One of the apartments in Erpingham House communicated with a conservatory.
In this conservatory Constance was alone one morning, when Lord
Dartington, who had entered the house with Lord Erpingham, joined her. He
was not a man who could ever become sentimental; he was rather the gay
lover--rather the Don Gaolor than the Amadis; but he was a little abashed
before Constance. He trusted, however, to his fine eyes and his good
complexion--plucked up courage; and, picking a flower from the same plant
Constance was tending, said,--

"I believe there is a custom in some part of the world to express love by
flowers. May I, dear Lady Erpingham, trust to this flower to express what
I dare not utter?"

Constance did not blush, nor look confused, as Lord Dartington had hoped
and expected. One who had been loved by Godolphin was not likely to feel
much agitation at the gallantry of Lord Dartington; but she looked gravely
in his face, paused a little before she answered, and then said, with a
smile that abashed the suitor more than severity could possibly have
done:--

"My dear Lord Dartington, do not let us mistake each other. I live in the
world like other women, but I am not altogether like them. Not another
word of gallantry to me alone, as you value my friendship. In a crowded
room pay me as many compliments as you like. It will flatter my vanity to
have you in my train. And now, just do me the favour to take these
scissors and cut the dead leaves off that plant."

Lord Dartington, to use a common phrase, "hummed and hawed." He looked,
too, a little angry. An artful and shrewd politician, it was not
Constance's wish to cool the devotion, though she might the attachment, of