These young ladies had either been so shy that they and
Theobald had never amalgamated, or they had been supposed to be clever
and had said smart things to him. He did not say smart things himself
and did not want other people to say them. Besides, they talked about
music--and he hated music--or pictures--and he hated pictures--or
books--and except the classics he hated books. And then sometimes he was
wanted to dance with them, and he did not know how to dance, and did not
want to know.
At Mrs Cowey's parties again he had seen some young ladies and had been
introduced to them. He had tried to make himself agreeable, but was
always left with the impression that he had not been successful. The
young ladies of Mrs Cowey's set were by no means the most attractive that
might have been found in the University, and Theobald may be excused for
not losing his heart to the greater number of them, while if for a minute
or two he was thrown in with one of the prettier and more agreeable girls
he was almost immediately cut out by someone less bashful than himself,
and sneaked off, feeling as far as the fair sex was concerned, like the
impotent man at the pool of Bethesda.
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