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There was myself. I spoke of myself; of myself, of myself, of myself; of Nosology, of my pamphlet, and of myself. I turned up my nose, and I spoke of myself. "Marvellous clever man!" said the Prince. "Superb!" said his guests: and next morning her Grace of Bless-my-Soul paid me a visit. "Will you go to Almack's, pretty creature?" she said, tapping me under the chin. "Upon honor," said I.
The Duchess of Bless-my-Soul was sitting for her portrait; the Marquis of So-and-So was holding the Duchess' poodle; the Earl of This-and-That was flirting with her salts; and his Royal Highness of Touch-me-Not was leaning upon the back of her chair. I approached the artist and turned up my nose. "Oh, beautiful!" sighed her Grace. "Oh my!" lisped the Marquis. "Oh, shocking!" groaned the Earl.
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