"You would have me believe that my noble lord is jealous.

Suppose it true, I know a cure for jealousy." "Indeed, madam ?" said Varney.
"It is," replied the lady, "to speak the truth to my lord at all times--to hold up my mind and my thoughts before him as pure as that polished mirror--so that when he looks into my heart, he shall only see his own features reflected there." "I am mute, madam," answered Varney; "and as I have no reason to grieve for Tressilian, who would have my heart's blood were he able, I shall reconcile myself easily to what may befall the gentleman in consequence of your frank disclosure of his having presumed to intrude upon your solitude.

You, who know my lord so much better than I, will judge if he be likely to bear the insult unavenged." "Nay, if I could think myself the cause of Tressilian's ruin," said the Countess, "I who have already occasioned him so much distress, I might be brought to be silent.

And yet what will it avail, since he was seen by Foster, and I think by some one else?
No, no, Varney, urge it no more.

I will tell the whole matter to my lord; and with such pleading for Tressilian's folly, as shall dispose my lord's generous heart rather to serve than to punish him." "Your judgment, madam," said Varney, "is far superior to mine, especially as you may, if you will, prove the ice before you step on it, by mentioning Tressilian's name to my lord, and observing how he endures it.