“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.
“In truth,” said Godolphin, “the love which you both allude to is not worth disputing about.”
“What love is?” asked Saville.
“First love,” cried Lady Charlotte; “is it not, Mr. Godolphin?”
Godolphin changed color, and his eyes met those of Constance. She too sighed and looked down: Godolphin remained silent.
“Nay, Mr. Godolphin, answer me,” said Lady Charlotte; “I appeal to you!”
“First love, then,” said Godolphin, endeavouring to speak composedly, “has this advantage over others—it is usually disappointed, and regret for ever keeps it alive.”
The tone of his voice struck Constance to the heart. Nor did she speak again—save with visible effort—during the rest of the evening.