does not require the opinion of Mr. Saville or Lady Erpingham so much as a
picture or a ballet."

"I am not sure of that," answered Saville, as he withdrew presently
afterwards to a card-table, to share in the premeditated plunder of a
young banker, who was proud of the honour of being ruined by persons of
rank.

In another part of the rooms Constance found a certain old philosopher,
whom I will call David Mandeville. There was something about this man
that always charmed those who had sense enough to be discontented with the
ordinary inhabitants of the Microcosm,--Society. The expression of his
countenance was different from that of others: there was a breathing
goodness in his face--an expansion of mind on his forehead. You perceived
at once that he did not live among triflers, nor agitate himself with
trifles. Serenity beamed from his look--but it was the serenity of
thought. Constance sat down by him.

"Are you not sorry," said Mandeville, "to leave England? You, who have
made yourself the centre of a circle which, for the varieties of its
fascination, has never perhaps been equalled in this country?
Wealth--rank--even wit--others might assemble round them: but none ever
before convened into one splendid galaxy all who were eminent in art,
famous in letters, wise in politics, and even (for who but you were ever
above rivalship?) attractive in beauty. I should have thought it easier
for us to fly from the Armida, than for the Armida to renounce the scene
of her enchantment--the scene in which De Stael bowed to the charms of her
conversation, and Byron celebrated those of her person."

We may conceive the spell Constance had cast around her, when even