t you certainly had the air of high birth, though you were
not nearly so well dressed as Beau Tippetly. But _entre nous_, Devereux,
I think she hates you, and would play you a trick of spite--revenge is
too strong a word--if she could find an opportunity."

"Likely enough, Tarleton; but a coquette's lover is always on his guard;
so she will not take me unawares."

"So be it. But tell me, Devereux, who is to be your next mistress, Mrs.
Denton or Lady Clancathcart? the world gives them both to you."

"The world is always as generous with what is worthless as the bishop in
the fable was with his blessing. However, I promise thee, Tarleton, that
I will not interfere with thy claims either upon Mrs. Denton or Lady
Clancathcart."

"Nay," said Tarleton, "I will own that you are a very Scipio; but
it must be confessed, even by you, satirist as you are, that Lady
Clancathcart has a beautiful set of features."

"A handsome face, but so vilely made. She would make a splendid picture
if, like the goddess Laverna, she could be painted as a head without a
body."

"Ha! ha! ha!--you have a bitter tongue, Count; but Mrs. Denton, what
have you to say against her?"

"Nothing; she has no pretensions for me to contradict. She has a green
eye and a sharp voice; a mincing gait and a broad foot. What friend of
Mrs. Denton would not, therefore, counsel her to a prudent obscurity?"

"She never had but one lover in the world," said Tarleton, "who was old,
blind, lame, and poor; she accepted him, and became Mrs. Denton."

"Yes," said I, "she was like the magnet, and received her name from the
very first person* sensible of her attraction."

*Magnes.

"Well, you have a shrewd way of saying sweet things," said Tarleton;
"but I must own that you rarely or never direct it towards women
individually. What makes you break through your ordinary custom?"

"Because I am angry with women collectively; and must pour my spleen
through whatever channel presents itself."

"Astonishing," said Tarleton; "I despise women myself. I always did; but
you were their most enthusiastic and chivalrous defender a month or two
ago. What makes thee change, my Sir Amadis?"

"Disappointment! they weary, vex, disgust me; selfish, frivolous, mean,
heartless: out on them! 'tis a disgrace to have their love!"

"O _Ciel_! What a sensation the news of thy misogyny will cause; the
young, gay, rich Count Devereux, whose wit, vivacity, splendour of
appearance, in