She was her own fountain of honour, and were you
omnibus-tout or commander-in-chief, if she liked you you were in being, if
not, you didn't exist. One consequence of this was that she hated nobody,
and was offended at nothing. The vices or crimes of a non-existent world
were mere shadows, naturally; those of her circle of cognizance she had a
way, very much her own, of accounting for. A trick of hers, which had
become inveterate, was to explain states of being by phrases. These not
only explained, they seemed to condone; and to her there's no doubt, they
accounted for everything. Mr. William Chevenix, aware of her foible, did
not scruple to turn it to his ends when putting before her Sanchia's case.
"You see, Aunt, one rather admires her loyalty to the chap. He was
precious miserable, and she pitied him. Well, we know what comes of that,
don't we? It turns to liking, and gratitude, and all those swimmy
feelings; and then they swim together, all in a flux, eh? And there you
are." To which, when Lady Maria had nodded her head of kindly vulture
sagely, and mused aloud, "I see; an unfortunate attachment. Very common, I
believe, and quite sad," he knew that he had scored a point.
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