"Pooh," said Lady Delmour, turning away her head. Now, that _pooh_ is a
very significant word. On the lips of a man of business, it denotes
contempt for romance; on the lips of a politician it rebukes a theory.
With that monosyllable, a philosopher massacres a fallacy: by those four
letters a rich man gets rid of a beggar. But in the rosy mouth of a woman
the harshness vanishes, the disdain becomes encouragement. "Pooh!" says
the lady when you tell her she is handsome; but she smiles when she says
it. With the same reply she receives your protestation of love, and
blushes as she receives. With men it is the sternest, with women the
softest, exclamation in the language.

"Pooh!" said Lady Delmour, turning away her head:--and Godolphin was in
singular spirits. What a strange thing that we should call such hilarity
from our gloom! The stroke induces the flash; excite the nerves by
jealousy, by despair, and with the proud you only trace the excitement by
the mad mirth and hysterical laughter it creates. Godolphin was charming
comme un amour, and the young countess was delighted with his gallantry.

"Did you ever love?" asked she, tenderly, as they sat alone after supper.

"Alas, yes!" said he.

"How often?"

"Read Marmontel's story of the Four Phials: I have no other answer."

"Oh, what a beautiful tale that is! The whole history of a man's heart is
contained in it."