he world ought not to
quarrel with each other."

"You are right, and yet you are mistaken," said Constance: "I do
forgive, and I don't quarrel; but my opinion, my contempt, remain the
same, or are rather more disdainful than ever. These people are not
worth losing the luxury we all experience in expressing contempt. I
continue, therefore, but quietly and without affectation, to indulge
that luxury. Besides, I own to you, my dear Mrs. Trevor, I do think that
the mere insolence of titles must fairly and thoroughly be put down, if
we sincerely wish to render society agreeable; and where can we find a
better example for punishment than the Duchess of Winstoun?"

"But, my dear Lady Erpingham, you are thought insolent: your friend,
Lady ----, is called insolent, too;--are you sure the charge is not
merited?"

"I allow the justice of the charge; but you will observe, ours is
not the insolence of rank: we have made it a point to protect, to the
utmost, the poor and unfriended of all circles. Are we ever rude to
governesses or companions, or poor writers, or musicians? When a man
marries below him, do we turn our backs on the poor wife? Do we not, on
the contrary, lavish our attention on her, and throw round her equivocal
and joyless state the protection of Fashion? No, no! _our_ insolence is
Justice! it is the chalice returned to the lips which prepared it; it is
insolence to the insolent; reflect, and you will allow it."

The fashion that Constance set and fostered was of a generous order;
but it was not suited to the majority; it was corrupted by her followers
into a thousand basenesses. In vain do we make a law, if the general
spirit is averse to the law. Constance could humble the great; could
loosen the links of extrinsic rank; could undermine the power of titles;
but that was all! She could abase the proud, but not elevate the general
tone: for one slavery she only substituted another,--people hugged the
chains of Fashion, as before they hugged those of Titular Arrogance.

Amidst the gossip of the day Constance heard much of Godolphin, and all
spoke of him with interest--even those who could not comprehend his very
intricate and peculiar character. Separated from her by lands and seas,
there seemed no danger in allowing herself the sweet pleasure of hearing
his actions and his mind discussed. She fancied she did not permit
herself to _love_ him; she was too pure not to start at such an idea;
but her mind was not so r