fortunes were left entirely dependent upon him, first pleased my friend.  It was like what she would have done herself, and like—­in short, it is what few young men, as she said, of the present day would do.  Then his refraining from all personal expenses, his going without equipage and without horses, that he might do what he felt to be right, whilst it exposed him continually to the ridicule of fashionable young men, or to the charge of avarice, made a very different impression on Miss Broadhurst’s mind; her esteem and admiration were excited by these proofs of strength of character, and of just and good principles.’

‘If you go on, you will make me envious and jealous of my friend,’ said Lord Colambre.

’You jealous!—­Oh, it is too late now—­besides, you cannot be jealous, for you never loved.’

‘I never loved Miss Broadhurst, I acknowledge.’

’There was the advantage Sir Arthur Berryl had over you—­he loved, and my friend saw it.’

‘She was clear-sighted,’ said Lord Colambre.

‘She was clear-sighted,’ repeated Miss Nugent; ’but if you mean that she was vain, and apt to fancy people in love with her, I can assure you that you are mistaken.  Never was woman, young or old, more clear-sighted to the views of those by whom she was addressed.  No flattery, no fashion, could blind her judgment.’

‘She knew how to choose a friend well, I am sure,’ said Lord Colambre.

’And a friend for life too, I am sure you will allow and she had such numbers, such strange variety of admirers, as might have puzzled the choice and turned the brain of any inferior person.  Such a succession of lovers as she has had this summer, ever since you went to Ireland—­they appeared and vanished like figures in a magic-lantern.  She had three noble admirers—­rank in three different forms offered themselves.  First came in, hobbling, rank and gout; next, rank and gaming; then rank, Very high rank, over head and ears in debt.  All of these were rejected; and, as they moved off; I thought Mrs. Broadhurst would have broken her heart.  Next came fashion, with his head, heart, and soul in his cravat—­he quickly made his bow, or rather his nod, and walked off, taking a pinch of snuff.  Then came a man of gallantry, but,’ whispered Miss Nugent, ’there was a mistress in the wood; and my friend could have nothing to do with that gentleman.’

’Now, if she liked the man, interrupted Lord Clonbrony, ’and I suppose she did, for all women, but yourself, Grace, like men of gallantry, Miss Broadhurst was a goose for refusing him on account of the mistress; because she might have been bought up, and settled with a few thousand pounds.’

‘Be that as it may,’ said Miss Nugent; ’my friend did not like, and would not accept, of the man of gallantry; so he retired and comforted himself with a copy of verses.  Then came a man of wit—­but still it was wit without worth; and presently came “worth without wit.”  She preferred “wit and worth united,” which she fortunately at last found, Lord Colambre, in your friend, Sir Arthur Berryl.’