"Why I remember," said Mr Marriot, "when Mr Meadows was always dancing himself. Have you forgot, Sir, when you used to wish the night would last for ever, that you might dance without ceasing?"
Mr Meadows, who was now intently surveying a painting that was over the chimney-piece, seemed of to hear this question, but presently called out "I am amazed Mr Harrel can suffer such a picture as this to be in his house. I hate a portrait, 'tis so wearisome looking at a thing that is doing nothing!"
"Do you like historical pictures, Sir, any better?"
"O no, I detest them! views of battles, murders, and death! Shocking! shocking!--I shrink from them with horror!"
"Perhaps you are fond of landscapes?"
"By no means! Green trees and fat cows! what do they tell one? I hate every thing that is insipid."
"Your toleration, then," said Cecilia, "will not be very extensive."
"No," said he, yawning, "one can tolerate nothing! one's patience is wholly exhausted by the total tediousness of every thing one sees, and every body one talks with. Don't you find it so, ma'am?" "Sometimes!" said Cecilia, rather archly.
"You are right, ma'am, extremely right; one does not know what in the world to do with one's self. At home, one is killed with meditation, abroad, one is overpowered by ceremony; no possibility of finding ease or comfort. You never go into public, I think, ma'am?"
"Why not to be much marked, I find!" said Cecilia, laughing.
"O, I beg your pardon! I believe I saw you one evening at Almack's: I really beg your pardon, but I had quite forgot it."
"Lord, Mr Meadows," said Miss Larolles, "don't you know you are meaning the Pantheon? only conceive how you forget things!"
"The Pantheon, was it? I never know one of those places from another. I heartily wish they were all abolished; I hate public places. 'Tis terrible to be under the same roof with a set of people who would care nothing if they saw one expiring!"
"You are, at least, then, fond of the society of your friends?"
"O no! to be worn out by seeing always the same faces!--one is sick to death of friends; nothing makes one so melancholy."
Cecilia now went to join the dancers, and Mr Meadows, turning to Miss Larolles, said, "Pray don't let me keep you from dancing; I am afraid you'll lose your place."
"No," cried she, bridling, "I sha'n't dance at all."
"How cruel!" cried he, yawning, "when you know how it exhilarates me to see you! Don't you think this room is very close? I must go and try another atmosphere,--But I hope you will relent, and dance?"