Mrs. D. We will pass that; though such behaviour takes from the pleasures of society.
Philip [with warmth]. I have high ideas of the pleasures of society.
Mrs. D. And yet you do not contribute your share?
Philip [with agitation]. Ah! there, indeed—
Mrs. D. You take delight in misanthropical retirement.
Philip. Oh, if you knew my feelings! my good will for mankind, as God knows it—I—it is hard to need a defence in this particular—But, I can calmly and truly say, I love mankind. But, if my compassion for their unhappy fate has been ridiculed, and if this abuse of my dearest feelings has made me reserved, does it follow that I am a misanthrope?
Mrs. D. Mr. Brook!
Philip. If my ideas of good company are too refined, too just, too high, to be satisfied in the slandering circles of coquettes, dunces, and gamblers, am I to be called unsociable?
Augusta [quickly]. Oh, no, my good friend.
Philip. If, in any profession, for which my talents might qualify me, the best wishes of my heart would be checked by interested connections—my enthusiasm for suffering mankind, opposed by uncharitable selfishness—can you blame me for remaining as I am?