rom
attaining the dream of his past life.

Absorbed in these ideas, Godolphin contrived to let Saville's
unsympathising discourse glide unheeded along, without reflecting its
images on the sense, until the name of Lady Erpingham again awakened his
attention.

"You are going to her this evening," said Saville; "and you may thank me
for that; for I asked you if you were thither bound in her hearing, in
order to force her into granting you an invitation. She only sees her
most intimate friends--you, me, and Lady Charlotte Deerham. Widows are
shy of acquaintance during their first affliction. I always manage,
however, to be among the admitted--caustic is good for some wounds."

"Nay," said Godolphin, smiling, "it is your friendly disposition that
makes them sure of sympathy."

"You have hit it. But," continued Saville, "do you think Madame likely
to marry again, or shall you yourself adventure? Erpingham has left her
nearly his whole fortune."

Irritated and impatient at Saville's tone, Godolphin rose. "Between you
and me," said Saville, in wishing him goodbye, "I don't think she will
ever marry again. Lady Erpingham is fond of power and liberty; even the
young Godolphin--and you are not so handsome as you were--will find it a
hopeless suit."

"Pshaw!" muttered Godolphin, as he departed. But the last words of
Saville had created a new feeling in his breast. It was then possible,
nay, highly probable, that he might have spared himself the contest he
had undergone, and that the choice between Lucilla and Constance might
never be permitted him. "At all events," said he, almost aloud, "I will
see if this conjecture be true: if Constance, yet remembering our early
love, yet feeling for the years of secret pining which her ambition
bequeathed me, should appear willing to grant me the atonement fate
has placed within her power, then, then, it will be time for this
self-sacrifice."

The social relations of the sex often make men villanous--they more
often make them weak.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

AN EVENING WITH CONSTANCE.

Constances's heart was in her eyes when she saw Godolphin that evening.
She had, it is true, as Saville observed, been compelled by common
courtesy to invite him; and although there was an embarrassment in their
meeting, who shall imagine that it did not bring to Constance more of
pleasure than pain? She had been deeply shocked by Lord Erpingham's
sudden death: they had not been congenial minds, but