lished with accusations against her own
"heedlessness, thoughtlessness, carelessness, and childishness."

There is, perhaps in each individual, one parent motive to every action,
good or bad. Be that as it may, it was evident, that with Lady
Clementina, all she said or did, all she thought or looked, had but one
foundation--vanity. If she were nice, or if she were negligent, vanity
was the cause of both; for she would contemplate with the highest degree
of self-complacency, "What such-a-one would say of her elegant
preciseness, or what such-a-one would think of her interesting neglect."

If she complained she was ill, it was with the certainty that her languor
would be admired: if she boasted she was well, it was that the spectator
might admire her glowing health: if she laughed, it was because she
thought it made her look pretty: if she cried, it was because she thought
it made her look prettier still. If she scolded her servants, it was
from vanity, to show her knowledge superior to theirs: and she was kind
to them from the same motive, that her benevolence might excite their
admiration. Forward and impertinent in the company of her equals, from
the vanity of supposing herself above them, she was bashful even to
shamefacedness in the presence of her superiors, because her vanity told
her she engrossed all their observation. Through vanity she had no
memory, for she constantly forgot everything she heard others say, from
the minute attention which she paid to everything she said herself.

She had become an old maid from vanity, believing no offer she received
worthy of her deserts; and when her power of farther conquest began to be
doubted, she married from vanity, to repair the character of her fading
charms. In a word, her vanity was of that magnitude, that she had no
conjecture but that she was humble in her own opinion; and it would have
been impossible to have convinced her that she thought well of herself,
because she thought so _well_, as to be assured that her own thoughts
undervalued her.

CHAPTER VIII.

That, which in a weak woman is called vanity, in a man of sense is termed
pride. Make one a degree stranger, or the other a degree weaker, and the
dean and his wife were infected with the self-same folly. Yet, let not
the reader suppose that this failing (however despicable) had erased from
either bosom all traces of humanity. They are human creatures who are
meant to be portrayed in this