never see a face like hers,--never hear a voice so sweet. And all this
universe of life cannot afford me one look and one tone that can restore
me to man's privilege,--love. Well, well, well, life has other things
yet; Poetry and Art live still; still smiles the heaven and still wave
the trees. Leave me to happiness in my own way."

The countess was about to reply, when the door was thrown hastily open,
and Lord Lansmere walked in.

The earl was some years older than the countess, but his placid face
showed less wear and tear,--a benevolent, kindly face, without any
evidence of commanding intellect, but with no lack of sense in its
pleasant lines; his form not tall, but upright and with an air of
consequence,--a little pompous, but good-humouredly so,--the pomposity of
the Grand Seigneur who has lived much in provinces, whose will has been
rarely disputed, and whose importance has been so felt and acknowledged
as to react insensibly on himself;--an excellent man; but when you
glanced towards the high brow and dark eye of the countess, you marvelled
a little how the two had come together, and, according to common report,
lived so happily in the union.

"Ho, ho! my dear Harley," cried Lord Lansmere, rubbing his hands with an
appearance of much satisfaction, "I have just been paying a visit to the
duchess."

"What duchess, my dear father?"

"Why, your mother's first cousin, to be sure,--the Duchess of
Knaresborough, whom, to oblige me, you condescended to call upon; and
delighted I am to hear that you admire Lady Mary--"