Mrs. Hungerford shook her head. When her ladyship’s exhibition had finished, and when Sir James had continued repeating, either with his words or his looks, “Charming! Is not she charming?” till the time of dressing, an hour to which he was always punctual, he retired to his toilette, and Lady Angelica found herself alone with Mrs. Hungerford. “Oh! how tired I am!” cried her ladyship, throwing herself on a sofa beside her. “My spirits do so wear me out! I am sure I’m too much for you, Mrs. Hungerford; I am afraid you think me a strange wild creature: but, dear madam, why do you look so grave?” “My dear Lady Angelica Headingham,” said Mrs. Hungerford, in a serious but affectionate tone, laying her hand upon Lady Angelica’s as she spoke, “I was, you know, your mother’s most intimate friend--I wish to be yours. Considering this and my age, I think I may venture to speak to you with more freedom than any one else now living could with propriety--it grieves me to see such a woman as you are, being spoiled by adulation.” “Thank you, my dear Mrs. Hungerford! and now do tell me all my faults,” said Lady Angelica: “only first let me just say, that if you are going to tell me that I am a coquette, and a fool, I know I am--both--and I can’t help it; and I know I am what some people call _odd_--but I would not for the world be a common character.” “Then you must not be a coquette,” said Mrs. Hungerford, “for that _is_ common character--the hackneyed character of every play, of every novel. And whatever is common is vulgar, you know: airs and affectation are common and paltry--throw them aside, my dear Lady Angelica; disdain flattery, prove that you value your own esteem above vulgar admiration, and then, with such beauty and talents as you possess, you may be what you admire, an uncommon character.” “_May_be!” repeated Lady Angelica in a voice of vexation. “Well, I know I have a hundred faults; but I never before heard any body, friend or enemy, deny that I _am_ an uncommon character. Now, Mrs. Hungerford, do you know any one of a more uncommon character?” “Yes,” said Mrs. Hungerford, smiling, “I know the thing that’s most uncommon, ‘I know a reasonable woman, Handsome and witty, yet a friend.’” “Oh! your friend, Miss Caroline Percy, I suppose. Well! though she is so great a favourite of yours, I must say that, to my fancy, she is as little of an uncommon character as any girl I ever saw--uncommon beauty, I acknowledge, she has, though not the style of face I like.” “And an uncommonly good understanding, without one grain of envy, affectation, or vanity,” said Mrs. Hungerford. “Vanity!--Stay till you see her tried,” said Lady Angelica; “stay till she has gone through one winter’s campaign in London; stay till she has as many admirers as--” “As you have,” said Mrs. Hungerford, smiling. “She seems to be in a fair way of soon trying that experiment to your satisfaction.”