“Monstrously!” repeated Lady Davenant. “No, no, my dear Cecilia; nothing monstrous. Leave to Lady Bearcroft the vulgar belief in court-bred monsters; we know there are no such things. Men and women there, as everywhere else, are what nature, education, and circumstances have made them. Once an age, once in half-a-dozen ages, nature may make a Brinvilliers, or art allow of a Zeluco; but, in general, monsters are mere fabulous creatures--mistakes often, from bad drawings, like the unicorn.” “Yes, mamma, yes; now I feel much more comfortable. The unicorn has convinced me,” said Lady Cecilia, laughing and singing ‘’Tis all a mere fable; there’s nothing to fear.’ “And I shall think of her henceforth as nothing but what she appears to be, a well-dressed, well-bred, fine lady. Ay--every inch a fine lady; every word, look, motion, thought, suited to that _metier_.” “That vocation,” said Lady Davenant; “it is above a trade; with her it really is a sacred duty, not merely a pleasure, to be fine. She is a fine lady of the first order; nothing too professional in her manner--no obvious affectation, for affectation in her was so early wrought into habit as to have become second nature, scarcely distinguishable from real--all easy.” “Just so, mamma; one gets on so easy with her.” “A curious illusion,” continued Lady Davenant, “occurs with every one making acquaintance with such persons as Lady Masham, I have observed; perhaps it is that some sensation of the tread-mill life she leads, communicates itself to those she is talking to; which makes you fancy you are always getting on, but you never do get beyond a certain point.” “That is exactly what I feel,” said Helen, “while Lady Masham speaks, or while she listens, I almost wonder how she ever existed without me.” “Yes, and though one knows it is all an illusion,” said Lady Cecilia, “still one is pleased, knowing all the time that she cannot possibly care for one in the least; but then one does not expect every body to care for one really; at least I know I cannot like all my acquaintance as much as my friends, much less can I love all my neighbours as myself--” “Come, come! Cecilia!” said her mother. “By ‘come, come!’ mamma means, don’t go any further, Cecilia,” said she, turning to Helen. “But now, mamma, I am not clear whether you really think her your friend or your enemy, inclined to do you mischief or not. Just as it may be for her interest or not, I suppose.” “And just as it may be the fashion or not,” said Lady Davenant. “I remember hearing old Lady--, one of the cleverest women of the last century, and one who had seen much of the world, say, ‘If it was the fashion to burn me, and I at the stake, I hardly know ten persons of my acquaintance who would refuse to throw on a faggot.’” “Oh mamma!--Oh Lady Davenant!” exclaimed Helen and Cecilia.