In one hand was his diamond snuffbox, in the other a richly laced handkerchief; his clouded cane reposed by his side.
There was an air of success about this personage.

The gentle reader, however conceited a dog, could not see how he was to defeat Sir Charles, who was tall, stout, handsome, rich, witty, self-sufficient, cool, majestic, courageous, and in whom were united the advantages of a hard head, a tough stomach, and no heart at all.
This great creature sat expecting Mrs.Woffington, like Olympian Jove awaiting Juno.

But he was mortal, after all; for suddenly the serenity of that adamantine countenance was disturbed; his eye dilated; his grace and dignity were shaken.

He huddled his handkerchief into one pocket, his snuff-box into another, and forgot his cane.

He ran to the door in unaffected terror.
Where are all his fine airs before a real danger?
Love, intrigue, diplomacy, were all driven from his mind; for he beheld that approaching, which is the greatest peril and disaster known to social man.