“No;—­I will not let you say that of her.  She is no jilt.  But I think she has been strangely ignorant of her own mind.  What is the use of talking of it, Madame Goesler?”

“None;—­only sometimes it is better to speak a word, than to keep one’s sorrow to oneself.”

“So it is;—­and there is not one in the world to whom I can speak such a word, except yourself.  Is not that odd?  I have sisters, but they have never heard of Miss Effingham, and would be quite indifferent.”

“Perhaps they have some other favourites.”

“Ah;—­well.  That does not matter, And my best friend here in London is Lord Chiltern’s own sister.”

“She knew of your attachment?”

“Oh, yes.”

“And she told you of Miss Effingham’s engagement.  Was she glad of it?”

“She has always desired the marriage.  And yet I think she would have been satisfied had it been otherwise.  But of course her heart must be with her brother.  I need not have troubled myself to go to Blankenberg after all.”

“It was for the best, perhaps.  Everybody says you behaved so well.”

“I could not but go, as things were then.”

“What if you had—­shot him?”

“There would have been an end of everything.  She would never have seen me after that.  Indeed I should have shot myself next, feeling that there was nothing else left for me to do.”

“Ah;—­you English are so peculiar.  But I suppose it is best not to shoot a man.  And, Mr. Finn, there are other ladies in the world prettier than Miss Violet Effingham.  No;—­of course you will not admit that now.  Just at this moment, and for a month or two, she is peerless, and you will feel yourself to be of all men the most unfortunate.  But you have the ball at your feet.  I know no one so young who has got the ball at his feet so well.  I call it nothing to have the ball at your feet if you are born with it there.  It is so easy to be a lord if your father is one before you,—­and so easy to marry a pretty girl if you can make her a countess.  But to make yourself a lord, or to be as good as a lord, when nothing has been born to you,—­that I call very much.  And there are women, and pretty women too, Mr. Finn, who have spirit enough to understand this, and to think that the man, after all, is more important than the lord.”  Then she sang the old well-worn verse of the Scotch song with wonderful spirit, and with a clearness of voice and knowledge of music for which he had hitherto never given her credit.

   “A prince can mak’ a belted knight,
      A marquis, duke, and a’ that;
    But an honest man’s aboon his might,
      Guid faith he mauna fa’ that.”

“I did not know that you sung, Madame Goesler.”

“Only now and then when something specially requires it.  And I am very fond of Scotch songs.  I will sing to you now if you like it.”  Then she sang the whole song,—­“A man’s a man for a’ that,” she said as she finished.  “Even though he cannot get the special bit of painted Eve’s flesh for which his heart has had a craving.”  Then she sang again:—­