nted spirit; and though she appreciated the great qualities of her
husband, and viewed him even with reverence as well as affection, she
scarcely contributed to his happiness as much as became her. And for
this reason. Whether it were the result of physical organisation, or
whether it were the satiety which was the consequence of having been
born, and bred, and lived for ever, in a society of which wealth was the
prime object of existence, and practically the test of excellence, Mrs.
Neuchatel had imbibed not merely a contempt for money, but absolutely
a hatred of it. The prosperity of her house depressed her. The stables
with their fifty grooms, and the grounds with their fifty gardeners,
and the daily visit of the head cook to pass the bill of fare, were
incidents and circumstances that made her melancholy. She looked upon
the Stock Exchange coming down to dinner as she would on an invasion
of the Visigoths, and endured the stiff observations or the cumbrous
liveliness of the merchants and bank directors with gloomy grace.
Something less material might be anticipated from the members of
Parliament. But whether they thought it would please the genius of the
place, or whether Adrian selected his friends from those who sympathised
with his pursuits, the members of Parliament seemed wonderfully to
accord with the general tone of the conversation, or varied it only by
indulging in technical talk of their own. Sometimes she would make a
desperate effort to change the elements of their society; something in
this way: "I see M. Arago and M. Mignet have arrived here, Adrian. Do
not you think we ought to invite them here? And then you might ask Mr.
Macaulay to meet them. You said you wished to ask Mr. Macaulay."

In one respect the alliance between Adrian and his wife was not an
unfortunate one. A woman, and a woman of abilities, fastidious, and
inclined to be querulous, might safely be counted on as, in general,
ensuring for both parties in their union an unsatisfactory and unhappy
life. But Adrian, though kind, generous, and indulgent, was so absorbed
by his own great affairs, was a man at the same time of so serene a
temper and so supreme a will, that the over-refined fantasies of his
wife produced not the slightest effect on the course of his life. Adrian
Neuchatel was what very few people are--master in his own house. With
a rich varnish of graciousness and favour, he never swerved from his
purpose; and, though willing to e