Erpingham's arm, sought another seat;--that seat, on the opposite side of
the pillar behind which Godolphin sat, was still within his hearing.

"Upon my word, Miss Vernon," said Erpingham, "I admire your spirit.
Nothing like setting down those absurd people who try to tease one, and
think one dares not retort. But pray--I hope I'm not impertinent--pray,
may I ask if this rumour have any truth in it?"

"Certainly not," said Constance, with great effort, but in a clear tone.

"No: I should have thought not--I should have thought not. Godolphin's
much too poor--much too poor for you. Miss Vernon is not born to marry
for love in a cottage,--is she?"

Constance sighed.

That soft, low tone thrilled to Godolphin's very heart. He bent forward:
he held his breath: he thirsted for her voice; for some tone, some word in
answer; it came not at that moment.

"You remember," renewed the earl,--"you remember Miss L----? no: she was
before your time. Well! she married S----, much such another fellow as
Godolphin. He had not a shilling: but he lived well: had a house in
Mayfair; gave dinners; hunted at Melton, and so forth: in short, he played
high. She had about ten thousand pounds. They married, and lived for two
years so comfortably, you have no idea. Every one envied them. They did
not keep a close carriage, but he used to drive her out to dinners in his
French cabriolet.[1] There was no show--no pomp: everything deuced neat,
though; quite love in a cottage--only the cottage was in Curzon Street.
At length, however, the cards turned; S---- lost everything; owed more