Yet we can know but a part of the good effected by a mind so active,
and so virtuous. Though I perhaps know more than you, sir.
Ay!--What? Let me hear.
You think me partial already, sir.
No, no. Let me hear.
The very night we arrived at Paris, he prevented Mr. Clifton and the
Count de Beaunoir from fighting a duel.
Indeed!
Yet never mentioned it; nor perhaps ever would, had not we afterward
met with the Count at the Chateau de Villebrun.
That was very odd!
Nay more, sir, but a day or two before that he saved the life of Mr.
Clifton, he had submitted to the insult of a blow from him, rather than
fight a duel.
A blow--?
He does not want courage, sir, you are convinced.
No, no--It is what he calls one of his principles not to fight
duels--He is a very extraordinary young man!--And not I think much like
his father.
As opposite, sir, as day and night, grace and deformity, virtue and
vice.
You think but indifferently of Abimelech.
I think very ill of him, sir. I think him selfish, cunning, covetous,
and dishonest.
Dishonest?
In the eye of equity, though not perhaps of the law.
Why did not you tell me your opinion sooner?