"Ah, you're prejudiced, my dear, and no wonder; as for myself I
always liked Supplehouse. He means mischief; but then mischief is his
trade, and he does not conceal it. If I were a politician I should as
soon think of being angry with Mr. Supplehouse for turning against me
as I am now with a pin for pricking me. It's my own awkwardness, and
I ought to have known how to use the pin more craftily."
"But you must detest a man who professes to stand by his party, and
then does his best to ruin it."
"So many have done that, my dear; and with much more success than Mr.
Supplehouse! All is fair in love and war,--why not add politics to
the list? If we could only agree to do that, it would save us from
such a deal of heartburning, and would make none of us a bit the
worse."
Miss Dunstable's rooms, large as they were--"a noble suite of rooms
certainly, though perhaps a little too--too--too scattered, we
will say, eh, bishop?"--were now nearly full, and would have been
inconveniently crowded, were it not that many who came only remained
for half an hour or so. Space, however, had been kept for the
dancers--much to Mrs. Proudie's consternation. Not that she
disapproved of dancing in London, as a rule; but she was indignant
that the laws of a conversazione, as re-established by herself in the
fashionable world, should be so violently infringed.
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