touching, beautiful, to Hyacinth, in this simple, diffident admission; it confirmed his impression that Lady Aurora was in some mysterious, incongruous, and even slightly ludicrous manner a heroine, a creature of a noble ideal. She perhaps guessed that he was indulging in reflections that might be favourable to her, for she said, precipitately, the next minute, as if there were nothing she dreaded so much as the danger of a compliment, 'I think your aunt's so very attractive—and I'm sure Rose Muniment thinks so.' No sooner had she spoken than she blushed again; it appeared to have occurred to her that he might suppose she wished to contradict him by presenting this case of his aunt as a proof that the baser sort, even in a prosaic upper layer, were not without redeeming points. There was no reason why she should not have had this intention; so without sparing her, Hyacinth replied—
'You mean that she's an exception to what I was saying?' Lady Aurora stammered a little; then, at last, as if, since he wouldn't spare her, she wouldn't spare him, either, 'Yes, and you're an exception, too; you'll not make me believe you're wanting in intelligence. The Muniments don't think so,' she added.
'No more do I myself; but that doesn't prove that exceptions are not frequent. I have blood in my veins that is not the blood of the people.'
'Oh, I see,' said Lady Aurora, sympathetically. And with a smile she went on: 'Then you're all the more of an exception—in the upper class!'
Her smile was the kindest in the world, but it did not blind Hyacinth to the fact that from his own point of view he had been extraordinarily indiscreet. He believed a
