the more confirmed in his revenge. Resuming, by a strong effort, all
the external indifference habitual to his manner, he attempted to
enter into a conversation with those of the party who were next to him
but his remarks produced answers brief and cold; even Lord Aspeden
forgot his diplomacy and his smile; Lord St. George replied to his
observations by a monosyllable; and the Duke of Haverfield, for the
first time in his life, asserted the prerogative which his rank gave
him of setting the example,--his grace did not reply to Lord Borodaile
at all. In truth, every one present was seriously displeased. All
civilized societies have a paramount interest in repressing the rude.
Nevertheless, Lord Borodaile bore the brunt of his unpopularity with a
steadiness and unembarrassed composure worthy of a better cause; and
finding, at last, a companion disposed to be loquacious in the person
of Sir Christopher Findlater (whose good heart, though its first
impulse resented more violently than that of any heart present the
discourtesy of the viscount, yet soon warmed to the desagremens of his
situation, and hastened to adopt its favourite maxim of forgive and
forget), Lord Borodaile sat the meeting out; and if he did not leave
the latest, he was at least not the first to follow Clarence:
"L'orgueil ou donne le courage, ou il y supplee." ["Pride either
gives courage or supplies the place of it."]

Meanwhile Linden had returned to his solitary home. He hastened to
his room, locked the door, flung himself on his sofa, and burst into a
violent and almost feminine paroxysm of tears. This fit lasted for
more than an hour; and when Clarence at length stilled the indignant
swellings of his heart, and rose from his supine position, he started,
as his eye fell upon the opposite mirror, so haggard and exhausted
seemed the forced and fearful calmness of his countenance. With a
hurried step; with arms now folded on his bosom, now wildly tossed