“I protest, then,” said Mrs. Thrale, “he has always taken me in; he seemed to me the humblest creature I knew; always speaking so ill of himself—­always depreciating all that belongs to him.”

“Why, I did not say,” quoth I, “that he had more vanity than other men; on the contrary, I think he has none.”

“Well distinguished,” cried she; “a man may be proud enough, and yet have no vanity.”

“Well, but what is this pride?” cried Mr. Crutchley; “what is it shown in?—­what are its symptoms and marks?”

“A general contempt,” answered I, undaunted, “of every body and of every thing.”

“Well said, Miss Burney!” exclaimed Mrs. Thrale.  “Why that’s true enough, and so he has.”

“A total indifference,” continued I, “of what is thought of him by others, and a disdain alike of happiness or misery.”

“Bravo, Burney!” cried Mrs. Thrale, “that’s true enough!”

“Indeed,” cried Mr. Crutchley, “you are quite mistaken.  Indeed, nobody in the world is half so anxious about the opinions of others; I am wretched—­I am miserable if I think myself thought ill of; not, indeed, by everybody, but by those 218

whose good opinion I have tried—­there if I fall, no man Can be more unhappy.”

“Oh, perhaps,” returned I, “there may be two or three people in the world you may wish should think well of you, but that is nothing to the general character.”

“Oh, no ! many more.  I am now four-and-thirty, and perhaps, indeed, in all my life I have not tried to gain the esteem of more than four-and-thirty people, but—–­”

“Oh, leave out the thirty!” cried I, “and then you may be nearer the truth.”

“No, indeed:  ten, at least, I daresay I have tried for, but, perhaps, I have not succeeded with two.  However, I am thus even with the world; for if it likes me not, I can do without it—­I can live alone; and that, indeed, I prefer to any thing I can meet with; for those with whom I like to live are so much above me, that I sink into nothing in their society; so I think it best to run away from them.”

“That is to say,” cried I, “you are angry you cannot yourself excel—­and this is not pride”

“Why, no, indeed; but it is melancholy to be always behind—­to hear conversation in which one is unable to join—­”

“Unwilling,” quoth I, “you mean.”

“No, indeed, but really unable; and therefore what can I do so well as to run home?  As to an inferior, I hope I think that of nobody; and as to my equals, and such as I am on a par with, heaven knows I can ill bear them!—­I would rather live alone to all eternity!”

This conversation lasted till we got home, when Mrs. Thrale said-

“Well, Mr. Crutchley, has she convinced you ?”

“I don’t know,” cried I, “but he has convinced me.”

“Why, how you smote him,” cried Mrs. Thrale, “but I think you make your part good as you go on.”