rried, still higher birth than her own, and more
riches than her husband's.

It was a curious speculation to compare these two friends, and to
observe how much less the refined maneuvers of Mrs. Fentham answered,
than the open assaults of the intrepid Lady Bab. All the intricacies
and labyrinths which the former has been so skillful and so patient in
weaving, have not yet enthralled one captive, while the composed
effrontery, the affecting to take for granted the offer which was never
meant to be made, and treating that as concluded, which was never so
much as intended, drew the unconscious victim of the other into the
trap, before he knew it was set: the depth of her plot consisting in not
appearing to have any. It was a novelty in intrigue. An originality
which defied all competition, and in which no imitator had any chance of
success.

CHAPTER X.

Sir John carried me one morning to call on Lady Denham, a dowager of
fashion, who had grown old in the trammels of the world. Though she
seems resolved to die in the harness, yet she piques herself on being
very religious, and no one inveighs against infidelity or impiety with
more pointed censure. "She has a grand-daughter," said Sir John, "who
lives with her, and whom she has trained to walk precisely in her own
steps, and which, she thinks, _is the way she should go_. The girl,"
added he, smiling, "is well looking, and will have a handsome fortune,
and I am persuaded that, as a friend, I could procure you a good
reception."

We were shown into her dressing-room, where we found her with a book
lying open before her. From a glance which I caught of the large black
letter, I saw it was a _Week's Preparation_. This book, it seems,
constantly lay open before her from breakfast to dinner, at this
season. It was Passion week. But as this is the room in which he sees
all her morning visitors, to none of whom is she ever denied, even at
this period of retreat, she could only pick up momentary snatches of
reading in the short intervals between one person bowing out and another
courtesying in. Miss Denham sat by, painting flowers.

Sir John asked her ladyship if she would go and dine in a family way
with Lady Belfield. She drew up, looked grave, and said with much
solemnity, that she should never think of dining abroad at this holy
season. Sir John said, "As we have neither cards nor company, I thought
you might as well have eaten your chicken in my house as in your o