“Dear me!” cried she, in a weary tone, “my great difficulty will be to discard its evil influence, and even write a common note like a reasonable being again.”
“But come, confess frankly: you think that a political career is the only one worth embracing, and that any other life offers no reward worthy the name?”
“I think you mistake me,” said she. “It is the social position consequent upon success in a political life that I value,—the eminence it confers in the very highest and greatest circles. If I regarded the matter otherwise, I'd not be indifferent as to the line to follow—I 'd have great convictions, and hold them,—I mean, if I were you.”
“Then of course you consider me as one who has none such?”
“To be sure I do. Men of your measures of ability can no more burden themselves with principles than a thoroughbred hackney can carry extra weight,—they 've quite enough to do to make their running without.”
“Well, I shall certainly not be spoiled by flattery, at least from you,” said Jack, laughing.
“They who know you less will make up for it all, depend upon it,” said she, quietly. “Don't fancy, Mr. Massingbred,” added she, with more earnestness of manner,—“don't fancy that I 'm insensible to the impertinences I have dared to address to you, or that I venture upon them without pain; but when I perceived that you would admit me to the liberty of criticising your conduct, character, and manners, I thought that I might render you good service by saying what better taste and better breeding would shrink from, and the only cost be the dislike of myself.”
“You took a very bad way to accomplish the latter,” said Jack, fervently.
“I did n't give it much consideration,” said she, haughtily. “It was very little matter what opinion you entertained of 'the governess.'”
“I should like to convince you that you were wrong,” said he, looking fixedly at her.