gauged the depth and strength of that popularity which had been so dear
to him, and which he now found to be so shallow and so weak.

'What will they think of me when they know all? What they will: I care
not. I would sooner live in a cottage with May Dacre, and work for our
daily bread, than be worshipped by all the beauty of this Babylon.'

Gloomy, yet sedate, he returned home. His letters announced two
extraordinary events. M. de Whiskerburg had galloped off with Lady
Aphrodite, and Count Frill had flown away with the Bird of Paradise.

CHAPTER XI.

_'Lovely Woman Stoops to Folly.'_

THE last piece of information was a relief; but the announcement of the
elopement cost him a pang. Both surprised, and the first shocked him.
We are unreasonable in love, and do not like to be anticipated even in
neglect. An hour ago Lady Aphrodite Grafton was to him only an object of
anxiety and a cause of embarrassment. She was now a being to whom he was
indebted for some of the most pleasing hours of his existence, and who
could no longer contribute to his felicity. Everybody appeared deserting
him.

He had neglected her, to be sure; and they must have parted, it was
certain. Yet, although the present event saved him from the most
harrowing of scenes, he could not refrain shedding a tear. So good! and
so beautiful! and was this her end? He who knew all knew how bitter had
been the lot of her life.

It is certain that when one of your very virtuous women ventures to be
a little indiscreet, we say it is certain, though we regret it, that
sooner or later there is an explosion. And the reason is this, that they
are always in a hurry to make up for lost time, and so love with them
becomes a business instead of being a pleasure. Nature had intended Lady
Aphrodite Grafton for a Psyche, so spiritual was her soul, so pure her
blood! Art--that is, education, which at least should be an art, though
it is not--art had exquisitely sculptured the precious gem that Nature
had developed, and all that was wanting was love to stamp an impression.
Lady Aphrodite Grafton might have been as perfect a character as was
ever the heroine of a novel. And to whose account shall we place her
blighted fame and sullied lustre? To that animal who seems formed
only to betray woman. Her husband was a traitor in disguise. She found
herself betrayed; but like a noble chieftain, when her capital was lost,
maintained herself among the ruins of her happ