who will keep her well in hand."
These sentences scarcely carried actual compliments when you knew the
speakers; but outraged lovers cannot talk in that style after they have
broken apart. It is possible that Margaret and Edward conveyed to one
another as sharp a sting as envenomed lovers attempt. Gossip had once
betrothed them, but was now at fault. The lady had a small jointure, and
lived partly with her uncle, Lord Elling, partly with Squire Blancove,
her aunt's husband, and a little by herself, which was when she counted
money in her purse, and chose to assert her independence. She had a name
in the world. There is a fate attached to some women, from Helen of Troy
downward, that blood is to be shed for them. One duel on behalf of a
woman is a reputation to her for life; two are notoriety. If she is very
young, can they be attributable to her? We charge them naturally to her
overpowering beauty. It happened that Mrs. Lovell was beautiful. Under
the light of the two duels her beauty shone as from an illumination of
black flame. Boys adored Mrs. Lovell. These are moths. But more, the
birds of air, nay, grave owls (who stand in this metaphor for whiskered
experience) thronged, dashing at the apparition of terrible splendour.
Was it her fault that she had a name in the world?

Mrs. Margaret Lovell's portrait hung in Edward's room. It was a
photograph exquisitely coloured, and was on the left of a dark Judith,
dark with a serenity of sternness. On the right hung another coloured
photograph of a young lady, also fair; and it was a point of taste to
choose between them. Do you like the hollowed lily's cheeks, or the
plump rose's? Do you like a thinnish fall of golden hair, or an abundant
cluster of nut-brown? Do you like your blonde with limpid blue eyes, or
prefer an endowment of sunny hazel? Finally, are you taken by an air of
artistic innocence winding serpentine about your heart's fibres; or
is blushing simplicity sweeter to you? Mrs. Lovell's eyebrows were the
faintly-marked trace of a perfect arch. The other young person's were
thickish, more level; a full brown colour. She looked as if she had not
yet attained to any sense of her being a professed beauty: but the
fair widow was clearly bent upon winning you, and had a shy, playful
intentness of aspect. Her pure white skin was flat on the bone; the
lips came forward in a soft curve, and, if they were not artistically
stained, were triumphantly fresh. Here, in any case