The gentleman to whom it belonged finding himself recognized left his seat, and a minute later Sir Charles Pomander entered Mr.Vane's box.
This Sir Charles Pomander was a gentleman of vice; pleasure he called it.

Mr.Vane had made his acquaintance two years ago in Shropshire.

Sir Charles, who husbanded everything except his soul, had turned himself out to grass for a month.

His object was, by roast mutton, bread with some little flour in it, air, water, temperance, chastity and peace, to be enabled to take a deeper plunge into impurities of food and morals.
A few nights ago, unseen by Mr.Vane, he had observed him in the theater; an ordinary man would have gone at once and shaken hands with him, but this was not an ordinary man, this was a diplomatist.

First of all, he said to himself: "What is this man doing here ?" Then he soon discovered this man must be in love with some actress; then it became his business to know who she was; this, too, soon betrayed itself.