Men shrink from a fussy woman. And few can aspire to regulate the
destinies of their species, even in so slight a point as an hour's
amusement, without rare powers. There is no greater sin than to be _trop
prononcée_. A want of tact is worse than a want of virtue. Some women,
it is said, work on pretty well against the tide without the last. I
never knew one who did not sink who ever dared to sail without
the first.
Loud when they should be low, quoting the wrong person, talking on the
wrong subject, teasing with notice, excruciating with attentions,
disturbing a _tête-à-tête_ in order to make up a dance; wasting
eloquence in persuading a man to participate in amusement whose
reputation depends on his social sullenness; exacting homage with a
restless eye, and not permitting the least worthy knot to be untwined
without their divinityships' interference; patronizing the meek,
anticipating the slow, intoxicating with compliment, plastering with
praise that you in return may gild with flattery; in short, energetic
without elegance, active without grace, and loquacious without wit;
mistaking bustle for style, raillery for badinage, and noise for
gayety--these are the characters who mar the very career they think they
are creating, and who exercise a fatal influence on the destinies of all
those who have the misfortune to be connected with them.