfavourable. It is true I understand cart and terce, parry and thrust, but
I have heard that Prettyman studied under Olivier. Many a man has
outlived the passage of a bullet, or the thrust of a sword through him.
But my constitution is so delicate! Curse blast it, death and the devil, I
do not know what to do."
Sir William, as soon as he had left lord Martin, repaired to the lodgings
of Mr. Prettyman. After a short general conversation, he began, "My

dear friend, here has happened the unluckiest thing in nature. You have
made some advances, you know, to the charming Delia." "True," cried
Prettyman, "I have bestowed upon her a few condescending glances.
_C'est une charmante fille_." "Well," added sir William, "and the whole
town gives her to you." "Parbleu! the town is very impertinent. There
will go two words to that bargain." "My lord Martin, you know, has
enlisted himself amongst her admirers." "Pox take the blockhead, I
suppose he would marry her. Bien. After I have led her a dance, he
shall do what he pleases with her." "But," said sir William, "my lord
intends to call you to an account." "Morbleu," cried Prettyman, "I
thought I had been in a land of liberty." "But let me tell you, my lord is
very absolute. He has fought some half a dozen duels in his time, and
every body is afraid of him." "J'en suis excèdè. 'Pon honour, the girl is
not worth fighting for." "Oh," said the malicious wit, "but if you give
her up for a few threats, your reputation will be ruined for ever." "Mon
Dieu! this reputation is a very expensive thing. _Je crois_ that every
girl is a Helen, never so happy as when people are murdering one
another, and towns are fired