This was Lesbia's own diagnosis of her case: but the real truth was that
among the herd of men she had met, almost all of them ready to fall down
and worship her, there was not one who had caught her fancy. Her nature
was shallow enough to be passing fickle; the passion which she had taken
for love was little more than a girl's fancy; but the man who had power
to awaken that fancy as John Hammond had done had not yet appeared in
Lady Kirkbank's circle.

'What a cold-hearted creature you must be,' said Georgie. 'You don't
seem to admire any of my favourite men.'

'They are very nice,' Lesbia answered languidly; 'but they are all
alike. They say the same things--wear the same clothes--sit in the same
attitude. One would think they were all drilled in a body every morning
before they go out. Mr. Nightshade, the actor, who came to supper the
other night, is the only man I have seen who has a spark of
originality.'

'You are right,' answered Lady Kirkbank, 'there is an appalling sameness
in men: only it is odd you should find it out so soon. I never
discovered it till I was an old woman. How I envy Cleopatra her Caesar
and her Antony. No mistaking one of those for the other. Mary Stuart
too, what marked varieties of character she had an opportunity of
studying in Rizzio and Chastelard, Darnley and Bothwell. Ah, child, that
is what it is to _live_.'

'Mary is very interesting,' sighed Lesbia; 'but I fear she was not a
correct person.'