insipidity to poetry and wit."

"Ah, say not wit," said Cesarini; "wit is incompatible with the grave
character of deep feelings;--incompatible with enthusiasm, with
worship;--incompatible with the thoughts that wait upon Lady Florence
Lascelles."

Florence coloured and slightly frowned; but the immense distinction
between her position and that of the young foreigner, with her own
inexperience, both of real life and the presumption of vain hearts, made
her presently forget the flattery that would have offended her in
another. She turned the conversation, however, into general channels,
and she talked of Italian poetry with a warmth and eloquence worthy of
the theme. While they thus conversed, a new guest had arrived, who,
from the spot where he stood, engaged with Lord Saxingham, fixed a
steady and scrutinising gaze upon the pair.

"Lady Florence has indeed improved," said this new guest. "I could not
have conceived that England boasted any one half so beautiful."

"She certainly is handsome, my dear Lumley,--the Lascelles cast of
countenance," replied Lord Saxingham," and so gifted! She is positively
learned--quite a /bas bleu/. I tremble to think of the crowd of poets
and painters who will make a fortune out of her enthusiasm. /Entre
nous/, Lumley, I could wish her married to a man of sober sense, like
the Duke of ------; for sober sense is exactly what she wants. Do
observe, she has been sitting just half an hour flirting with that
odd-looking adventurer, a Signor Cesarini, merely because he writes
sonnets and wears a dress like a stage-player!"