for both of
them. "'Tis not while they are at home," she said, "and in their mother's
nest, I fear for them--'tis when they are gone into the world, whither I
shall not be able to follow them. Beatrix will begin her service next
year. You may have heard a rumour about--about my Lord Blandford. They were
both children; and it is but idle talk. I know my kinswoman would never
let him make such a poor marriage as our Beatrix would be. There's scarce
a princess in Europe that she thinks is good enough for him or for her
ambition."

"There's not a princess in Europe to compare with her," says Esmond.

"In beauty? No, perhaps not," answered my lady. "She is most beautiful,
isn't she? 'Tis not a mother's partiality that deceives me. I marked you
yesterday when she came down the stair: and read it in your face. We look
when you don't fancy us looking, and see better than you think, dear
Harry: and just now when they spoke about your poems--you writ pretty lines
when you were but a boy--you thought Beatrix was a pretty subject for
verse, did not you, Harry?" (The gentleman could only blush for a reply.)
"And so she is--nor are you the first her pretty face has captivated. 'Tis
quickly done. Such a pair of bright eyes as hers learn their power very
soon, and use it very early." And, looking at him keenly with hers, the
fair widow left him.

And so it is--a pair of bright eyes with a dozen glances suffice to subdue
a man; to enslave him, and inflame him; to make him even forget; they
dazzle him so that the past becomes straightway dim to him; and he so
prizes them that he would give all his life to possess 'em. What is the
fond love of dearest friends compared to this treasure? Is memory as
strong as expectancy? fruition, as hunger? gratitude, as desire? I have
looked at royal diamonds in the jewel-rooms in Europe, and thought how
wars have been made about 'em: Mogul sovereigns deposed and strangled for
them, or ransomed with them: millions expended to buy them; and daring
lives lost in digging out the little shining toys that I value no more
than the button in my hat. And so there are other glittering baubles (of
rare water too) for which men have been set to kill and quarrel ever since
mankind began; and which last but for a score of years, when their sparkle
is over. Where are those jewels now that beamed under Cleopatra's
forehead, or shone in the sockets of Helen?

The second day after Esmond's coming to Walcote, Tom Tushe