ardner was her husband's evil genius, leading him astray, and
robbing her of his affection, and she was not far mistaken. Sneers, as
if he was under her government, were often employed to persuade him to
neglect her, and continue his ruinous courses; and if she shrunk from
Gardner, he in return held her in malicious aversion, both as a counter
influence and as a witness against him. It was the constant enmity of
light to darkness, of evil to innocence.

The whole drive was spent in conversing on this engrossing theme; Lady
Elizabeth lamenting the intimacy with Sarah Theresa, a clever, and
certainly in many respects an excellent person, but with a strong taste
for singularity and for dominion, who had cultivated Emma's naturally
ardent and clinging nature into an exclusive worship of her; and, by
fostering all that was imaginative in her friends composition, had
led her to so exalted an estimate of their own ideal that they alike
disdained all that did not coincide with it, and spurned all mere common
sense. Emma's bashfulness had been petted and promoted as unworldly,
till now, like the holes in the philosopher's cloak, it was
self-satisfaction instead of humility. This made the snare peculiarly
dangerous, and her mother was so doubtful how far she would be guided,
as to take no comfort from Violet's assurances that Mr. Gardner's
character could be proved to be such that no woman in her senses could
think, a second time, of accepting him.

'I cannot tell,' said poor Lady Elizabeth; 'they will think all wiped
out by his reform. Emma speaks already of aiding him to redeem the past.
Ah! my dear,' in answer to a look, 'you have not seen my poor child
of late: you do not know how much more opinionative she has become, or
rather, Theresa has made her. I wish she could have been more with you.'

'I never was enough of a companion to her, said Violet. 'In my best days
I was not up to her, and now, between cares and children, I grow more
dull every day.'

'Your best days! my dear child. Why, how old are you?'

'Almost twenty-two,' said Violet; 'but I have been married nearly six
years. I am come into the heat and glare of middle life. Not that I
mean to complain,' said she, rousing her voice to cheerfulness; 'but
household matters do not make people companions for those who have their
youthfulness, and their readings, and schemes.'

'I wish Emma could have been drawn to take interest in your sound
practical life.'

'If s