"She has a noble mind, Frances, though not so holy a one as the Lady
Claypole."
"Well, dear Constance, you are very good to bear with me. Suppose, now,
my father, instead of sending me here, had commanded that I should
sojourn and mystify with that righteous Mrs. Lambert, whom he magnifies
into a model of holiness; what a time I should have passed! Why, the
nuns, whom the holy Sexburga placed up yonder, had not as much
loneliness; don't you think the place was admirably adapted for an
elopement? I am certain--nay, you need not smile--for I am quite
certain, that every one of the seventy-seven maidens, of whom history
tells us, including the charming Ermenilda herself, fully made up their
minds to run off with the Danes before they came to the island. I wish,
though, that your father could be persuaded to consider this only a
summer residence, for it must be a little dreary, I think. Not that I
feel it such, for you are so kind; and just as we were beginning to grow
a little dull or so, a flourish--and enter Walter De Guerre, under the
auspices of Major Wellmore! Ha! ha! ha! Well it has amused me so much.
He certainly is a most charming person; and if one, who is not here,
were here, I should be inclined to tease him a little by my vast
admiration of this gentleman. By the way, Sir Willmott Burrell has
little reason to thank Major Wellmore for this new introduction; though
it must be quite delightful to make either a lover or a husband jealous.
Ah, I see you do not agree with me--I did not expect you would; but, do
you know, I have taken it into my head that this De Guerre is not De
Guerre."
"Indeed! who is he then?"
"That, Constantia, is exactly what I want to know--and I think you could
unravel the mystery."
"My dear Frances, you are a very unaccountable person; always playing
false yourself, you hardly ever give people credit for being true."
"You are vastly complimentary. Ah, Constance, when you come to Hampton,
you must learn some court observances. When we were children together,
we spoke truth."
"Were we not very happy then?"
"We were," said Frances, drawing a heavy sigh; "but how changed the
times since then! Constance, those who walk along a precipice may well
dread falling. Gay, giddy as I am, Cromwell has not a child who glories
in him more than I do."