I fear the same is not to be said of her rival, Lady Denewdney, whom our good Jorian compares to an antiquated fledgeling emerging with effort from a nest of ill construction and worse cement.

She is rich, she is sharp, she uses her quill; she is emphatically not marriageable.

Bath might still accept her as a rival queen, only she is always behindhand in seizing an occasion.
Now you will catch sight of her fan working in a minute.

She is envious and imitative.

It would be undoubtedly better policy on her part to continue to cut me: she cannot, she is beginning to rustle like December's oaks.