"There was another guest to meet them, an amiable bachelor, an old friend of Ralph's who happened to be in town and for whom prompt commerce with Miss Stackpole appeared to have neither difficulty nor dread. Mr. Bantling, a stout sleek, smiling man of forty, wonderfully dressed, universally informed and incoherently amused, laughed immoderately at everything Henrietta said, gave her several cups of tea, examined in her society the bric-à-brac, of which Ralph had a considerable collection, and afterwards, when the host proposed they should go out into the square and pretend it was a fête-champêtre, walked round the limited enclosure several times with her and, at a dozen turns of their talk, bounded responsive--as with positive passion for argument--to her remarks upon the inner life." (130)

James, Henry. The Portrait of a Lady, 1881.

I just...really wish Henry James would describe me. Even if it weren't wholly flattering, it sure would be beautiful.