“Certainly,” said she, as she scanned it over, “there never was any family so afflicted in their acquaintances as we are.  At least one-half of the names here belong to the most insufferable people on the face of the earth.  The Claremonts, and the Edgefields, and the Bouveries, and the Sedleys, and a few more, are very well; but can anything in human form be more insupportable than the rest; for instance, that wretch Lady Placid?”

“Does her merit lie only in her name then?” asked Mary.

“You shall judge for yourself when I have given you a slight sketch of her character.  Lady Placid, in the opinion of all sensible persons in general, and myself in particular, is a vain, weak, conceited, vulgar egotist.  In her own eyes she is a clever, well-informed, elegant, amiable woman; and though I have spared no pains to let her know how detestable I think her, it is all in vain; she remains as firmly entrenched in her own good opinion as folly and conceit can make her; and I have the despair of seeing all my buffetings fall blunted to the ground.  She reminds me of some odious fairy or genii I have read of, who possessed such a power in their person that every hostile weapon levelled against them was immediately turned into some agreeable present.  Stones became balls of silk—­arrows, flowers—­swords, feathers, etc.  Even so it is with Lady Placid.  The grossest insult that could be offered she would construe into an elegant compliment; the very crimes of others she seems to consider as so much incense offered up at the shrine of her own immaculate virtue.  I’m certain she thinks she deserves to be canonised for having kept out of Doctors’ Commons.  Never is any affair of that sort alluded to that she does not cast such a triumphant look towards her husband, as much as to say, ’Here am I, the paragon of faithful wives and virtuous matrons!’ Were I in his place, I should certainly throw a plate at her head.  And here, you may take this passing remark—­How much more odious people are who have radical faults, than those who commit, I do not say positive crimes, but occasional weaknesses.  Even a noble nature may fall into a great error; but what is that to the ever-enduring pride, envy, malice, and conceit of a little mind?  Yes, I would at any time rather be the fallen than the one, so exult over the fall of another.  Then, as a mother, she is, if possible, still more meritorious a woman (this is the way she talks):  A woman has nobly performed her part to her country, and for posterity, when she has brought a family of fine healthy children into the world.  ’I can’t agree with you,’ I reply ’I think many mothers have brought children into the world who would have been much better out of it.  A mother’s merit must depend solely upon how she brings up her children (hers are the most spoiled brats in Christendom).  ’There I perfectly agree with you, Lady Emily.  As you observe, it is not every mother who does her duty by her children.  Indeed, I may say to you, it is