"I have nothing to tell you, Lord Albert."
"What do you mean? what, can you possibly intend to disappoint me; and, having so cruelly excited my feelings, cast them back upon me to prey upon themselves? No, I never can believe you so inconsequent; so very—"
"Stay, Lord Albert, and before you condemn, hear me.—It is true I was on the point of betraying a trust—of revealing a secret—of becoming really dishonourable—for what? for the sole purpose of befriending you—for the sole purpose of snatching you from a danger which it was then time to prevent your falling into; but since that moment is past for ever—since it is now in vain that I should prove useful to you by being false to another, my lips must for ever be sealed."
"Strange and unaccountable mystery! What, you will not tell me—you will not endeavour to warn me against a danger which hangs over me—is this friendship? How can you know that the time is past for pointing out to me such danger? How can you be so thoroughly acquainted with the events of my life—the secrets of my heart, as first to imagine my fate was in your hands, and then suddenly be equally well assured it is so no longer? No, I cannot conceive there is any friendship in such conduct."
"Ah," said Lady Hamlet Vernon, sighing, "I see you are like all your sex; you receive the devotion of a heart as a thing of course; you take into no consideration the pain, the remorse I felt, at the idea of becoming false to a trust for your sake, when I thought that by so doing I might save you from misfortune. And now that I tell you the time is gone by when I might possibly have been of use, even by the sacrifice of my own integrity, you still wish for that sacrifice, although it can avail you nothing:—is this generous?" Lord Albert felt confused; he was even moved by the look, the air, the words of Lady Hamlet Vernon, but still the disappointment wrung his heart, and jealousy, with every other feeling, goaded him on to press for a disclosure of the secret.
"I am not ungrateful, indeed I am not; I feel deeply the kind interest you take in me; but if that interest does not sleep, or rather if it is not extinguished, I still plead to be made acquainted with a circumstance so very nearly affecting my welfare; and when I say that your disclosing it to me would be like keeping it in another casket, surely, surely you will not deny me."
"In this respect, my dear Lord Albert, I alone can be the judge, and even at the risk of losing your good opinion, or rather of losing your friendship for the time being, I must persist in remaining silent." There was a long pause, which was at last interrupted by Lady Hamlet Vernon resuming the conversation.
"Whatever may be your opinion of me, I must, ere our intercourse altogether ceases, touch upon one subject, which I believe to be the prime object of your life, and that to which all your views tend—I mean the noble career which lies open to your ambition; may you pursue it with unbounded success; but remember, that you are not likely to do so if you have any secondary interest to clog and drag you back. If domestic troubles, at least domestic cares, obtrude themselves upon your higher aims, what a terrible hindrance to your plans they must of necessity become. Think well, my dear Lord Albert, of this—for le roman de la vie is soon over you know, but life itself goes on to the end; and whatever women do, men should look to that alone with a providing care. We, who are creatures born to suffer (at least all women who live as most women do, the slaves of your sex), we indeed may live upon that illusion, which destroys while it delights; but it is not in your nature to do so; public concerns—public applause—public success—facts, not feelings, must fill up the measure of a man's existence. Think, then, what it is to have these great ends marred, defeated, by some minor power that corrodes and destroys in detail those thoughts, those actions, which, if unshackled by petty duties, would raise you to high consideration and power; but if tied to a partner wholly a stranger to your feelings and pursuits, she must, however amiable in herself, ultimately poison all your happiness."
Lord Albert had listened to Lady Hamlet Vernon without a wish to interrupt her, and with deep and fixed attention, painfully dwelt upon every word she uttered; he could not remain in ignorance of the drift of her words, and they pierced him like swords, yet still he remained silent.
"If," continued Lady Hamlet Vernon, "a woman shares her husband's feelings, enters into his views, goes along with him, not merely from duty but from habit and inclination, in all his interests, then indeed it is possible such a woman might forward, and not impede his prospects; but where habits, principles, and prejudices, have all tended to form a different character, and above all, where bigotry has fastened chains on the mind wholly destructive of any active or useful pursuits, the probability is, that wretchedness to both ensues." Lord Albert no longer affected to misunderstand her, and replied,