“That is to say,” cried I, “you are angry you cannot yourself excel—and this is not pride?”
“Why, no, indeed; but it is melancholy to be always behind—to hear conversation in which one is unable to join—”
“Unwilling,” quoth I, “you mean.”
“No, indeed, but really unable; and therefore what can I do so well as to run home? As to an inferior, I hope I think that of nobody; and as to my equals, and such as I am on a par with, heaven knows I can ill bear them!—I would rather live alone to all eternity!”
This conversation lasted till we got home, when Mrs. Thrale said—
“Well, Mr. Crutchley, has she convinced you?”
“I don't know,” cried I, “but he has convinced me.”
“Why, how you smote him,” cried Mrs. Thrale, “but I think you make your part good as you go on.”
“The great difference,” said I, “which I think there is between Mr. Seward and Mr. Crutchley, who in some things are very much alike, is this—Mr. Seward has a great deal of vanity and no pride, Mr. Crutchley a great deal of pride and no vanity.”
“Just, and true, and wise!” said dear Mrs. Thrale, “for Seward is always talking of himself, and always with approbation; Mr. Crutchley seldom mentions himself, and when he does, it is with dislike. And which have I, most pride or most vanity?”