“And if you think thus, is your forgiveness not akin to pity and pity to love? Did he not swear to wait until all hope was past?” “Madam, give me leave to say I think your Ladyship does not wholly understand him. I judge that he is one who pursues with such ardour that he will not be hindered. Let any obstacle be in his way and it shall be destroyed. But gained—the dust is then bruised on the butterfly’s wings and he will cast it aside and chase another. When his generous heart made that surprising offer ’twas because he saw his poor prize torn from him. At that moment the world would not have been overmuch to give. But supposing my vanity believed him stable there would be a rude awakening. If we could read now his Lordship’s thoughts I doubt not but he rejoices at his escape. He is one whose mind and inclinations will ever be stronger than the motions of his heart. He will not again risk refusal.” “You are a philosopher in hoop and gown, child. Will you not allow him a lover?” “A lover of the chase, Madam. I think no more where I am concerned. Whether one day he shall meet his true mate, ’tis not for me to say. But I doubt.” “You don’t trust him?” “With me, Madam, trust and love go hand in hand. I don’t love my Lord Baltimore, but wish him extreme well. I am willing to have hopes of him however if he find the lady I imagine.” “Describe her, child.” “She should, Madam, be beautiful of face and person, swift-witted and therefore able to meet and counter him on all points. He must not have any superiority allowed him. Her parts must out-top his, so that at all times he knows her superior though he won’t admit it. Yet must all this be tempered with a charming sweetness, with gentle glances and endearing approaches, and over it must be thrown the veil of dignity and modesty. See the drawing the gifted Madam Pendarves hath made of the chaste Penelope. That is what my poor words would express but cannot.” She unrolled a classical drawing of Penelope confronting the lawless suitors, and Lady Fanny gazed at it. “She moves a goddess,” said she. “But where are these paragons, Diana? Sure my Lord must go unwedded to his grave if he waits for this!” “No, Madam. My Lord has not eyes to see and he will marry as most men marry and be the worse for it. ’Tis only such a woman could endure and temper his failings. Another were mad to attempt it.” “I think, child, you say very true,” replied her hearer and fell into a musing. Presently— “Diana, have you ever loved a man? What is love?” “I know so little that my thought is not worth words.” “Then you have thoughts?” “Yes, Madam. Sure every woman must.” They were both silent. Her Ladyship then resumed, not looking in the girl’s face. “I heard the whole story, child, and with me ’tis safe. Dare I say that what touched me the most sensibly (next to your own sufferings) was my Lord Duke’s? Sure he spoke from his heart! He can do no other.”