ference. We regard the treasure we value; and I should expect my jealousy to be taken as a proof of my devotion."
"Then," said Lady Mandeville, "you intend making love with a bunch of keys in one hand, and a dagger in the other."
"Alas! I live in an age when Bedlam is considered a fitting temple of romance. I must content myself with an abstract admiration of Turkish seclusion."
"Romance! All nonsense!" said Lord Merton, reaching across Emily for another slice of pine.
"On the contrary," replied Lorraine, "I think romance can never take a very high tone but in times of great civilisation. Romance is more matter of feeling than of passion; and if violent passions belong to a barbarous, strong feelings belong to a civilised state. Exemption from great bodily exertion is favourable to habits of thought. The refinement of our tastes, of course, is communicated to our sentiments; and we exaggerate, subtilise, and spiritualise—the three chief ingredients of romance."
"I believe," said Lady Mandeville, "that we abuse the age we live in, on the same principle that we take liberties with our friends.
