During the last dance she was discovered by Sir Robert Floyer, who, sauntering down fop's alley, stationed himself by her side, and whenever the figurante relieved the principal dancers, turned his eyes from the stage to her face, as better worth his notice, and equally destined for his amusement.
Mr Monckton, too, who for some time had seen and watched her, now approached; he had observed with much satisfaction that her whole mind had been intent upon the performance, yet still the familiarity of Sir Robert Floyer's admiration disturbed and perplexed him; he determined, therefore, to make an effort to satisfy his doubts by examining into his intentions: and, taking him apart, before the dance was quite over, “Well,” he said, “who is so handsome here as Harrel's ward?”
“Yes,” answered he, calmly, “she is handsome, but I don't like her expression.”
“No? why, what is the fault of it?”
“Proud, cursed proud. It is not the sort of woman I like. If one says a civil thing to her, she only wishes one at the devil for one's pains.”
“O, you have tried her, then, have you? why, you are not, in general, much given to say civil things.”
“Yes, you know, I said something of that sort to her once about Juliet, at the rehearsal. Was not you by?”
“What, then, was that all? and did you imagine one compliment would do your business with her?”
“O, hang it, who ever dreams of complimenting the women now? that's all at an end.”
“You won't find she thinks so, though; for, as you well say, her pride is insufferable, and I, who have long known her, can assure you it does not diminish upon intimacy.”