He was, in truth, often casting about for the chances of his meeting on some fortunate day the predestined schoolmaster's wife: a lady altogether praiseworthy for carrying principles of sound government instead of magic.

Consequently, susceptible to woman's graces though he knew himself to be, Lady Ormont's share of them hung in the abstract for him.
His hopes were bent on an early escape to Switzerland and his life's work.
Lady Charlotte mounted to ride to the battle daily.

She talked of her brother Rowsley, and of 'Aminta,' and provoked an advocacy of the Countess of Ormont, and trampled the pleas and defences to dust, much in the same tone as on the first day; sometimes showing a peep of sweet humaneness, like the ripe berry of a bramble, and at others rattling thunder at the wretch of a woman audacious enough to pretend to a part in her brother's title.
Not that she had veneration for titles.

She considered them a tinsel, and the devotee on his knee-caps to them a lump for a kick.

Adding: 'Of course I stand for my class; and if we can't have a manlier people--and it 's not likely in a country treating my brother so badly--well, then, let things go on as they are.' But it was the pretension to a part in the name of Ormont which so violently offended the democratic aristocrat, and caused her to resent it as an assault on the family honour, by 'a woman springing up out of nothing'-- a woman of no distinctive birth.
She was rational in her fashion; or Weyburn could at least see where and how the reason in her took a twist.