Bingley fancied the world was fascinated with its glitter.
He was reading out of the stage-book--that wonderful stage-book which is not bound like any other book in the world, but is rouged and tawdry like the hero or heroine who holds it; and who holds it as people never do hold books: and points with his finger to a passage, and wags his head ominously at the audience, and then lifts up eyes and finger to the ceiling professing to derive some intense consolation from the work between which and heaven there is a strong affinity.

Anybody who has ever seen one of our great light comedians, X., in a chintz dressing-gown, such as nobody ever wore, and representing himself to the public as a young nobleman in his apartments, and whiling away the time with light literature until his friend Sir Harry shall arrive, or his father shall come down to breakfast--anybody, I say, who has seen the great X.over a sham book has indeed had a great pleasure and an abiding matter for thought.
Directly the Stranger saw the young men, he acted at them; eyeing them solemnly over his gilt volume as he lay on the stage-bank showing his hand, his ring, and his Hessians.

He calculated the effect that every one of these ornaments would produce upon his victims: he was determined to fascinate them, for he knew they had paid their money; and he saw their families coming in from the country and filling the cane chairs in his boxes.
As he lay on the bank reading, his servant, Francis, made remarks upon his master.
"Again reading," said Francis, "thus it is, from morn to night.

To him nature has no beauty--life no charm.

For three years I have never seen him smile" (the gloom of Bingley's face was fearful to witness during these comments of the faithful domestic).