"Mercy, Constance! damp rooms and east winds together are too much.
House, indeed! what can there be worth seeing in your English
drawing-rooms after the marble palaces of Italy? Any commands?"

"None!" said Constance, sinking back into her chair, with the tears in her
eyes. Godolphin did not perceive them; he was only displeased by the cold
tone of her answer, and he shut the door, muttering to himself--"Was there
ever such indelicate ostentation!"

"And thus," said Constance, bitterly, "I return to England; friendless,
unloved, solitary in my schemes and my heart as I was before. Awake, my
soul! thou art my sole strength, my sole support. Weak, weak that I was,
to love this man in spite of--Well, well, I am not sunk so low as to
regret."

So saying, she wiped away a few tears, and turning with a strong effort
from softer thoughts, leaned her cheek on her hand, and gazing on the
fire, surrendered herself to the sterner and more plotting meditations
which her return to the circle of her old ambition had at first called
forth.

Meanwhile Godolphin sauntered into the then arch-club of St. James's, that
reservoir of idle exquisites and kid-gloved politicians. There are two
classes of popular men in London; the sprightly, joyous, good-humoured
set; the quiet, gentle, sarcastic herd. The one are fellows called
devilish good--the other, fellows called devilish gentleman like. To the
latter class belonged Godolphin. As he had never written a book, nor set
up for a genius, his cleverness was tacitly allowed to be no impediment to
his good qualities. Nothing atones for the sin, in the eyes of those
young gentlemen who create for their contemporaries reputation, of having