The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 22: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

FINALE OF THE SYCAMORE EPISODE 3 the little widow knows it. Mind, I do not say that she is of a larking disposition; but suppose she is, and that she takes a fancy to me, and suppose that she has no objection to a little amour upon the sly, — well, is she the worse, or am [I the worse? Just answer me that.” “Not a bit of it,’ ejaculated Mr. Sycamore. ‘ But of course we now know what it all means, and on what terms the pretty little widow and you stand together.”’ We may as well observe, for the information of the reader, that the Lady Harriet and the pretty little widow thus spoken of were two as virtuous ladies as any in the whole world, and that by no levity, much less impropriety on their parts, had they ever afforded the slightest ground for these diabolically impertinent modes in which their names were mentioned. It is too often the case that the characters of well-principled women are nodded, and winked, and hinted away as a sacrifice to the miserable vanity of profligate coxcombs, who flatter themselves that it is very fine indeed and “‘ quite the thing ” to have such little liaisons on hand. Sycamore, as a man of the world, knew perfectly well that it was nothing but mere vaunt and braggadocio on the part of his guests, but he encouraged it, he pretended to believe in it, he ministered to their wretched vanity, and he con- cluded by telling them that they were two desperate fellows, and that if he had a wife or sisters he would sooner shut them up in convents than allow such irresistibles to approach them. All this elevated the two shallow-brained young gentlemen into perfect ecstasies, and they began talking more largely still, but in somewhat another strain. ‘For my part,” said he who was barely twenty-two, ‘I am getting tired of England; I think I shall go abroad. I have seen so much of life | am pretty near worn out.”’ ““ Well, it’s just the case with me,” observed the other young gentleman; “ there’s no enjoyment in pleasure now. When one has had the finest women in England at his com- mand, and revelled so in wine that he can stand anything and has not even the luxury of getting gloriously drunk, he may begin to talk of satiety. ’Pon my word, I’d give anything for a headache next morning after a debauch, by way of a change.” ‘ Ah, you two fellows have seen too much of life!’ ob- served Sycamore, with a deprecating shake of the head, as CORnnICLOOOKS (CO)