talked them aloud. Her mind was evidently cultivated with great care,
but she was perfectly void of pedantry. A hint, an allusion, sufficed
to show how much she knew, to one well instructed, without mortifying or
perplexing the ignorant. Yes, there probably was the only woman my
father had ever met who could be the companion to his mind, walk through
the garden of knowledge by his side, and trim the flowers while he
cleared the vistas. On the other hand, there was an inborn nobility in
Lady Ellinor's sentiments that must have struck the most susceptible
chord in Roland's nature, and the sentiments took eloquence from the
look, the mien, the sweet dignity of the very turn of the head. Yes,
she must have been a fitting Oriana to a young Amadis. It was not hard
to see that Lady Ellinor was ambitious, that she had a love of fame for
fame itself, that she was proud, that she set value (and that morbidly)
on the world's opinion. This was perceptible when she spoke of her
husband, even of her daughter. It seemed to me as if she valued the
intellect of the one, the beauty of the other, by the gauge of the
social distinction it conferred. She took measure of the gift as I was
taught at Dr. Herman's to take measure of the height of a tower,--by the
length of the shadow it cast upon the ground.

My dear father, with such a wife you would never have lived eighteen
years shivering on the edge of a Great Book!

My dear uncle, with such a wife you would never have been contented with
a cork leg and a Waterloo medal!

And I understand why Mr. Trevanion, "eager and ardent," as ye say he was
in youth, with a heart bent on the practical success of life, won the
hand of the heiress. Well, you see Mr. Trevanion has contrived not to
be happy! By the side of my listening, admiring mother, with her blue