Suppose the reverse--the enthusiasm gone to dust, or become a wheezy old bellows, as it does where there's disparity of age, or it frequently does--then the sympathy with a good-looking stranger comes more rapidly still.
These were Lady Charlotte's glances right and left--idle flights of the eye of a mounted Amazon across hedges at the canter along the main road of her scheme; which was to do a service to the young man she liked and to the brother she loved, for the marked advantage of both equally; perhaps for the chance of a little gossip to follow about that tenacious woman by whom her brother was held hard and fast, kept away from friends and relatives, isolated, insomuch as to have given up living on his estate--the old home!--because he would not disgrace it or incur odium by taking her there.
In consequence of Lord Ormont's resistance to pressure from her on two or three occasions, she chose to nurse and be governed by the maxim for herself: Never propose a plan to him, if you want it adopted.

That was her way of harmlessly solacing love's vindictiveness for an injury.
She sent Arthur Abner a letter, thanking him for his recommendation of young Mr.Weyburn, stating her benevolent wishes as regarded the young man and "those hateful Memoirs," requesting that her name should not be mentioned in the affair, because she was anxious on all grounds to have the proposal accepted by her brother.

She could have vowed to herself that she wrote sincerely.
"He must want a secretary.

He would be shy at an offer of one from me.
Do you hint it, if you get a chance.

You gave us Mr.Weyburn, and Mr.
Eglett and I like him.