"He says Lady Maria has behaved most nobly to him. When he was sent to
prison, she brought him her trinkets and jewels, and every guinea she
had in the world. This behaviour has touched him so, that he feels more
deeply than ever bound to her ladyship. But I own my brother seems bound
by honour rather than love--such at least is his present feeling."

"My good creature," cries Madame Bernstein, "don't you see that Maria
brings a few twopenny trinkets and a half-dozen guineas to Mr. Esmond,
the heir of the great estate in Virginia,--not to the second son, who is
a beggar, and has just squandered away every shilling of his fortune?
I swear to you, on my credit as a gentlewoman, that, knowing Harry's
obstinacy, and the misery he had in store for himself, I tried to bribe
Maria to give up her engagement with him, and only failed because I
could not bribe high enough! When he was in prison, I sent my lawyer to
him, with orders to pay his debts immediately, if he would but part from
her, but Maria had been beforehand with us, and Mr. Harry chose not to
go back from his stupid word. Let me tell you what has passed in the
last month!" And here the old lady narrated at length the history which
we know already, but in that cynical language which was common in her
times, when the finest folks and the most delicate ladies called things
and people by names which we never utter in good company nowadays. And
so much the better on the whole. We mayn't be more virtuous, but it
is something to be more decent: perhaps we are not more pure, but of a
surety we are more cleanly.

Madame Bernstein talked so much, so long, and so cleverly, that she was
quite pleased with herself and her listener; and when she put herself
into the hands of Mrs. Brett to retire for the night, informed the
waiting-maid that she had changed her opinion about her eldest nephew,
and that Mr. George was handsome, that he was certainly much wittier
than poor Harry (whom Heaven, it must be confessed, had not furnished
with a very great supply of brains), and that he had quite the bel
air--a something melancholy--a noble and distinguished je ne scais
quoy--which reminded her of the Colonel. Had she ever told Brett about
the Colonel? Scores of times, no doubt. And now she told Brett about the
Colonel once more. Meanwhile, perhaps, her new favourite was not quite
so well pleased with her as she was with him. What a strange picture of
life and manners had the old lady