ent my indignation did not come to a
head,--my indignation, I mean, at her accusing poor Lady Emily (and even
the girl herself) of having "trapped" our friend. Later I said to myself
that I supposed she was within her literal right in abusing her rival,
if she was trying sincerely to give him up. "I don't know anything
about his having been hunted down," I said; "but this I do know, Lady
Vandeleur, I assure you, that if he should throw Joscelind over she
would simply go out like that!" And I snapped my fingers.

Lady Vandeleur listened to this serenely enough; she tried at least to
take the air of a woman who has no need of new arguments. "Do you know
her very well?" she asked, as if she had been struck by my calling Miss
Bernardstone by her Christian name.

"Well enough to like her very much." I was going to say "to pity her;"
but I thought better of it.

"She must be a person of very little spirit. If a man were to jilt me, I
don't think I should go out!" cried her ladyship with a laugh.

"Nothing is more probable than that she has not your courage or your
wisdom. She may be weak, but she is passionately in love with him."

I looked straight into Lady Vandeleur's eyes as I said this, and I was
conscious that it was a tolerably good description of my hostess.

"Do you think she would really die?" she asked in a moment.

"Die as if one should stab her with a knife. Some people don't believe
in broken hearts," I continued. "I did n't till I knew Joscelind
Bernardstone; then I felt that she had one that would n't be proof."

"One ought to live,--one ought always to live," said Lady Yandeleur;
"and always to hold up one's head."

"Ah, I suppose that one ought n't to feel at all, if one wishes to be a
great success."

"What do you call a great success?" she asked.

"Never having occasion to be pitied."

"Being pitied? That must be odious!" she said; and I saw that though she
might wish for admiration, she would never wish for sympathy. Then, in
a moment, she added that men, in her opinion, were very base,--a remark
that was deep, but not, I think, very honest; that is, in so far as the
purpose of it had been to give me the idea that Ambrose Tester had done
nothing but press her, and she had done nothing but resist. They were
very odd, the discrepancies in the statements of each of this pair; but
it must be said for Lady Vandeleur that now that she had made up her
mind (as I believed she had) to sacrifice hersel