“Ay, Fanny, we have passed through new worlds of feeling since then. Could life be to us now what it was at that time, we might love each other anew: but tell me, Fanny, has not the experience of life made you a wiser woman? Do you not seek more to enjoy the present--to pluck Tirne’s fruit on the bough, ere yet the ripeness is gone? I do. I dreamed away my youth--I strive to enjoy my manhood.” “Then,” said Fanny, with that quickness with which, in matters of the heart, women beat all our philosophy--“then I can prophesy that, since we parted, you have loved or lost some one. Regret, which converts the active mind into the dreaming temper, makes the dreamer hurry into activity, whether of business or of pleasure.” “Right,” said Radclyffe, as a shade darkened his stern brow. “Right,” said Godolphin thoughtfully, and Lucille’s image smote his heart like an avenging conscience. “Right,” repeated he, turning aside and soliloquising; “and those words from an idle tongue have taught me some of the motives of my present conduct. But away reflection! I have resolved to forswear it. My pretty Cora!” said he, aloud, as he turned back to the actress, “you are a very De Stael in your wisdom: but let us not be wise; ‘tis the worst of our follies. Do you not give us one of your charming suppers to-night?” “To be sure: your friend will join us. He was once the gayest of the gay; but years and fame have altered him a little.” “Radclyffe gay! Bah!” said Godolphin surprised. “Ay, you may well look astonished,” said Fanny, archly; “but note that smile--it tells of old days.” And Godolphin turning to his friend, saw indeed on the thin lip of that earnest face a smile so buoyant, so joyous, that it seemed as if the whole character of the man were gone: but while he gazed, the smile vanished, and Radclyffe gravely declined the invitation. Cora was now on the stage: a transport of applause shook the house. “How well she acts!” said Radclyffe warmly. “Yes,” answered Godolphin, as with folded arms he looked quietly on; “but what a lesson in the human heart does good acting teach us! Mark that glancing eye--that heaving breast--that burst of passion--that agonised voice: the spectators are in tears! The woman’s whole soul is in her child! Not a bit of it! She feels no more than the boards we tread on: she is probably thinking of the lively supper we shall have; and when she comes off the stage, she will cry, ‘Did I not act it well?’” “Nay,” said Radclyffe, “she probably feels while she depicts the feeling.” “Not she: years ago she told me the whole science of acting was trick; and trick--trick--trick it is, on the stage or off. The noble art of oratory--(noble forsooth!)--is just the same: philosophy, poetry--all, all hypocrisy. ‘Damn the moon!’ said B---- to me, as we once stood gazing on it at Venice; ‘it always gives me the ague: but I have described it well in my poetry, Godolphin--eh?’” “But--,” began Radclyffe.