To young gentlemen he talked of love—to young ladies, of learning; and we always think, what we do not comprehend must be something very fine: for example, he dilated to Emily on the music of Homer's versification, and the accuracy of Blackstone's deductions.
As they went up stairs, Mrs. Trefusis whispered, "Did you ever meet so entertaining a man? he never stopped talking once all dinner." He had, certainly, some natural advantages as a wit: he was thin, bilious-looking, and really was very ill-natured—and half the speeches that have a run in society, only require malice to think them, and courage to utter them. Still, it is difficult to affix any definite character to Mr. Macneil. He had neither that sound learning which industry may acquire, nor that good sense which is unacquirable; and as for wit, he had only depreciation; he was just the nil admirari brought into action.
On arriving in the drawing-room, Emily gladly sought refuge in a window-seat; her hearing faculty was literally exhausted; she felt, like Clarence,
"A dreadful noise of waters in her ear."
Luckily, it was a period when none are expected
