On Mr. Somerset's entrance into Lady Shafto's drawing-room, he saw
many ladies, but only one gentleman, who was, the before-mentioned
Dr. Denton--a poor, shallow-headed, parasitical animal. Pembroke
having seen enough of him to despise his pretensions both to science
and sincerity, returned his wide smirk and eager inquiries with a
ceremonious bow, and took his seat by the side of the now delighted
Miss Dundas. The vivid spirits of Diana, which she now strove to
render peculiarly sparkling, entertained him. When compared with the
insipid sameness of her ladyship, or the coarse ribaldry of her son,
the mirth of Miss Dundas was wit and her remarks wisdom.
"Dear Mr. Somerset!" cried she, "how good you are to break this sad
solemnity. I vow, until you showed your face, I thought the days of
paganism were revived, and that lacking men, we were assembled here
to celebrate the mysteries of the _Bona Dea_."
"Lacking men!" replied he, smiling; "you have over-looked the
assiduous Doctor Denton?"
"O, no; that is a chameleon in man's clothing. He breathes air, he
eats air, he speaks air; and a most pestilential breath it is. Only
observe how he is pouring its fumes into the ear of yonder sable
statue."
Pembroke directed his eyes as Miss Dundas desired him, and saw Dr.
Denton whispering and bowing before a lady in black. The lady put up
her lip: the doctor proceeded; she frowned: he would not be daunted;
the lady rose from her seat, and slightly bending her head, crossed
the room.
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