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Rh a gentleman's opinion he deferred—with a lady's he agreed: while his own idea of conversation was a series of commonplace questions, which seemed only asked that he might be of the same opinion as your answer. To sum up—he danced indefatigably, and complained of the heat. The linked sweetness of the quadrille was indeed long drawn out; but, bad as this was, worse remained behind. The dance ended, and he introduced a friend—as if such a man had any business with a friend! Mr. Marechal had written a small volume of poems, and conceived he had a character to support—somewhat needless to support what so few knew he had assumed. During the first part of the quadrille, he was absent—during the last, eloquent. He asked Emily if she did not dote upon Byron, and idolise Italy: he candidly confessed that he only existed by moonlight. "Of course, you understand that by existence I mean the awakening of the higher faculties of the soul." He remarked, that dancing was a remnant of ancient barbarism—talked a little of the time wasted in such unintellectual pursuits—dwelt on the heartlessness of society—and finished with a practical proof of his assertion, by handing Emily to a seat