else regarded her in that light. Her age shall be no secret to the
reader, though to her most intimate friends, even to Mr Broune, it had
never been divulged. She was forty-three, but carried her years so
well, and had received such gifts from nature, that it was impossible
to deny that she was still a beautiful woman. And she used her beauty
not only to increase her influence,--as is natural to women who are
well-favoured,--but also with a well-considered calculation that she
could obtain material assistance in the procuring of bread and cheese,
which was very necessary to Her, by a prudent adaptation to her
purposes of the good things with which providence had endowed her. She
did not fall in love, she did not wilfully flirt, she did not commit
herself; but she smiled and whispered, and made confidences, and
looked out of her own eyes into men's eyes as though there might be
some mysterious bond between her and them--if only mysterious
circumstances would permit it. But the end of all was to induce some
one to do something which would cause a publisher to give her good
payment for indifferent writing, or an editor to be lenient when, upon
the merits of the case, he should have been severe. Among all her
literary friends, Mr Broune was the one in whom she most trusted; and
Mr Broune was fond of handsome women. It may be as well to give a
short record of a scene which had taken place between Lady Carbury and
her friend about a month before the writing of this letter which has
been produced. She had wanted him to take a series of papers for the
'Morning Breakfast Table,' and to have them paid for at rate No. 1,
whereas she suspected that he was rather doubtful as to their merit,
and knew that, without special favour, she could not hope for
remuneration above rate No. 2, or possibly even No. 3. So she had
looked into his eyes, and had left her soft, plump hand for a moment
in his. A man in such circumstances is so often awkward, not knowing
with any accuracy when to do one thing and when another! Mr Broune, in