ardour of a character not then confirmed, which, when she last saw him
spoke in his eye and mien, were gone for ever. The irregular brilliancy
of his conversation--the earnestness of his air and gesture were replaced
by a calm, and even, and melancholy composure. His forehead was stamped
with the lines of thought; and the hair, grown thinner toward the temples,
no longer concealed by its luxuriance the pale expanse of his brow. The
air of delicate health which had at first interested her in his
appearance, still lingered, and gave its wonted and ineffable charm to his
low voice, and the gentle expression of his eyes. By degrees, the
conversation, at first partial and scattered, became more general.
Constance and Godolphin were drawn into it.

"It is impossible," said Godolphin, "to compare life in a southern climate
with that which we lead in colder countries. There is an indolence, a
laissez aller, a philosophical insouciance, produced by living under these
warm suns, and apart from the ambition of the objects of our own nation,
which produce at last a state of mind that divides us for ever from our
countrymen. It is like living amidst perpetual music--a different kind of
life--a soft, lazy, voluptuous romance of feeling, that indisposes us to
action--almost to motion. So far from a sojourn in Italy being friendly
to the growth of ambition, it nips and almost destroys the germ."

"In fact, it leaves us fit for nothing but love," said Saville; "an
occupation that levels us with the silliest part of our species."

"Fools cannot love," said Lady Charlotte.

"Pardon me, love and folly are synonymous in more languages than the
French," answered Saville.