delighted both in her own affairs and those of her neighbours; and, though she could not, like the royal intriguante, sacrifice the lives of others, she scrupled not at the chief sacrifice of domestic despotism—she sacrificed their feelings.
Lady Anne Granard was seated in an arm-chair, by an open window—it was her favourite place, for it commanded the sweep up to the house, and she saw every carriage as it drove round. Unconscious of her near vicinity, Lord Allerton was outside, on the terrace, employed in taking a view of a particular turn in the road, which Lady Rotheles had pointed out as peculiarly well adapted for a sketch. He was looking one way, and Lady Anne was looking the opposite. Moreover, a large orange-tree was a complete screen between them. Still, had they been aware of each other's presence, they might have carried on a conversation, which would have been mutually agreeable; for Lady Anne, though convinced of her own pleasant company, was always ready to bestow it on any one rather than herself—it was her only act of disinterested kindness—the only thing in the world that she was ever ready to give.
Lord Allerton was beginning to get tired of drawing, with no one to admire the freedom of his outline and the beauty of his tints; but, though fated to take an important part in Lady Anne's conversation that morning, it was only in the subordinate character of listener.
