ious tale by a spiteful
woman, the chance ribaldry of a club-room window, have often been the
impure agencies which have saved many a youth from committing a great
folly; but Tancred was beyond all these influences. If they had
been brought to bear on him, they would rather have precipitated the
catastrophe. His imagination would have immediately been summoned to the
rescue of his offended pride; he would have invested the object of
his regard with supernatural qualities, and consoled her for the
impertinence of society by his devotion.

Lady Constance was clever; she talked like a married woman, was
critical, yet easy; and having guanoed her mind by reading French
novels, had a variety of conclusions on all social topics, which she
threw forth with unfaltering promptness, and with the well-arranged air
of an impromptu. These were all new to Tancred, and startling. He was
attracted by the brilliancy, though he often regretted the tone, which
he ascribed to the surrounding corruption from which he intended to
escape, and almost wished to save her at the same time. Sometimes
Tancred looked unusually serious; but at last his rare and brilliant
smile beamed upon one who really admired him, was captivated by his
intellect, his freshness, his difference from all around, his
pensive beauty and his grave innocence. Lady Constance was free from
affectation; she was frank and natural; she did not conceal the pleasure
she had in his society; she conducted herself with that dignified
facility, becoming a young lady who had already refused the hands of two
future earls, and of the heir of the Clan-Alpins.

A short time after the _dejeuner_ at Craven Cottage, Lord Montacute
called on Lady Charmouth. She was at home, and received him with great
cordiality, looking up from her frame of worsted work with a benign
maternal expression; while Lady Constance, who was writing an urgent
reply to a note that had just arrived, said rapidly some agreeable
words of welcome, and continued her task. Tancred seated himself by the
mother, made an essay in that small talk in which he was by no means
practised, but Lady Charmouth helped him on without seeming to do so.
The note was at length dispatched, Tancred of course still remaining at
the mother's side, and Lady Constance too distant for his wishes. He had
nothing to say to Lady Charmouth; he began to feel that the pleasure of
feminine society consisted in talking alone to her daughter.

While