"Ah! Perseus! by Jove, that is a horse! Never was a thorough-bred one so good for weight--and as active as a cat--such action! and such pasterns! None of your short pasterns the grooms are so fond of--but long enough to be elastic! He is a true Whalebone!" "I am not sure, after all, I do not like Quirk still better," Stapleford dropped out quietly, while a sly smile lurked in the corner of his lip. "Quirk is a singularly good horse! He has such bone, and such a constitution!" "And that grey pony, Glenrith--you will never part with that pony?" "Part with Yung-frau? not for three hundred guineas!" "You are a fortunate man in your stud, Glenrith!" remarked Stapleford, with a quiet, composed, and serious air, which to the unsuspicious Lord Glenrith was perfectly satisfactory, while the rest of the party, especially poor Blanche, were painfully aware he was playing on the one weak point of the amiable young Benedick. Nothing lowers a man in the eyes of a woman so much as being made a butt, no matter whether the quizzer be a person for whose opinion she entertains any respect or not. It was unlucky that, at the moment the _héros de roman_ lover had departed in magnanimous despair, the successful one should lay himself open to the quizzing of a dandy. Lady Blanche felt miserable--more miserable than when she parted from De Molton--more miserable than when she heard the jingle of his hack-chaise as it drove from the door--more miserable than when her mother's statement of the case made her awake to the enormity of her misconduct--more miserable than when she resolved to drive her lover's image for ever from her mind. Those distresses were at least elevated ones--this bordered on the ridiculous. In the course of the evening Mr. Stapleford found himself near Lady Blanche. "I must offer you my congratulations, Lady Blanche, and especially upon the good looks and the good spirits of the fortunate Lord Glenrith. His beaming and ruddy appearance shows that you have not been unnecessarily cruel, tormenting before you consented to make him the happiest of men. It must give a person of your kindly feelings great pleasure to behold a face so redolent with joyousness!" Every word of this speech was disagreeable. Poor Blanche did not admire a "ruddy" man--did not like an unsentimental lover; and, above all, she did not like the implication that she had been "Won unwooed, or slightly wooed at best." Mr. Stapleford bore not the slightest ill-will either to Lady Blanche, or to Lord Glenrith. He enjoyed saying the disagreeable thing in the civilest manner possible; partly because it is almost the only exercise of power which a person without house, or lands, or fortune, can indulge in; partly because he liked to see what people really felt--and he thus frequently discovered the true state of their minds; partly because he happened to possess the species of tact which enabled him to do it--and everybody derives pleasure from success of any kind.