There is that in the indolent Mortimer, which seems to hint that if good society might on any account allow itself to be impressible, he, one of good society, might have the weakness to be impressed by what he here relates. It is hidden with great pains, but it is in him. The gloomy Eugene too, is not without some kindred touch; for, when that appalling Lady Tippins declares that if Another had survived, he should have gone down at the head of her list of lovers⁠—and also when the mature young lady shrugs her epaulettes, and laughs at some private and confidential comment from the mature young gentleman⁠—his gloom deepens to that degree that he trifles quite ferociously with his dessert-knife.

Mortimer proceeds.