very like the present Baronet, my dear," she would say, her
haughty features gathering into a sneer--and Lady Scapegrace's sneer
was that of Mephistopheles himself; "he is beautiful, exceedingly. I
love to look at his hazel eyes, his low antique brow, his silky
chestnut hair, and his sweet melancholy smile. Depend upon it, Kate,
no man with such a smile as that is ever capable of succeeding in any
one thing he undertakes. I don't care what his intellect may be, I
don't care what animal courage he may possess, however dashing his
spirit, however chivalrous his sentiments--so surely as he has woman's
strength of affection, woman's weakness of heart, so surely must he go
to the wall. I have seen it a hundred times, Kate, and I never knew it
otherwise."

Since the affair of the bull Lady Scapegrace had contracted a great
affection for me, and would have me to roam about the house with her
for hours. She was a clever, intellectual woman, without one idea or
sentiment in common with her husband. In this state of mental
widowhood she had consoled herself by study, amongst other things; and
the history of the family into which she had married afforded her
ample materials for reflection and research. She had collected every
scrap of writing, every private memorandum, letter, and document that
could throw any light upon the subject; and I verily believe she could
have concocted a highly interesting volume, detailing the exploits and
misdeeds, the fortunes and misfortunes, of the Scapegraces.

"I know all about him, Kate," she would proceed, fixing her great
hollow eyes upon my face, and laying her hand on my arm, as was her
habit when interested. "He is my pet amongst the family, though I
despise him thoroughly. You see that distant castle, sufficiently
badly painted, in the corner of the picture? That was the residence of
her who exercised such a fatal influence over the life of poor Sir
Montague. All his little sonnets, some of them touching and pretty
enough, are addressed to 'The Lady Mabel.' I have found two or three
of his love-letters, probably returned by her, tied up in a faded bit
of ribbon; there is also one note from the lady to her admirer; such a
production, Kate! Not a word but what is misspelt, not a sentence of
common grammar in the whole of it; and yet this was the woman he broke
his heart for! Look well at him, my dear, and you will see why. With
all its beauty, such a face as that was made to be imposed upon.