He boasted it to a sister sharing the pride exultant in the cry of the hawk, scornful of ambitions poultry, a passed finger-post to the plucked, and really regretful that no woman had been created fit for him.  When she was not aiding with her brother, women, however contemptible for their weakness, appeared to her as better than barn-door fowl, or vermin in their multitudes gnawing to get at the cheese-trap.  She could be humane, even sisterly, with women whose conduct or prattle did not outrage plain sense, just as the stickler for the privileges of her class was large-heartedly charitable to the classes flowing in oily orderliness round about below it—­if they did so flow.  Unable to read woman’s character, except upon the broadest lines as it were the spider’s main threads of its web, she read men minutely, from the fact that they were neither mysteries nor terrors to her; but creatures of importunate appetites, humorous objects; very manageable, if we leave the road to their muscles, dress their wounds, smoothe their creases, plume their vanity; and she had an unerring eye for the man to be used when a blow was needed, methods for setting him in action likewise.  She knew how much stronger than ordinary men the woman who can put them in motion.  They can be set to serve as pieces of cannon, under compliments on their superior powers, which were not all undervalued by her on their own merits, for she worshipped strength.  But the said, with a certain amount of truth, that the women unaware of the advantage Society gave them (as to mastering men) were fools.

Tender, is not a word coming near to Lady Charlotte.  Thoughtful on behalf of the poor foolish victims of men she was.  She had saved some, avenged others.  It should be stated, that her notion of saving was the saving of them from the public:  she had thrown up a screen.  The saving of them from themselves was another matter—­hopeless, to her thinking.  How preach at a creature on the bend of passion’s rapids!  One might as well read a chapter from the Bible to delirious patients.  When once a woman is taken with the love-passion, we must treat her as bitten; hide her antics from the public:  that is the principal business.  If she recovers, she resumes her place, and horrid old Nature, who drove her to the frenzy, is unlikely to bother or, at least, overthrow her again, unless she is one of the detestable wantons, past compassion or consideration.  In the case reviewed, the woman has gone through fire, and is none the worse for her experiences:  worth ten times what she was, to an honest man, if men could be got to see it.  Some do.  Of those men who do not, Lady Charlotte spoke with the old family-nurse humour, which is familiar with the tricks and frailties of the infants; and it is a knife to probe the male, while seemingly it does the part of the napkin—­pities and pats.  They expect a return of much for the little that is next to nothing.  They are fall of expectations:  and of what else?  They are hard bargainers.