"How little," said Lady Roseville, "can the crowd know of the individuals
who compose it. As the most opposite colours may be blended into one, and
so lose their individual hues, and be classed under a single name, so
every one here will go home, and speak of the 'gay scene,' without
thinking for a moment how many breaking hearts may have composed it."

"I have often thought," said I, "how harsh we are in our judgments of
others--how often we accuse those persons of being worldly, who merely
seem so to the world; who, for instance, that saw you in your brightest
moments, would ever suppose that you could make the confession you have
just made?"

"I would not make such a confession to many beside yourself," answered
Lady Roseville; "nay, you need not thank me. I am some years older than
you; I have lived longer in the world; I have seen much of its various
characters; and my experience has taught me to penetrate and prize a
character like yours. While you seem frivolous to the superficial, I know
you to have a mind not only capable of the most solid and important
affairs, but habituated by reflection to consider them. You appear
effeminate, I know that none are more daring--indolent, none are more
actively ambitious--utterly selfish, and I know that no earthly interest
could bribe you into meanness or injustice--no, nor even into a venial
dereliction of principle. It is from this estimate of your character,
that I am frank and open to you. Besides, I recognize something in the
careful pride with which you conceal your higher and deeper feelings,
resembling the strongest actuating principle in my own mind. All this
interests me warmly in your fate; may it be as bright as my presentiments
forebode."