“Vetitum ergo cupitum,” interrupted Livingstone.  “A good many moralists before and since old Rabelais have discoursed on that text.  The Chief of Errington was probably much more agreeable, besides being a better match than Jock of Hazeldean, who clearly was what an old Frenchman lately described to me—­’un vaurien, mon cher, qui court les filles et qui n’a pas le son.’  But then poor Frank was the government candidate; so, of course, in a popular election, he went to the wall.”

Sir Henry’s face grew more pensive and grave as he said, “It is very hard on the women, certainly, that our race should have degenerated so, for I believe in my conscience they are as clever and wicked, and appreciate temptation as much as ever.” (The gusto with which he said this is indescribable.) “There is the Bellasys, for instance, with a calculating sensuality, an astuteness of stratagem, an utter contempt of truth, and a general aptitude for making fools of men, that poor Philip the Regent would have worshiped.  When she had no one better to corrupt, I have seen her take in hand an older, sadder, wiser, uglier man than myself, and in three days bring him to the verge of insanity, so that he would scowl at his wife, his companion for forty years, the blameless mother of six grown-up children, with a hideous expression indicative of carving-knives and strychnine.  Guy suits her best.  His thews and sinews awe her a little sometimes; and he has a certain hardness of character and pitilessness of purpose, improved by my instructions, which will carry him far, but not far enough, I think.  You’re right not to look flattered” (Guy’s face had moved no more than the marble Memnon’s); “you are only a shade better than the rest.  Our effete world is not worthy of that rare creature:  she was born a century too late.”

“I quite differ with you,” Bruce said, in his harshest voice; “I am certain the great plurality of the women of our day would resist any temptation, from fear of the consequences, if not from principle.”

Fancy the feelings of the Greek professor interrupted in his lecture by a controverting freshman, and you will have some idea of Fallowfield’s.  His eye lighted on the last speaker, glittering like a hooded snake’s, as it were caressing him with a lambent scorn.

I never guessed how much sneering provocation could reside in tones usually so very soft and musical till I heard him answer, “I suppose you do differ with me.  We probably both speak from experience.  On one point you are scarcely practical, though.  You think you can frighten a woman into propriety.  Try it.”

“Are you not too general in your strictures or encomiums?” I suggested, wishing to relieve the awkwardness which ensued; “surely there are many instances to the contrary.  Take Lady Clanronald, for instance, married to a man her elder by twenty years, and not very clever or agreeable, I should think.  No one ever breathed a whisper against her, and it has not been through default of aspirants.”