“Truly,” interrupted Fulvia smartly, in the strain of an unmasked courtisan, “it much becomes you to give yourself airs for a trifle: instead of thanking me for concealing matters from you, which would have made you mad at the time of their transacting; you take fire, you fly into a rage, as if you had been injured. And pray, Sir, what reason can you have for preferring yourself to Rickel, to Seton, to Mollio, to Tachmas, to the most amiable cavaliers of the court, from whom their mistresses won’t be at the pains even of cloaking the slips they make. Consider, Selim, that you are exhausted, infirm, and long incapable of engrossing a pretty woman, who is not a fool. Acknowledge then, that your presumption is ill-timed, and your rage impertinent. Infine you may, if you are dissatisfied, leave the field open to others, who will make better use of it.”

“So I do, and most heartily,” replied Selim with excessive indignation: and went away, fully resolved never more to see that woman.