NORTH.
Why, there is more than sense—more than talent—there is genius among them—in their eyes and on their tongues—though they have no suspicion of it—and that is the charm. Then how they rally one another! Witty fellows all Four. And the right sort of raillery. Gentlemen by birth and breeding, to whom in their wildest sallies vulgarity is impossible—to whom, on the giddy brink—the perilous edge—still adheres a native Decorum superior to that of all the Schools.
SEWARD.
They have their faults, sir—
NORTH.
So have we. And 'tis well for us. Without faults we should be unloveable.
SEWARD.
In affection I spake.
NORTH.
I know you did. There is no such hateful sight on earth as a perfect character. He is one mass of corruption—for he is a hypocrite—intus et in cute—by the necessity of nature. The moment a perfect character enters a room—I leave it.