It was very beautiful, and the author recollected having thought,
at the time he wrote it down, that it was about the most forcible
sentence in that most powerful passage of his book. But it
was rather an exaggerated tone to adopt in the face of such
common-place surroundings. Had this exquisite creature, after
all, no better sense of the appropriate?

"No one can know better than I, my dear Constance," said the
author, in a fatherly tone, "what a beautiful, tender, and lofty
soul yours is; but would it not be well, once in a while, to
veil its lustre--to subdue it to a tint more in keeping with the
unvariegated hue of common circumstance?"

"Heartless and cruel!" sobbed Constance, falling upon the sofa,
"hast thou not made me what I am?"

This accusation, intended by the author to be leveled at the
traitor lover, quite took him aback when directed, with so much
aptness, too, at his respectable self. But whom but himself
could he blame, if, when common sense demanded only civility
and complaisance, she persisted in adhering to the tragic and
sentimental? He was provoked that he had not noticed this defect
in time to remedy it; yet he had once considered Constance as,
perhaps, the completest triumph of his genius! There seemed to
be something particularly disenchanting in the atmosphere of that
study.

"I'm afraid you're a failure, ma'am, after all," sighed the
author, eyeing her disconsolately. "You're so one-sided!"