the learned as well
as modern languages, he can take so much delight as he does in the
company of such persons as I have described, and in subjects of frothy
impertinence, unworthy of his talents, and his natural and acquired
advantages. I can think but of one reason for it, and that must argue a
very low mind,--his vanity; which makes him desirous of being considered
as the head of the people he consorts with.--A man to love praise, yet to
be content to draw it from such contaminated springs!

One compliment passed from Mr. Belford to Mr. Lovelace, which hastened my
quitting the shocking company--'You are a happy man, Mr. Lovelace,' said
he, upon some fine speeches made him by Mrs. Sinclair, and assented to by
Miss Partington:--'You have so much courage, and so much wit, that
neither man nor woman can stand before you.'

Mr. Belford looked at me when he spoke: yes, my dear, he smilingly looked
at me; and he looked upon his complimented friend; and all their
assenting, and therefore affronting eyes, both men's and women's, were
turned upon your Clarissa; at least, my self-reproaching heart made me
think so; for that would hardly permit my eye to look up.

Oh! my dear, were but a woman, who gives reason to the world to think her
to be in love with a man, [And this must be believed to be my case; or to
what can my supposed voluntary going off with Mr. Lovelace be imputed?]
to reflect one moment on the exaltation she gives him, and the disgrace
she brings upon herself,--the low pity, the silent contempt, the insolent
sneers and whispers, to which she makes herself obnoxious from a
censuring world of both sexes,--how would she despise herself! and how
much more eligible would she think death itself than such a discovered
debasement!

What I have thus in general touched upon, will account to you why I could
not more particularly relate what passed in this evening's conversation:
which, as may be gathered from what I have written, abounded with
approbatory accusations, and supposed witty retorts.

LETTER VIII

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE
MONDAY MIDNIGHT.

I am very much vexed and disturbed at an odd incident. Mrs. Sinclair has
just now left me; I believe in displeasure, on my declining to comply
with a request she made me: which was, to admit Miss Partington to a
share in my bed, her house being crowded by her nieces's guests and by
their attendants, as well as by those of Miss Partington.

There mi