It was in vain I laboured to convince her, that to be treated like ideots was no real compliment, and that the men who condescend to flatter our foibles, despised the weak beings they helped to form. My remonstrances were as fatiguing, and as little to be comprehended by this _fine lady_, as the arguments respecting the Slave Trade:--she sought refuge from them in interrogating Mrs Denbeigh respecting the last new fashions, and in consulting her taste on the important question--whether blue or violet colour was the most becoming to a brunette complexion? The gentlemen joined us, to our great relief, at the tea-table:--other company dropped in, and the evening was beguiled with cards and the chess-board;--at the latter Mr Melmoth and Mr Harley were antagonists;--the former was no match for Augustus. I amused myself by observing their moves, and overlooking the game. During our return from this visit, some conversation occurred between Mr Harley, my cousin, and myself, respecting the company we had quitted. I expressed my disappointment, disgust, and contempt, in terms, it may be, a little too strong. 'I was _fastidious_,' Augustus told me, 'I wanted a world made on purpose for me, and beings formed after one model. It was both amusing, and instructive, to contemplate varieties of character. I was a romantic enthusiast--and should endeavour to become more like an inhabitant of the world.' Piqued at these remarks, and at the tone and manner in which they were uttered, I felt my temper rising, and replied with warmth; but it was the glow of a moment; for, to say truth, vexation and disappointment, rather than reason, had broken and subdued my spirit. Mrs Denbeigh, perceiving I was pained, kindly endeavoured to give a turn to the conversation; yet she could not help expressing her regret, on observing the folly, levity, and extravagance, of the woman whom her brother had chosen for a wife. 'No doubt,' said Augustus, a little peevishly, 'he is fond of her--she is a fine woman--there is no accounting for the _caprices_ of the affections.' I sighed, and my eyes filled with tears--'Is, then, affection so _capricious_ a sentiment--is it possible to love what we despise?' 'I cannot tell,' retorted Mr Harley, with quickness. 'Triflers can give no _serious_ occasion for uneasiness:--the humours of superior women are sometimes still less tolerable.' 'Ah! how unjust. If gentleness be not _the perfection of reason_, it is a quality which I have never, yet, properly understood.'