ch. After a continued study of her Cecilia's growing jealousy
betrayed itself in a conscious rivalry of race, coming to the admission
that Englishwomen cannot fling themselves about on the floor without
agonizing the graces: possibly, too, they cannot look singularly
without risks in the direction of slyness and brazen archness; or talk
animatedly without dipping in slang. Conventional situations preserve
them and interchange dignity with them; still life befits them;
pre-eminently that judicial seat from which in briefest speech they
deliver their judgements upon their foreign sisters. Jealousy it was
that plucked Cecilia from her majestic place and caused her to envy in
Renee things she would otherwise have disapproved.

At last she had seen the French lady's likeness! The effect of it was a
horrid trouble in Cecilia's cool blood, abasement, a sense of eclipse,
hardly any sense of deserving worthiness: 'What am I but an heiress!'
Nevil had once called her beautiful; his praise had given her beauty.
But what is beauty when it is outshone! Ask the owners of gems. You
think them rich; they are pining.

Then, too, this Renee, who looked electrical in repose, might
really love Nevil with a love that sent her heart out to him in his
enterprises, justifying and adoring him, piercing to the hero in
his very thoughts. Would she not see that his championship of the
unfortunate man Dr. Shrapnel was heroic?

Cecilia surrendered the card to Rosamund, and it was out of sight when
Beauchamp stepped in the drawing-room. His cheeks were flushed; he had
been one against three for the better part of an hour.

'Are you going to show me the downs to-morrow morning?' Cecilia said to
him; and he replied, 'You will have to be up early.'

'What's that?' asked the colonel, at Beauchamp's heels.

He was volunteering to join the party of two for the early morning's
ride to the downs. Mr. Romfrey pressed his shoulder, saying, 'There's no
third horse can do it in my stables.'

Colonel Halkett turned to him.

'I had your promise to come over the kennels with me and see how I treat
a cry of mad dog, which is ninety-nine times out of a hundred mad fool
man,' Mr. Romfrey added.

By that the colonel knew he meant to stand by Nevil still and offer him
his chance of winning Cecilia.

Having pledged his word not to interfere, Colonel Halkett submitted,
and muttered, 'Ah! the kennels.' Considering however what he had been
witnessing of Nevil's