It must not be supposed that Lady Hamlet Vernon admitted to herself that she was the mover of premeditated evil. Impelled by violent impulse, it is true she hesitated not in adopting means of any kind to attain her wishes; for she invariably succeeded in reasoning herself, however falsely, into a belief that she had at least some apology to gloss over, if not to justify, the measures she pursued.

Whatever calm she had assumed in her late interview with Lord D'Esterre, she suffered in secret the most painful agitation: the violence she had done her feelings, in concealing the disappointment she endured on Lord Albert D'Esterre's leaving Restormel, and the restraint that those feelings had since undergone before she found a favourable opportunity of speaking to him, all contributed (when at length that opportunity at Lady Tilney's supper-party did present itself) to render their indulgence more overwhelming. When she returned home that night, the sleepless hours of suffering she passed were not less painful in degree than those in which Lord D'Esterre shared; with this difference only in their nature, that the anguish endured by him was of a varied and mixed kind; whereas the whole mass of Lady Hamlet's wishes were centred in an uncontrolled passion for him; a passion which, since she had allowed it to wear its undisguised character, she found a thousand plausible reasons for admitting to control her every thought.

There was no cause, she argued, sufficiently strong in Lord D'Esterre's engagement with Lady Adeline to forbid the indulgence of her love for him; she had no relative duties to sway her conduct—she was her own mistress: and in the opinion of the world—her world at least—she would be justified, where envy did not bias the judgment, in endeavouring to form so desirable a connexion. However Lord Albert D'Esterre might have been ostensibly considered by the members of the exclusive circle as one of themselves, and however much they affected to deride and despise his principles and habits, yet as a man whose talents promised to shine in the senate, and whose interest was considerable, his actions were not, in fact, quite so undervalued, or so indifferent to the leading personages of that body, as they might on a cursory view appear to be. He was still, Lady Tilney thought, too young, in her political way of viewing every thing, and had not given sufficient proofs of firmness, as a party man, for any direct overtures to be made to him on that score. But in as far as regarded his admission, in the first instance, to society amongst her coterie, he owed that distinction to his youth, his personal appearance, and his high rank; to his youth especially, as fitting him to become, under clever tuition, an obedient satellite; and when his very attractive exterior and manners, which were at once dignified and original, were added to the account, it is not to be wondered that he was reckoned a person worth courting, and a character worth forming, which might be incorporated, in due time, as one of their own.

Still there was a probationary state to pass through before any one was actually admitted into the arena of that circle. Lady Hamlet Vernon, however, who from his first appearance had marked him with her peculiar approbation, was very clear-sighted as to the views which might be formed of others respecting an appropriation of him to their own purposes; and she thought she perceived, almost from the first, in the politic and eager attentions of Lady Tilney towards him, as well as in those of her silent but not uninterested lord, some ulterior object in obtaining his favour and confidence, which she imagined might also turn to her own account, as affording herself means to acquire an influence over him of another nature.

It is surprising with what quick perception women will discover the most hidden sentiments of others, when they have the remotest reference to the object of their favour and predilection; and many a man owes his success in life to the unceasing, and perhaps unknown endeavours to serve him, of some devoted, and it may be, unrequited heart. Who will watch like a woman over those minute details, which swell the aggregate of greater means? Who can feel, as a woman can, those vibrations of circumstances which may enable her to seize upon favourable moments, those mollissima tempora fandi, when the current of success may be directed to the object of her wishes. Lady Hamlet was well skilled to do all this, and from the first of Lord Albert's appearance in the circle in which she moved, her most diligent attention was ever awake to all that concerned him. She perceived that whenever he was spoken of, the Tilneys were particularly cautious and guarded in giving their opinion; and she was not mistaken in thence arguing that they were aware he might become a man of high consequence, in every sense of the term, as well as in their own peculiar acceptation of it.

Lady Hamlet Vernon felt that in this they had not formed an erroneous view of him, for she read ambition in his character: and though the species of that quality of mind was certainly very different in Lord Albert and in herself, yet its general nature was no stranger to her, and she knew it to be too powerful a lever in human actions to overlook or disregard it in this instance. On the contrary, she determined to use it in behalf of her own views; and from this motive she dwelt with energy on the subject of Lord Albert's prospects for the future, while conversing with him at Lady Tilney's. She then found she was touching a master-key to open the secret recesses of his mind and feelings. In its very first application, she had found it more than answer her expectations; and the consciousness that the apparent harmony of her sentiments with his on this point, had established an interest in and obtained an influence over the very main-spring of Lord Albert D'Esterre's being, inspired her with the liveliest hope.

No mercenary views, it is true, no mean love of power for little ends, actuated her, but a violent and overpowering passion, which, however, was equally subversive of rectitude of conduct, since it was neither guided by principle, nor restrained by moral or religious control. It was not directly any selfishness of motive that impelled her to the course she was pursuing, for she would have gone blindly forward in any plan the most contrary to her interests, her habits, or her feelings, which promised to draw her into a union of sentiment with the object of her passion; but those who suffer themselves to be directed by such impulses, are under complete delusion respecting the estimate they form of themselves. Whenever passion obtains the mastery, the effect is equally certain; the wholesome freedom of a mind at liberty is gone; and when once enslaved, it becomes like a wave of the sea, tossed about in every direction the sport of winds, and is as liable to dash into ruin, as to use any power it may possess to beneficial purposes.

Whilst the fever of agitation swayed Lady Hamlet Vernon, she gave herself up in secret to the inebriating delight of dwelling upon Lord Albert's looks and words, during their last interview; she recalled the expression of his eyes, as he gazed at her while she was speaking; she still seemed to feel the pressure of his hand thrill through her veins, as when he received the ring she gave him in pledge of friendship; but as these intoxicating sensations subsided, she relapsed again into fear, lest she should have gone too far at first; lest any thing she had said or looked might have appeared too violent, too plainly have told the tale of her feelings, ere time had ripened the moment when their disclosure might be more in unison with his wishes. Then again she hoped that her agitation might have been attributed alone to the caution which she had ventured to give him respecting Lady Adeline; and that she gave him such caution, she trusted would have been ascribed to a friendly feeling for his happiness. "Yes, his happiness!" she repeated to herself; "for I could sacrifice my own to secure that boon for him. It is not from motives of jealousy that I did so warn him, for I could bear to see him the husband of another, providing that other were really worthy of him, one who would share in his views, his plans, his feelings; but to unite himself with a woman wholly unfit for him—a girl, a weak insipid girl, made up of puritanical observances and prejudices—no, I could not see him set the seal to his future misery by allowing him to remain in ignorance of a fact which is known to all the world except himself."

In this sophistical manner did Lady Hamlet Vernon argue herself into the belief that no selfish motive impelled her, but that she was acting a noble part, and as the end designed was good, the means she thought were so likewise. In flattering this belief, she recalled every look and gesture of Lord Albert D'Esterre, and she thought she had perceived that he entertained a feeling of jealousy towards Mr. Foley. "Perhaps," she said, musing on that point, to which she had not before given her full attention, "perhaps his jealousy is not without foundation. Why is Mr. Foley so much at Dunmelraise? The circumstance of Lady Dunmelraise's protection of him through life, is not sufficient cause. After all, why should he not marry Lady Adeline, if she likes him? It would be a union much more consonant with Mr. Foley's happiness (inasmuch as he would not care what were her ways of thinking) than it would be for the noble-minded, aspiring D'Esterre."

In this new point of view Lady Hamlet Vernon found another specious argument in favour of her own conduct, and her secret wishes; and if indeed this latter assumption of a fact were true, she would be doing a doubly generous action, in forwarding the wishes of her friend Mr. Foley, while she at the same time saved Lord D'Esterre from a step that would inevitably render him unhappy.

Such were the false reasonings with which Lady Hamlet Vernon justified her feelings and her conduct to herself, and under their sway, she awaited with the utmost anxiety and impatience for Lord D'Esterre on the following morning. But it was late before he came, and he was abstracted and silent when he did arrive; unlike the animated being whom she had witnessed speaking to her with such force and expression of lively feeling on the previous evening. The fact is, Lord Albert D'Esterre had been at Lady Dunmelraise's, where he had found Adeline alone; and as, in her converse and presence, there was a soothing calm, a persuasive assurance, even in her silence, of her perfect purity and truth, those feelings of jealous doubt and mistrust that had preyed upon him before his visit to her, had gradually subsided while under the influence of her immediate power. Above all, the interest she expressed for him, the alarm she declared she felt on beholding his haggard look, and suddenly changed appearance, awoke in his breast all those tender feelings which it was a second nature for him to cherish towards her.

He felt indeed that he could have laid his head on her breast, confessed his folly, and wept out his fault in having for a moment suspected her; "but then again," he thought, "it will be time enough thus to humble myself when I see proof that my suspicions are indeed groundless; and I shall not be acting up to my resolution, if I allow a moment of tenderness to put it out of my power to certify the truth of her's."

Mr. Foley's name was not once mentioned during his visit. Mr. Foley did not appear; and for the time Lord Albert D'Esterre felt happy. "We shall see," he said to himself, "if this fair shew is real; a short time will serve to prove its truth, and then my happiness will stand on a secure basis."

He took leave, therefore, of Lady Adeline with a mind much relieved, and having impressed her also with the sensation that he felt towards her, all he had ever felt; but no sooner did he quit her presence, than, with that waywardness of spirit, which is too often apt to embitter our best interests, he was impelled to call on Lady Hamlet Vernon, for the sole purpose, as he fancied, of gathering indirectly from her conversation a more clear insight into the subject of her discourse. But in her presence, he in vain endeavoured to lead her to it; she avoided all reference, however remote, to the cause of his inquietude, and when she touched on the topic of his public career in life, Lord Albert felt that it was done in so vague and wary a manner, as to afford him no clue whatever to what engrossed at that moment all his thoughts, and he involuntarily became silent, and manifested an indifference to all farther converse. When he arose to take his leave, if he was less happy than when he had left Lady Adeline, he was not conscious of any reason why it should be so; but that of which he could not fail to be conscious, was the sensation that a spell was spread around him, whenever he approached Lady Hamlet Vernon.

To her inquiries if he would join her circle in the evening, and if he were one of those invited to the water-party the following day, he answered with apparent indifference; and, with a doubtful half-formed promise to attend her in the evening, he left the house. He was bewildered and uneasy; dissatisfied with himself, and consequently with all the world; and Lady Hamlet Vernon was miserable on her part at witnessing his change of manner, and remarking the serious and preoccupied expression of his countenance, which seemed totally at variance with her wishes.

That evening Lord Albert dedicated to a few hours of quiet in his own apartments; but the habit, of any kind, which has once been broken through, is not so easily resumed; and in particular the power of sober application to serious pursuits is hardly by any man to be laid by and recovered at will. The mind which is suffered to float about, driven by the winds of chance, becomes unfitted for fixed attention to any one particular point; and the effort is painful which must be made before it can be brought to bear on reflective subjects, after having been suffered to follow the vague direction of the feelings, or the yet more debilitating influence of dissipation.

Lord Albert acknowledged this, as he had recourse to various books for amusement. His attention wandered; and now he was at Lady Dunmelraise's, now at Lady Hamlet Vernon's—but never was he on the subject of the leaves which he vainly turned over; and after an evening spent in vacuity, he felt as fatigued, and more dispirited than had he been deeply engaged in some mental effort. The consciousness of this lowered state of being was exceedingly uneasy to him. He was one who, for so young a man, had learnt thoroughly to know the value of time, and when it was thus utterly lost or misapplied, he could not forgive himself for the irreparable fault.

Lord Albert, too, had an impression fixed indelibly on his mind, that when we are not advancing we are retrograding in our mental or moral course of existence; and fortunately for him, he was yet keenly sensible to the reproaches of conscience. His determination at the moment, therefore, to redeem this heavy loss was salutary and sincere; and he felt a renovation in his whole being when he took his early walk next day to Lady Dunmelraise's, full of the good resolutions he had formed the preceding day. To be in the presence of Lady Adeline Seymour, was like being in the sunshine of spring. There was an habitual serenity about her, which seemed to animate all around her; every thing and every sentiment of Adeline's was in its right place—no one took undue precedence of the other; the harmony of her form and features was a true reflection of her happily disposed nature; but that nature owed its very essence and continuance to the great ruling feeling of her mind. Every thought, and every action, were immediately or remotely under the guidance of pious belief: the nature of her happiness could not be uprooted by any earthly power; she might suffer anguish here; but she had a secret and secure joy that those only know who, like her, fix the anchor of their trust on an hereafter.

Having spent the greater part of the morning in such society, Lord Albert tacitly acknowledged its superiority to that in which he had lately lived, and the invitation he received to dine in South Audley Street was eagerly accepted. The party which he found assembled at Lady Dunmelraise's consisted chiefly of her family,—Lord and Lady Delamere, their two sons and daughter, and a few other persons who came in the evening. Lord Delamere was a shy man, and his shyness had sometimes the effect of pride; but the estimable points in his character were of such sterling value, that his friends loved him with a zeal of attachment which spoke volumes in his praise; and he was looked up to by his family, not only as their father, but their companion: nothing could be more beautiful than the union which subsisted between them; nothing more truly worthy of imitation than the virtuous dignity with which they filled their high station.

Lady Delamere still possessed great beauty; and the charm that never dies, the charm of fascination of manner and of air, defied the inroads which time makes on mere personal beauty. She was one of those very few women, who unite to feminine gentleness the qualities ascribed to a masculine mind. At the time she married, her husband's affairs were so much involved, that nothing but the utmost self-denial could possibly retrieve them: and she entered into his plans of retrenchment with an alacrity and vigour, which proved her to be a wife indeed; not the play-thing of an hour, to deck the board, or gratify the vanity of the possessor, but a companion, a friend, a helpmate, one who in retirement possessed resources that could enliven and cheer the solitary hour: who knew she was loved, and felt she deserved to be so, with that security of honest pride, which the consciousness of desert never fails to impart in married life, and yet whose refinement and delicacy of feeling never lost the elegancies of polished manners, because there were no novel objects to excite a sickly appetite for admiration.

To please is certainly the peculiar attribute and business of woman, in every relation of life; and those who neglect to foster and keep alive this power, reject one of the greatest means which Providence has placed in their hands to effect mighty operations of good. But there is a false and spurious kind of pleasing which must not be confounded with the true. Every woman will know how to distinguish these in her own conscience. When the wish to please is a mere gratification of vanity, when it lives always beyond the circle of her own hearth, and dies as soon as it is called upon for exercise within domestic walls; then, indeed, it may be known for what it is: but when, as in Lady Delamere's case, this virtue shone most splendidly confined to the sphere of home, its price was above rubies; in short it might truly be said of her, "the heart of her husband doth safely trust in her."

At the time when Lord Delamere was in the greatest difficulties, he did not, as too many do, fly to a foreign country, to continue the life of self-indulgence which he could no longer maintain in his own; he did not make it an excuse for forsaking his patrimony, and the seat of his ancestors, that he could not live there in that splendour which he had formerly done; but with a spirit of true pride he said: "the land of my forefathers with bread and water, rather than banishment and luxuries." He made no secret of his poverty; and it was a means of clothing him with honour: for with patience in his solitude he found content, and with content all things. His self-denial enabled him to be generous to others: and the very act of living on his estates, gave bread to hundreds. Lady Delamere went hand in hand with him in all his plans; and they pursued, for some years, with untiring step, the path of duty which they had marked out.

Meanwhile, their family grew up around them, and every thing prospered—for a blessing went along with them: they were adored by their dependents; honoured even by those who hated them for their superiority; and with the occasional visit of a relative or friend their time flowed on, fruitful in its course, and fraught with real and substantial happiness.

But in this their retirement they were not forgotten. It is not those who are fluttering about their empty shewy existence in the sunshine of pleasure and splendour whose memories live longest, even in that very world they so busily court. All great and useful works are the fruit of retirement; all strength of character is formed, not in indulgence and prosperity, but in retreat, and under the grave hand of that schoolmaster Adversity. The corn is not ripened till it receives the first and the latter rain: neither is the moral character formed to its great end, till it has known the storms of adversity. The Delameres had now reaped the fruits of this earthly probation, and they shone forth with lustre, which could not be eclipsed by any tinsel splendour of mere outward grandeur. The children of such parents could not be supposed to be altogether different from themselves, for though there are anomalies in nature, it rarely happens that the offspring are not like either father or mother, still less that they are not ultimately influenced by the example of parents.

When Lord Albert D'Esterre found himself in this happy society, so different, and yet, as he acknowledged to himself in every passing moment, so superior to that in which he had lately lived, he felt as if he also were of another race of beings; a pleased sort of self-satisfaction took possession of him: so much are we affected by outward things, so much does the mind reflect the hues by which it is surrounded. Are these, he thought, the persons whose names I have been accustomed to hear coupled with ridicule or condemnation—are these the persons who are designated vulgar? Strange indeed is the misnomer! And that there were many in the same grade, whose characters shed lustre upon their high stations, many who constituted the true character of British nobles, was a truth that Lord Albert had not sufficiently considered; for where is there a body in any country more worthy of respect and admiration than the real nobility of our land? It is only to be lamented that the errors of the few, and the assumed superiority of the ton, should have given ground for a false estimate of those characters of solid worth, whose virtues and whose ancient ancestry reflect a mutual value on each other; and the moral tranquillity of whose lives is at once a dignified refutation of the depreciation of high birth, and the best confirmation of its real consequence. But the middling classes, those who envy their superiors, or those who would attain to a distinction in society to which they have no immediate claim, are too apt in these days to form a mistaken judgment, founded upon newspaper reports or the spurious publications of the day, in which much false representation is mingled with some gross truths, and the delinquency of the few ascribed to the conduct of the many. Nor is it these alone, who are thus led into an erroneous opinion. The public press produces a circulation of good and evil, of truth or falsehood, universally; and wherever the latter creeps in, there ought to be an antidote administered. It should not be suffered to smoulder and gain force till it produce some serious mischief.

It should be told that the few individuals, whose idle and trifling lives, and whose tenour of conduct lay them open to contumely and blame, do not constitute the great mass of English nobility. So far from it, they are persons whose lives differ as much from the general existence of their compeers, as does the life of one individual in any class from that of another. Vice is not confined to nobility because a few great names have sullied its brightness. It is a false conclusion to consider them as examples of their caste, any more than the man in inferior station, whose delinquency is proved, and who suffers the penalty of the law, is to be taken as a specimen of the people at large.

In the course of conversation at Lady Dunmelraise's dinner, the ensuing drawing-room was spoken of. "I am one of those old-fashioned persons," said Lady Delamere, "who feel a real pleasure in the thought of going to court—for first, I shall have the gratification of seeing my Sovereign, and of presenting to him another branch of that parent stock, who are personally as well as on principle attached to him and to his house. And though, doubtless, there are many who share in these feelings, yet I will yield the palm of loyalty and zeal to none; and, in the second place, I do very firmly believe that, in as far as society goes, a drawing-room does much moral good. There are certain lines drawn, which are useful to remind persons in general, that vice is contemned, and virtue honoured; and there is a distinction, too, of time, and place, and situation, which is not yet laid aside; I heartily wish there were many more drawing-rooms than there are."

Lord Delamere fully agreed with his wife in this opinion—the young people did not giggle and whisper, "what a bore it will be," but coincided with their parents. Lady Mary Delamere too declared, that she thought there was no occasion better suited to shew off real beauty to advantage than the splendour of a mid-day assembly, where every thing conspired to give people an air of decorative style which they could not possess at any other public meeting. "What pleasure," she continued, "I shall have in going with my cousin Adeline, and gathering up all the stray words of admiration, which I am sure will abundantly fall in her praise. Do tell me, love," addressing herself to her in a half whisper, while the rest of the persons at table conversed on other matters, "do tell me of what colour is your dress, and how it is to be trimmed?"

"Really," replied Lady Adeline, colouring as though she had committed a crime, "I have not thought about it. All I begged of Mamma was, that it might be very simple, and, I believe, of a rose-colour—for a rose is my favourite flower."

"Dear child," said the good-natured Lady Mary, "you must think about it now, for the day is drawing near, and I shall be so disappointed if you are not well dressed."

"You are very kind, sweet cousin, but if you only knew how very little I care about the matter;" and she laughed heartily at the idea of its being a subject of the least importance.

"But, Lord Albert D'Esterre," said Lady Mary, appealing to him as he sat on the other side of Lady Adeline, "you will interfere, will you not? You will not be pleased, I am sure, lovely as Adeline is, to see her a figure at a drawing-room."

"What sort of figure do you mean?" he asked, smiling.

"Oh dear! you know well enough what I mean—unbecomingly attired."

"I think," he replied, "that although some figures will always be admired, still there is no merit in disdaining the usages of society or the advantages of dress, and that the neglect of appearance may in a young person be produced by some causes which are not desirable." He looked fixedly at Adeline as he spoke, and she blushed very deeply; but answered with an unhesitating voice:

"I shall be always desirous of pleasing those I love, even in trifles; but I should be sorry that trifles occupied their thoughts."

Lord Albert was silent; he felt a kind of chill come over him, for the remembrance of Lady Hamlet Vernon's instructions recurred to him; and he thought he saw a species of puritanical pride in the general tenour of Lady Adeline's manner of thinking and speaking, which seemed to justify the observations she had made upon her character. Then again he feared, that in other points he might discover more reason still to be dissatisfied—points on which his vital happiness rested. He looked instinctively round the room; but the person who at that moment crossed his thoughts was not present, and he again wrapped himself up in that mood of suspicion, which is ever on the alert to seek out the object which would give it most pain; under this influence he returned to the subject of Adeline's presentation dress, and said, addressing Lady Dunmelraise:

"I am not particularly an advocate for splendid attire; but I am sure, Lady Dunmelraise, you will agree with me in thinking, that there is an affectation in going unadorned to a court, which is a sort of disrespect to the place."

"Indeed," said Lady Adeline, in her wild eager way, "I will not go to much expenditure on my dress, for I have a plan for doing some good going on, which will require all the money I can collect, and I should be very sorry to see mamma wasting her's on any thing which I so little prize as my court-dress."

Lady Dunmelraise only smiled, and replied, "We must all subscribe to Adeline's toilette, for she is the veriest miser on that score herself. However, Lord Albert, do not be uneasy, I think she will not disgrace us," and the pleased mother passed on to other discourse.

This tenacity of Lady Adeline appeared to be a confirmation of his suspicions; and when, in the after part of the evening, Mr. Foley was announced, Lord Albert lost all command over himself, and under plea of a bad head-ache, sat silent, that he might the better watch every look and motion of Lady Adeline and Mr. Foley. Turning every indifferent word and gesture into the meaning with which his jealousy clothed it, he fancied that they were certainly mutually attached. Whatever soothing attentions Lady Adeline shewed to himself, he imagined were put on for the purpose of deceiving him; and his manner was so cold and haughty, that she in her turn began to shrink within herself, and to wear an abstracted, and somewhat distressed countenance.

Under this impression, Mr. Foley, with his doucereux air, whispered Lady Adeline, "that he was sure she was ill," and asked her "to cast out the evil spirit by her sweet power of music."

"Do, my love," said Lady Dunmelraise, "sing that delightful duet, which is always charming, 'O Momento fortunato!' and then I feel sure we shall be all love and harmony—shall we not, Lord D'Esterre?"

The chords of the piano-forte relieved him from the embarrassment of a reply, and he listened to the impassioned tones of poi Doman, poi Doman l'altro, ascribing to every intonation and every sentiment of her feeling voice the dictates of a passion for his supposed rival.

"That used to be a favourite of yours, Albert," said Lady Adeline when the duet was finished; "but I am afraid your head-ache prevents you from enjoying any thing to-night."

"I do not feel well," he replied shortly; "and lest my indisposition should in any way affect the pleasure of others, I will hasten away."

"Oh yes, you appear ill, indeed!" said Lady Adeline, fixing her eyes tenderly on his; "and, dear Albert, perhaps you had better go—the noise of company may be too much for you:" and she held out her hand to him—"Oh, if you are unwell, by all means go home," she repeated, with an anxiety of tender interest, that no one else could misinterpret to be any thing but genuine affection, but which to him seemed to spring from the desire of his absence.

"You shall be obeyed," he said, returning her look reproachfully; and at the same time reaching his hat, which happened to lie on a table beyond Mr. Foley, he almost rudely snatched it away, and with a celerity of movement that admitted of no courtesy to any one present, departed. Lady Dunmelraise called after him, "Lord Albert, do you dine here to-morrow?" But he heard not, or affected not to hear, and with the gnawing rage of blind jealousy darted into his carriage, and gave the order, "home."

Soon after the rest of the party broke up; and when Lady Dunmelraise and her daughter found themselves once more alone, their mutual silence proved that they both felt the strangeness of Lord Albert's manner of departure. But although the words were on Lady Dunmelraise's tongue to utter—"he is capricious,"—she restrained, and suffered them to die away in silence, determined that her daughter's own unbiassed judgment should form for herself that opinion of Lord Albert's character, which would soon now ultimately decide on her acceptance or rejection of him as her husband.