I'm made restless by the selfishness of the insincere friend--I want to monopolise Paraday in order that he may push me on.

To be intimate with him is a feather in my cap; it gives me an importance that I couldn't naturally pretend to, and I seek to deprive him of social refreshment because I fear that meeting more disinterested people may enlighten him as to my real motive.

All the disinterested people here are his particular admirers and have been carefully selected as such.
There's supposed to be a copy of his last book in the house, and in the hall I come upon ladies, in attitudes, bending gracefully over the first volume.

I discreetly avert my eyes, and when I next look round the precarious joy has been superseded by the book of life.

There's a sociable circle or a confidential couple, and the relinquished volume lies open on its face and as dropped under extreme coercion.