of the family over this
incident. The widow was rich, and it ranked among the unwritten crimes against
blood for one offshoot of a great house wantonly to thwart another in the wooing
of her by humbling him in her presence, doing his utmost to expose him as a
schemer, a culprit, and a poltroon.
    Could it be that Beauchamp had reserved his wrath with his cousin to avenge
Dr. Shrapnel upon him signally? Miss Denham feared her guardian was the cause.
Lydiard was indefinitely of her opinion. The idea struck Cecilia Halkett, and as
an example of Beauchamp's tenacity of purpose and sureness of aim it fascinated
her. But Mrs. Wardour-Devereux did not appear to share it. She objected to
Beauchamp's intemperateness and unsparingness, as if she was for conveying a
sisterly warning to Cecilia; and that being off her mind, she added, smiling a
little and colouring a little: »We learn only from men what men are.« How the
scene commenced and whether it was provoked, she failed to recollect. She
described Beauchamp as very self-contained in manner throughout: his tongue was
the scorpion. Cecilia fancied he must have resembled his uncle Everard.
    Cecilia was conquered, but unclaimed. While supporting and approving him in
her heart she was dreading to receive some new problem of his conduct; and still
while she blamed him for not seeking an interview with her, she liked him for
this instance of delicacy in the present state of his relations with Lord
Avonley.
    A problem of her own conduct disturbed the young lady's clear conception of
herself: and this was a ruffling of unfaithfulness in her love of Beauchamp,
that was betrayed to her by her forgetfulness of him whenever she chanced to be
with Seymour Austin. In Mr. Austin's company she recovered her forfeited repose,
her poetry of life, her image of the independent Cecilia throned above our dust
of battle, gazing on broad heaven. She carried the feeling so far that Blackburn
Tuckham's enthusiasm for Mr. Austin gave him grace in her sight, and praise of
her father's favourite from Mr. Austin's mouth made him welcome to her. The
image of that grave capable head, dusty-grey about the temples, and the darkly
sanguine face of the tried man, which was that of a seasoned warrior and
inspired full trust in him, with his vivid look, his personal distinction, his
plain devotion to the country's business, and the domestic solitude he lived in,
admired, esteemed, loved perhaps, but unpartnered, was often her refuge and