Truly, there could not be a woman of flesh so near to a likeness with the
beatific image of Feltre's worshipped Madonna!

The thought sparkled and darkened in Fleetwood's mind, as a star passing
into cloud. For an uproarious world claimed the woman, jeered at all
allied with her; at her husband most, of course:--the punctilious noodle!
the golden jackass, tethered and goaded! He had choice among the pick of
women: the daughter of the Old Buccaneer was preferred by the wiseacre
Coelebs. She tricked him cunningly and struck a tremendous return blow
in producing her male infant.

By the way, was she actually born in wedlock? Lord Levellier's
assurances regarding her origin were, by the calculation, a miser's
shuffles to clinch his bargain. Assuming the representative of holy
motherhood to be a woman of illegitimate birth, the history of the House
to which the spotted woman gave an heir would suffer a jolt when touching
on her. And altogether the history fumed rank vapours. Imagine her boy
in his father's name a young collegian! No commonly sensitive lad could
bear the gibes of the fellows raking at antecedents: Fleetwood would be
the name to start roars. Smarting for his name, the earl chafed at the
boy's mother. Her production of a man-child was the further and grosser
offence.

The world sat on him. His confession to some degree of weakness, even to
folly, stung his pride of individuality so that he had to soothe the pain
by tearing himself from a thought of his folly's partner, shutting
himself up and away from her. Then there was a cessation of annoyance,
flatteringly agreeable: which can come to us only of our having done the
right thing, young men will think. He felt at once warmly with the
world, enjoyed the world's kind shelter, and in return for its eulogy of