"Well," interrupted a young man present, "I think it is enough for man, or woman, to do what is right, and to leave appearances to take care of themselves." "I am glad it is a man, not a woman, who says so," resumed Lady Westhope, smiling. "I am always grieved and alarmed when I hear a woman speak with contempt of the opinion of the world: it argues in her neither good feeling, cleverness, nor true courage. True courage (in woman) consists in at once giving up what may be agreeable and innocent in itself, rather than risk having one's good name called in question." Mr. Wroxholme had listened with interest, for his attention had been arrested by the earnestness with which Lady Westhope spoke. He suddenly understood all that had previously puzzled him in her conduct. He admired and respected her; and his wounded pride, his offended vanity, were soothed. When she bade him adieu, she expressed a hope that he would join their Christmas party at Cransley; she did not invite him for partridge-shooting in September, as she had done the previous year. He felt that she meant to be kind, yet firm; and although the intervening six months appeared to him immeasurably long in perspective, he had too much principle himself to blame her, or to repine. There was a cordiality in the respectful devotion with which Mr. Wroxholme took his leave, which convinced Lady Westhope that he no longer looked upon her as a capricious fine lady, but as a woman of rigid, uncompromising virtue. She felt, however, lowered in her own estimation when she could not disguise from herself how great an effort it cost her to exercise this same virtue; and she was indignant, almost disgusted, with herself when she found her home cheerless, and her time unoccupied, upon her arrival in the country. This very feeling roused her to shake off the disgraceful weakness; and she resumed her wonted employments, and strove to make to herself new ones. CHAPTER X. And words of small import, but tinged with gall, Jar on the sense by their unkindly tone. The morning greeting may sound harsh withal, The evening benison a curse may own; While oft a smile--a kindly look alone-- Born of compunction, falls right soothingly On the sick heart, the past offence t' atone, Ere word be spoke at all. As violets shy, By their sweet breath betray where they are lurking nigh. _Unpublished Poems._ The events of the last few weeks in London had also awakened Mr. Wroxholme to the state of his own affections; and he no sooner admitted to himself that he had been in danger of liking Lady Westhope too well, than he rejoiced in the prudence and discretion with which she had checked his growing preference, and felt grateful that he had been preserved from the danger which beset him.