'Keep your sensibility a slave to your reason; if you continue thus, you are a lunatic, and a mad house your best asylum: the man that tramples on reason, and is hurried away by his feelings, is mad.'

Dissolved in a melancholy reverie, he heard not the step of Lok. ‘You may raise a mist of doubt and error, and plunge your auditors in / a gulph of grief and remorse,’ at length suddenly ejaculated Waldorf – at the same time, raising his sparkling eyes, he beheld Lok eagerly gazing on him –‘Zenna has been with you?’ exclaimed Lok, in a tone doubtfully certain. ‘He has,’ was Waldorf’s reply. – ‘And he has left you in a state of doubt and perturbation?’ rejoined Lok – ‘He has,’ repeated Waldorf hastily. ‘Foolish, blind fanatic,’ exclaimed Lok, vehemently; ‘he endeavours to laugh you out of reason; he would ridicule you out of your opinions; make a jest of your feelings; and call them mad, romantic, and absurd: he burlesques the sensibility he cannot feel, and derides the sentiment for which his harsh perceptions disqualify him; he / can laugh you into shame; or, by affected solemnity, change the lightness of your heart into grief, or cast a damp on your gayest moments.’ ‘He does, indeed, affect my spirits,’ replied Waldorf, with a heavy sigh, that seemed to throw a burden from his heart.