“Oh, most vanity, certa!” quoth I.
At Supper we had only Sir Philip and Mr. Crutchley. The conversation of the morning was then again renewed.—
“Oh!” cried Mrs. Thrale, “what a smoking did Miss Burney give Mr. Crutchley!”
“A smoking, indeed!” cried He. “Never had I such a one before! Never did I think to get such a character! I had no notion of it.”
“Nay, then,” said I, “why should you, now?”
“But what is all this?” cried Sir Philip, delighted enough at any mischief between Mr. Crutchley and me, or between any male and female, for he only wishes something to go forward, and thinks a quarrel or dispute next best to fondness and flirting.
“Why, Miss Burney,” answered she, “gave Mr. Crutchley this morning a noble trimming. I had always thought him very humble, but she shewed me my mistake, and said I had not distinguished pride from vanity.”
“Oh, never was I so mauled in my life,” said he.
Enough, however, of this rattle, which lasted till we all went to bed, and which Mrs. Thrale most kindly kept up, by way of rioting me from thinking, and which Mr. Crutchley himself bore with the utmost good nature, from having noticed that I was out of spirits....
July 2—The other morning Mrs. Thrale ran hastily into my room, her eyes full of tears, and cried,—