J'ai toujours cru que le bon n'etait que le beau
mis en action.
--Rousseau.

Shortly after Russelton's answer to Sir Willoughby's eulogistic
observations on his own attire, I left those two worthies till I was to
join them at dinner; it wanted three hours yet to that time, and I
repaired to my quarters to bathe and write letters. I scribbled one to
Madame D'Anville, full of antitheses and maxims, sure to charm her;
another to my mother, to prepare her for my arrival; and a third to Lord
Vincent, giving him certain commissions at Paris, which I had forgotten
personally to execute.

My pen is not that of a ready writer; and what with yawning, stretching,
admiring my rings, and putting pen to paper, in the intervals of these
more natural occupations, it was time to bathe and dress before my
letters were completed. I set off to Russelton's abode in high spirits,
and fully resolved to make the most of a character so original.

It was a very small room in which I found him; he was stretched in an
easy chair before the fire-place, gazing complacently at his feet, and
apparently occupied in any thing but listening to Sir Willoughby
Townsend, who was talking with great vehemence about politics and the
corn laws. Notwithstanding the heat of the weather, there was a small
fire on the hearth, which, aided by the earnestness of his efforts to
convince his host, put poor Sir Willoughby into a most intense
perspiration. Russelton, however, seemed enviably cool, and hung over the
burning wood like a cucumber on a hotbed. Sir Willoughby came to a full
stop by the window, and (gasping for breath) attempted to throw it open.