red the house with Lord Erpingham, joined
her. He was not a man who could ever become sentimental; he was rather
the gay lover--rather the Don Gaolor than the Amadis; but he was a
little abashed before Constance. He trusted, however, to his fine eyes
and his good complexion--plucked up courage; and, picking a flower from
the same plant Constance was tending, said,--

"I believe there is a custom in some part of the world to express love
by flowers. May I, dear Lady Erpingham, trust to this flower to express
what I dare not utter?"

Constance did not blush, nor look confused, as Lord Dartington had hoped
and expected. One who had been loved by Godolphin was not likely to
feel much agitation at the gallantry of Lord Dartington; but she looked
gravely in his face, paused a little before she answered, and then said,
with a smile that abashed the suitor more than severity could possibly
have done:--

"My dear Lord Dartington, do not let us mistake each other. I live
in the world like other women, but I am not altogether like them. Not
another word of gallantry to me alone, as you value my friendship. In a
crowded room pay me as many compliments as you like. It will flatter my
vanity to have you in my train. And now, just do me the favour to take
these scissors and cut the dead leaves off that plant."

Lord Dartington, to use a common phrase, "hummed and hawed." He looked,
too, a little angry. An artful and shrewd politician, it was not
Constance's wish to cool the devotion, though she might the attachment,
of a single member of her husband's party. With a kind look--but a
look so superior, so queen-like, so free from the petty and coquettish
condescension of the sex, that the gay lord wondered from that hour how
he could ever have dreamed of Constance as of certain other ladies--she
stretched her hand to him.

"We are friends, Lord Dartington?--and now we know each other, we shall
be so always."

Lord Dartington bowed confusedly over the beautiful hand he touched;
and Constance, walking into the drawing-room, sent for Lord Erpingham on
business--Dartington took his leave.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE MARRIED STATE OF CONSTANCE.

Constance, Countess of Erpingham, was young, rich, lovely as a dream,
worshipped as a goddess. Was she happy? and was her whole heart occupied
with the trifles that surrounded her?

Deep within her memory was buried one fatal image that she could not
exorcise. The reproaching and mournful c