stance of that for which she pined.

Lady Bearwarden, more than most women, had, since her marriage, found
the worldly ball at her foot. She needed but to kick it where she
would. As Miss Bruce, with nothing to depend on but her own good looks
and conquering manners, she had wrested a large share of admiration
from an unwilling public; now, as a peeress, and a rich one, the same
public of both sexes courted, toadied, and flattered her, till she
grew tired of hearing herself praised. The men--at least those of high
position and great prospects--had no scruple in offering a married
woman that homage which might have entailed their own domestic
subjugation if laid at a spinster's feet; and the women--all except
the very smartest ladies (who liked her for her utter fearlessness and
_sang-froid_ as well as for her own sake)--thought it a fine thing to
be on intimate terms with "Maud Bearwarden," as they loved to call
her, and being much afraid of her, made up to her with the sweet
facility and sincerity of their sex.

Yet in defiance of ciphers, coronets, visiting-cards, blue hangings,
the homage of lords, and the vassalage of ladies, there was something
amiss. She caught herself continually looking back to the old days
at Ecclesfield Manor, to the soft lawns and shady avenues, the fond
father, who thought his darling the perfection of humanity, and whose
face lit up so joyfully whenever she came into the room; the sweet
delicate mother from whom she could never remember an unkind look nor
an angry word; the hills, the river, the cottages, the tenants, the
flower-garden, the ponies, and the old retriever that died licking her
hand. She felt kindly towards Mrs. Stanmore, and wondered whether she
had behaved quite as well to that lady as she ought, recalling many a
little act of triumphant malice and overt resistance which afforded
keen gratification to the rebel at the time. By an easy transition,
she glided on to Dick Stanmore's honest and respectful admiration, his
courtesy, his kindness, his unfailing forbearance and good humour.
Bearwarden was not always good-humoured--she had found that out
already. But as for Dick, she remembered how no mishap nor annoyance
of his own ever irritated him in the slightest degree; how his first
consideration always seemed to be _her_ comfort and _her_ happiness;
how even in his deep sorrow, deceived, humiliated, cut to the heart,
he had never so much as spoken one bitter word. How nobly h