as possible. And the dowagers made a little fun of the elderly
gentlemen, among themselves, as they walked away.

Then came the younger non-dancing men--a class of the community who
wear black cravats and waistcoats, and thrust their thumbs and
forefingers in their waistcoat pockets, and are called "talking men."
Some of them are literary, and affect the philosopher; have, perhaps,
written a book or two, and are a small species of lion to very young
ladies. Some are of the _blase_ kind; men who affect the
extremest elegance, and are reputed "so aristocratic," and who care
for nothing in particular, but wish they had not been born gentlemen,
in which case they might have escaped ennui. These gentlemen stand
with hat in hand, and coats and trowsers most unexceptionable. They
are the "so gentlemanly" persons of whom one hears a great deal, but
which seems to mean nothing but cleanliness. Vivian Grey and Pelham
are the models of their ambition, and they succeed in being
Pendennis. They enjoy the reputation of being "very clever," and "very
talented fellows," "smart chaps," etc., but they refrain from proving
what is so generously conceded. They are often men of a certain
cultivation. They have travelled, many of them,--spending a year or
two in Paris, and a month or two in the rest of Europe. Consequently
they endure society at home, with a smile, and a shrug, and a graceful
superciliousness, which is very engaging. They are perfectly at home,
and they rather despise Young America, which, in the next room, is
diligently earning its invitation. They prefer to hover about the
ladies who did not come out this season, but are a little used to the
world, with whom they are upon most friendly terms, and who criticise
together very freely all the great events in the great world of
fashion.