isloyal, he was too haughty to
be subservient. In fact, he was thoroughly formed to be the Great
Aristocrat,--a career utterly distinct from that of the hanger-on upon a
still greater man; and against his success at court, he had an obstacle
no less in the inherent fierte of his nature, than in the acquired
philosophy of his cynicism.

The king, at first, was civil enough to Lady Erpingham's husband; but he
had penetration enough to see that he was not adequately admired: and on
the first demonstration of royal coolness, Godolphin, glad of an excuse,
forswore Castle and Pavilion for ever, and left Constance to enjoy alone
the honours of the regal hospitality. The world would have insinuated
scandal; but there was that about Constance's beauty which there is said
by one of the poets to belong to an angel's--it struck the heart, but
awed the senses.

CHAPTER LII.

RADCLYFFE AND GODOLPHIN CONVERSE.--THE VARIETIES OF AMBITION.

"I don't know," said Godolphin to Radclyffe, as they were one day riding
together among the green lanes that border the metropolis--"I don't know
what to do with myself this evening. Lady Erpingham is gone to Windsor;
I have no dinner engagement, and I am wearied of balls. Shall we dine
together, and go to the play quietly, as we might have done some ten
years ago?"

"Nothing I should like better;--and the theatre--are you fond of it now?
I think I have heard you say that it once made your favorite amusement."

"I still like it passably," answered Godolphin; "but the gloss is
gone from the delusion. I am grown mournfully fastidious. I must have
excellent acting--an excellent play. A slight fault--a slight deviation
from nature--robs me of my content at the whole."

"The same fault in your character pervading all things," said Radclyffe,
half smiling.

"True," said Godolphin, yawning;--"but have you seen my new Canova?"

"No: I care nothing for statues, and I know nothing of the Fine Arts."

"What a confession!"

"Yes, it is a rare confession: but I suspect that the Arts, like
truffles and olives, are an acquired taste. People talk themselves into
admiration, where at first they felt indifference. But how can you,
Godolphin, with your talents, fritter away life on these baubles?"

"You are civil," said Godolphin, impatiently. "Allow me to tell you that
it is your objects I consider baubles. Your dull, plodding,
wearisome honours; a name in the newspapers--a place, perhaps, in the