It was cold; it
was callous. Most women would have endeavoured to recover their lost
influence by different tactics; some, perhaps, would have forgotten
their mortification in their revenge. But Lady Aphrodite had been the
victim of passion, and now was its slave. She could not dissemble.
Not so her spouse. Sir Lucius knew too well the value of a good
character to part very easily with that which he had so unexpectedly
regained. Whatever were his excesses, they were prudent ones. He felt
that boyhood could alone excuse the folly of glorying in vice; and he
knew that, to respect virtue, it was not absolutely necessary to be
virtuous. No one was, apparently, more choice in his companions than Sir
Lucius Grafton; no husband was seen oftener with his wife; no one paid
more respect to age, or knew better when to wear a grave countenance.
The world praised the magical influence of Lady Aphrodite; and Lady
Aphrodite, in private, wept over her misery. In public she made an
effort to conceal all she felt; and, as it is a great inducement to
every woman to conceal that she is neglected by the man whom she adores,
her effort was not unsuccessful.
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