Our hero was quite convinced of the good sense of his friend's last
remark, that it is safer to judge of people by their conduct to others
than by their manners towards ourselves; but as yet, he felt scarcely
any interest on the subject of Lady Dashfort's or Lady Isabel's
characters: however, he inquired and listened to all the evidence he
could obtain respecting this mother and daughter.

He heard terrible reports of the mischief they had done in families;
the extravagance into which they had led men; the imprudence, to say
no worse, into which they had betrayed women. Matches broken off,
reputations ruined, husbands alienated from their wives, and wives
made jealous of their husbands. But in some of these stories he
discovered exaggeration so flagrant as to make him doubt the whole; in
others, it could not be positively determined whether the mother or
daughter had been the person most to blame.

Lord Colambre always followed the charitable rule of believing only
half what the world says, and here he thought it fair to believe
which half he pleased. He farther observed, that, though all joined
in abusing these ladies in their absence, when present they seemed
universally admired. Though every body cried "shame!" and "shocking!"
yet every body visited them. No parties so crowded as Lady Dashfort's;
no party deemed pleasant or fashionable where Lady Dashfort or Lady
Isabel was not. The bon-mots of the mother were every where repeated;
the dress and air of the daughter every where imitated. Yet Lord
Colambre could not help being surprised at their popularity in Dublin,
because, independently of all moral objections, there were causes of
a different sort, sufficient, he thought, to prevent Lady Dashfort
from being liked by the Irish, indeed by any society. She in general