clever."

"Well, go on--and what then?"

"And then the lady took me aside, and began saying so much in praise of
you; and when she once got me on that subject, I was ready and glib
enough, I warrant you. But somehow, though I then found it so much
easier to speak, I find it more difficult to recollect exactly what I
said. Is not that strange? And then she said that my happiness would
excite so much envy in the great world; that you had been admired,
courted, nay, even loved by rich, noble, clever ladies. Why was all
this? and how could you ever think to leave all these, to seek out from
her quiet home your poor little Lucy?"

"Oh, that's a story of by-gone days. These were follies of my youth,
which I thought I had lived to repent.

"'Nor knew, till seated by thy side,
My heart in all save hope the same.'"

"Why, save hope, my dear Lord? What may you not only hope, but trust,
from my constant devotion?"

"I did not mean to tie myself precisely to every word I uttered. It was
only a quotation."

"And what is a quotation?"

"A quotation is the vehicle in which imagination posts forward, when she
only hires her Pegasus from memory. Or sometimes it is only a quit-rent,
which the intellectual cultivator, who farms an idea, pays to the
original proprietor; or rather,"--(seeing that he was not making the
matter more intelligible by his explanation,)--"or rather, it is when we
convey our own thoughts by the means of the more perfect expressions of
some favourite author."

"But then, surely _you_ need not be driven to borrow, whose own words
always sound to me like a book. As for poor me, I wish I could talk in
quotations for ever; then I need not fear to make these mistakes, which,
as it is, I am afraid I am always like to do."

(A scene at _the Opera_ is richer still: the performance _Semiramide_:)

"Lady Gayland took the opportunity of inquiring of Lady Castleton, 'how
the opera had amused her?' There was that unmistakable air of real
interest in Lady Gayland's manner, whenever she addressed Lucy, which
made her always reply in a tone of confidence, different from that which
she felt towards any other member of the society in which she moved.

"Why, to tell the honest truth," said she, leaning forwards towards her
questioner, "I can't say that I could the least understand what it all
meant. It's not likely that people should sing when they're in such
sorrow; and then I can't guess why that young man should