nature, youth, and
companionship to exercise their sway.

And the complexion of Godolphin's feelings for Constance Vernon did
indeed resemble love--was love itself, though rather love in its romance
than its reality. What were those of Constance for him? She knew
not herself at that time. Had she been of a character one shade less
ambitious, or less powerful, they would have been love, and love of
no common character. But within her musing, and self-possessed, and
singularly constituted mind, there was, as yet, a limit to every
sentiment, a chain to the wings of every thought, save those of one
order; and that order was not of love. There was a marked difference,
in all respects, between the characters of the two; and it was singular
enough, that that of the woman was the less romantic, and composed of
the simpler materials.

A volume of Wordsworth's most exquisite poetry had then just appeared.
"Is not this wonderful?" said Godolphin, reciting some of those lofty,
but refining thoughts which characterise the Pastor of modern poets.

Constance shook her head.

"What! you do not admire it?"

"I do not understand it."

"What poetry do you admire?"

"This."

It was Pope's translation of the Iliad.

"Yes, yes, to be sure," said Godolphin, a little vexed; "we all admire
this in its way: but what else?"

Constance pointed to a passage in the Palamon and Arcite of Dryden.

Godolphin threw down his Wordsworth. "You take an ungenerous advantage
of me," said he. "Tell me something you admire, which, at least, I may
have the privilege of disputing,--something that you think generally
neglected."

"I admire few things that are generally neglected," answered Constance,
with her bright and proud smile. "Fame gives its stamp to all metal that
is of intrinsic value."

This answer was quite characteristic of Constance: she worshipped fame
far more than the genius which won it. "Well, then," said Godolphin,
"let us see now if we can come to a compromise of sentiment;" and he
took up the Comus of Milton.

No one read poetry so beautifully: his voice was so deep and flexible;
and his countenance answered so well to every modulation of his voice.
Constance was touched by the reader, but not by the verse. Godolphin had
great penetration; he perceived it, and turned to the speeches of Satan
in Paradise Lost. The noble countenance before him grew luminous at
once: the lip quivered, the eye sparkled; the enthusiasm of Godolp