“His kindness and affection! His vanity and self-love are nearer the mark. I thought I had seen something of conceit and affectation, but that old fellow leaves everything in that line miles behind. He is, without exception, the greatest bore and the most insupportable bully I ever encountered.” “Lucy liked him.” “She did not,--she could not. It suits you women to say these things, because you cultivate hypocrisy so carefully that you carry on the game with each other! How could any one, let her be ever so abject, like that incessant homage this old man exacted,--to be obliged to be alive to his vapid jokes and his dreary stories, to his twaddling reminiscences of college success or House of Commons--Irish House too--triumphs? Do you think if I wasn't a beggar I 'd go and submit myself to such a discipline?” To this she made no reply, and for a while there was a silence in the room. At last he said, “_You'll_ have to take up that line of character that _she_ acted. _You'll_ have to 'swing the incense' now. I'll be shot if _I_ do.” She gave no answer, and he went on: “You 'll have to train the brats too to salute him, and kiss his hand and call him--what are they to call him--grandpapa? Yes, they must say grandpapa. How I wish I had not sent in my papers! If I had only imagined I could have planted you all here, I could have gone back to my regiment and served out my time.” “It might have been better,” said she, in a low voice. “Of course it would have been better; each of us would have been free, and there are few people, be it said, take more out of their freedom,--eh, Madam?” She shrugged her shoulders carelessly, but a slight, a very slight, flush colored her cheek. “By the way, now we're on that subject, have you answered Lady Trafford's letter?” “Yes,” said she; and now her cheek grew crimson. “And what answer did you send?” “I sent back everything.” “What do you mean?--your rings and trinkets, the bracelet with the hair--mine, of course,--it could be no one's but mine.” “All, everything,” said she, with a gulp. “I must read the old woman's letter over again. You have n't burnt _that_, I hope?” “No; it's upstairs in my writing-desk.” “I declare,” said he, rising and standing with his back to the fire, “you women, and especially fine ladies, say things to each other that men never would dare to utter to other men. That old dame, for instance, charged you with what we male creatures have no equivalent for,--cheating at play would be mild in comparison.” “I don't think that _you_ escaped scot-free,” said she, with an intense bitterness, though her tone was studiously subdued and low. “No,” said he, with a jeering laugh. “I figured as the accessory or accomplice, or whatever the law calls it. I was what polite French ladies call _le mari complaisant_,--a part I am so perfect in, Madam, that I almost think I ought to play it for my Benefit.' What do you say?” “Oh, sir, it is not for me to pass an opinion on your abilities.”