He is handsome enough, heaven knows; I should not even care
to trust you with him--faithful of all possible wives that you are--
when he looks his best, as he always does. Nor do I think the
fascination of his manner has much to do with it. You recollect
that the charm of art inheres in that which is undefinable, and to
you and me, my dear Irene, I fancy there is rather less of that in
the branch of art under consideration than to girls in their first
season. I fancy I know how my fine gentleman produces many of his
effects, and could, perhaps, give him a pointer on heightening
them. Nevertheless, his manner is something truly delightful. I
suppose what interests me chiefly is the man's brains. His
conversation is the best I have ever heard, and altogether unlike
anyone's else. He seems to know everything, as, indeed, he ought,
for he has been everywhere, read everything, seen all there is to
see--sometimes I think rather more than is good for him--and had
acquaintance with the QUEEREST people. And then his voice--Irene,
when I hear it I actually feel as if I ought to have PAID AT THE
DOOR, though, of course, it is my own door.
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