About this time the Dowager Lady Erpingham died; an event sincerely
mourned by Constance, and which broke the strongest tie that united the
young countess to her lord. Lord Erpingham and Constance, indeed, now saw
but little of each other. Like most men six feet high, with large black
whiskers, the earl was vain of his person; and, like most rich noblemen,
he found plenty of ladies who assured him he was irresistible. He had
soon grown angry at the unadmiring and calm urbanity of Constance; and,
living a great deal with single men, he formed liaisons of the same order
as they do. He was, however, sensible that he had been fortunate in the
choice of a wife. His political importance the wisdom of Constance had
quadrupled; at the least; his house she had rendered the most brilliant in
London, and his name the most courted in the lists of the peerage. Though
munificent, she was not extravagant; though a beauty, she did not
intrigue; neither, though his inconstancy was open, did she appear
jealous; nor, whatever the errors of his conduct, did she ever disregard
his interest, disobey his wishes, or waver from the smooth and continuous
sweetness of her temper. Of such a wife Lord Erpingham could not
complain: he esteemed her, praised her, asked her advice, and stood a
little in awe of her.

Ah, Constance! had you been the daughter of a noble or a peasant--had you
been the daughter of any man but John Vernon--what a treasure beyond
price, without parallel, would that heart, that beauty, that genius have
been!

CHAPTER XXV.

THE PLEASURE OF RETALIATING HUMILIATION.--CONSTANCE'S DEFENCE OF
FASHION.--REMARKS ON FASHION.--GODOLPHIN'S WHEREABOUT.--FANNY MILLINGER'S