It was growing late, and though one might stand on the brink of a deep chasm of disaster, one was still obliged to dress for dinner.

I liked that young man, did not you? There was something particularly pleasing about his manners, which I thought very easy and frank. He has an air of honest manliness, too, which, in these days of fribbles and counter-coxcombs, I own I find refreshing!

Then Frederica went towards him, holding out her hand, and he raised his eyes from Felix’s eager countenance, and smiled at her, causing Mr. Moreton to suffer a shock. It was not at all the sort of smile with which his lordship beguiled his flirts, but something warmer and more intimate. Good God! mentally ejaculated Mr. Moreton. Sits the wind in that quarter?

You are an atrocious person! Since the day I met you I have become steadily more depraved.

[...]my memory is reasonably good—unlike yours, dear sir!”
“Mine is erratic,” he said imperturbably. “I remember only what interests me.

She stretched out her hand, saying, “Vernon! My dear, what a delightful surprise!”
“What’s surprising about it?” he enquired, lifting his black brows. “Didn’t you ask me to come?”
The smile remained pinned to Lady Buxted’s lips, but she replied with more than a touch of acidity: “To be sure I did, but so many days ago that I supposed you had gone out of town!”
“Oh, no!” he said, returning her smile with one of great sweetness.