Cecilia was now utterly disconcerted; and half angry with herself, and wholly provoked with her sullen neighbour, she resolved to let nothing in future provoke her to a similar trial with so unpromising a subject. She had not, however, much longer to endure the examination of Sir Robert, who being pretty well satisfied with staring, turned upon his heel, and was striding out of the room, when he was stopt by Mr Gosport, who for some time had been watching him. Mr Gosport was a man of good parts, and keen satire: minute in his observations, and ironical in his expressions. “So you don't play, Sir Robert?” he cried. “What, here? No, I am going to Brookes's.” “But how do you like Harrel's ward? You have taken a pretty good survey of her.” “Why, faith, I don't know; but not much, I think; she's a devilish fine woman, too; but she has no spirit, no life.” “Did you try her? Have you talked to her?” “Not I, truly!” “Nay, then how do you mean to judge of her?” “O, faith, that's all over, now; one never thinks of talking to the women by way of trying them.” “What other method, then, have you adopted?” “None.” “None? Why, then, how do you go on?” “Why, they talk to us. The women take all that trouble upon themselves now.” “And pray how long may you have commenced _fade macaroni?_ For this is a part of your character with which I was not acquainted.” “Oh, hang it, 'tis not from _ton_; no, it's merely from laziness. Who the d---l will fatigue himself with dancing attendance upon the women, when keeping them at a distance makes them dance attendance upon us?” Then stalking from him to Mr Harrel, he took him by the arm, and they left the room together. Mr Gosport now advanced to Cecilia, and addressing her so as not to be heard by Miss Leeson, said, “I have been wishing to approach you, some time, but the fear that you are already overpowered by the loquacity of your fair neighbour makes me cautious of attempting to engage you.” “You mean,” said Cecilia, “to laugh at _my_ loquacity, and indeed its ill success has rendered it sufficiently ridiculous.” “Are you, then, yet to learn,” cried he, “that there are certain young ladies who make it a rule never to speak but to their own cronies? Of this class is Miss Leeson, and till you get into her particular coterie, you must never expect to hear from her a word of two syllables. The TON misses, as they are called, who now infest the town, are in two divisions, the SUPERCILIOUS, and the VOLUBLE. The SUPERCILIOUS, like Miss Leeson, are silent, scornful, languid, and affected, and disdain all converse but with those of their own set: the VOLUBLE, like Miss Larolles, are flirting, communicative, restless, and familiar, and attack without the smallest ceremony, every one they think worthy their notice. But this they have in common, that at home they think of nothing but dress, abroad, of nothing but admiration, and that every where they hold in supreme contempt all but themselves.”