orld's end to please her. She knows her power, and she uses it
too; but well knowing that to wheedle and coax is safer than to command,
she judiciously tempers her despotism with flattery and blandishments
enough to make him deem himself a favoured and a happy man.

But she has a way of tormenting him, in which I am a fellow-sufferer, or
might be, if I chose to regard myself as such. This is by openly, but
not too glaringly, coquetting with Mr. Huntingdon, who is quite willing
to be her partner in the game; but I don't care for it, because, with
him, I know there is nothing but personal vanity, and a mischievous
desire to excite my jealousy, and, perhaps, to torment his friend; and
she, no doubt, is actuated by much the same motives; only, there is more
of malice and less of playfulness in her manoeuvres. It is obviously,
therefore, my interest to disappoint them both, as far as I am concerned,
by preserving a cheerful, undisturbed serenity throughout; and,
accordingly, I endeavour to show the fullest confidence in my husband,
and the greatest indifference to the arts of my attractive guest. I have
never reproached the former but once, and that was for laughing at Lord
Lowborough's depressed and anxious countenance one evening, when they had
both been particularly provoking; and then, indeed, I said a good deal on
the subject, and rebuked him sternly enough; but he only laughed, and
said,--'You can feel for him, Helen, can't you?'

'I can feel for anyone that is unjustly treated,' I replied, 'and I can
feel for those that injure them too.'

'Why, Helen, you are as jealous as he is!' cried he, laughing still more;
and I found it impossible to convince him of his mistake. So, from that
time, I have carefully refrained from any notice of the subject whatever,
and left Lord Lowborough to take care of himself. He either has not the
sense or the power to follow my example, though he does try to conceal
his uneasiness as well as he can; but still, it will appear in his face,
and his ill-humour will peep out at intervals, though not in the
expression of open resentment--they never go far enough for that. But I
confess I do feel jealous at times, most painfully, bitterly so; when she
sings and plays to him, and he hangs over the instrument, and dwells upon
her voice with no affected interest; for then I know he is really
delighted, and I have no power to awaken similar fervour. I can amuse
and please him with my simple