Chapter 66

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.