"Poor fool,"
said many a fair dame with a contemptuous shrug of shoulders, "why was
she so verdant as to elope? with a husband as adoring she might easily
have kept her place in society and her actor too." And so when they
met they passed her by, she not having the wisdom of the world. And
Lady Esmondet from the corner of the carriage thought on; of how
Lionel's father on his wife's desertion of him had gone to the dogs,
rushing into all kinds of mad dissipation up to the time of his wife's
death, when he became a confirmed misanthrope, living in absolute
seclusion until his own death some two years agone; while going to
destruction for distraction's sake, poor man, he had reduced his
income to about L8,000 per annum. Before his death he had imbued
Lionel with a distrust of women, endeavouring to extract an oath of
celibacy from the son whom he loved, and who loved him. "Never trust
one of the frail sex with your name and honor, my son," he would never
tire of saying. Lionel did not make an oath as his father prayed, but
said wearily, "Never fear, father, I shall trust none of the gay
butterflies further than I can see the brightness of their wings; much
less give them, any one of them, the chance to sully our escutcheon
with another blot," and continuing he would woo his poor father to
quiet by saying, "No, I know them too well; our motto is theirs, they
are "always the same, always.
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