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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Young Duke, by Benjamin Disraeli
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Young Duke
+
+Author: Benjamin Disraeli
+
+Release Date: December 3, 2006 [EBook #20008]
+Last Updated: September 7, 2016
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE YOUNG DUKE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+THE YOUNG DUKE
+
+By Benjamin Disraeli
+
+[Illustration: cover]
+
+[Illustration: spines]
+
+[Illustration: coverplates]
+
+[Illustration: frontis-p79]
+
+[Illustration: frontislable]
+
+[Illustration: titlepage1]
+
+
+
+
+BOOK I.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+     _Fortune’s Favourite_
+
+GEORGE AUGUSTUS FREDERICK, DUKE OF ST. JAMES, completed his twenty-first
+year, an event which created almost as great a sensation among the
+aristocracy of England as the Norman Conquest. A minority of twenty
+years had converted a family always amongst the wealthiest of Great
+Britain into one of the richest in Europe. The Duke of St. James
+possessed estates in the north and in the west of England, besides a
+whole province in Ireland. In London there were a very handsome square
+and several streets, all made of bricks, which brought him in yearly
+more cash than all the palaces of Vicenza are worth in fee-simple, with
+those of the Grand Canal of Venice to boot. As if this were not enough,
+he was an hereditary patron of internal navigation; and although perhaps
+in his two palaces, three castles, four halls, and lodges _ad libitum_,
+there were more fires burnt than in any other establishment in the
+empire, this was of no consequence, because the coals were his own. His
+rent-roll exhibited a sum total, very neatly written, of two hundred
+thousand pounds; but this was independent of half a million in the
+funds, which we had nearly forgotten, and which remained from the
+accumulations occasioned by the unhappy death of his father.
+
+The late Duke of St. James had one sister, who was married to the Earl
+of Fitz-pompey. To the great surprise of the world, to the perfect
+astonishment of the brother-in-law, his Lordship was not appointed
+guardian to the infant minor. The Earl of Fitz-pompey had always been on
+the best possible terms with his Grace: the Countess had, only the year
+before his death, accepted from his fraternal hand a diamond bracelet;
+the Lord Viscount St. Maurice, future chief of the house of Fitz-pompey,
+had the honour not only of being his nephew, but his godson. Who could
+account, then, for an action so perfectly unaccountable? It was quite
+evident that his Grace had no intention of dying.
+
+The guardian, however, that he did appoint was a Mr. Dacre, a Catholic
+gentleman of ancient family and large fortune, who had been the
+companion of his travels, and was his neighbour in his county. Mr. Dacre
+had not been honoured with the acquaintance of Lord Fitz-pompey previous
+to the decease of his noble friend; and after that event such an
+acquaintance would probably not have been productive of agreeable
+reminiscences; for from the moment of the opening of the fatal will
+the name of Dacre was wormwood to the house of St. Maurice. Lord
+Fitz-pompey, who, though the brother-in-law of a Whig magnate, was a
+Tory, voted against the Catholics with renewed fervour.
+
+Shortly after the death of his friend, Mr. Dacre married a beautiful and
+noble lady of the house of Howard, who, after having presented him with
+a daughter, fell ill, and became that common character, a confirmed
+invalid. In the present day, and especially among women, one would
+almost suppose that health was a state of unnatural existence. The
+illness of his wife and the non-possession of parliamentary duties
+rendered Mr. Dacre’s visits to his town mansion rare, and the mansion in
+time was let.
+
+The young Duke, with the exception of an occasional visit to his uncle,
+Lord Fitz-pompey, passed the early years of his life at Castle Dacre.
+At seven years of age he was sent to a preparatory school at Richmond,
+which was entirely devoted to the early culture of the nobility, and
+where the principal, the Reverend Doctor Coronet, was so extremely
+exclusive in his system that it was reported that he had once refused
+the son of an Irish peer. Miss Coronet fed her imagination with the hope
+of meeting her father’s noble pupils in after-life, and in the meantime
+read fashionable novels.
+
+The moment that the young Duke was settled at Richmond, all the
+intrigues of the Fitz-pompey family were directed to that quarter; and
+as Mr. Dacre was by nature unsuspicious, and was even desirous that
+his ward should cultivate the friendship of his only relatives, the St.
+Maurice family had the gratification, as they thought, of completely
+deceiving him. Lady Fitz-pompey called twice a week at Crest House with
+a supply of pine-apples or bonbons, and the Rev. Dr. Coronet bowed in
+adoration. Lady Isabella St. Maurice gave a china cup to Mrs. Coronet,
+and Lady Augusta a paper-cutter to Miss. The family was secured. All
+discipline was immediately set at defiance, and the young Duke passed
+the greater part of the half-year with his affectionate relations.
+His Grace, charmed with the bonbons of his aunt and the kisses of his
+cousins, which were even sweeter than the sugar-plums; delighted
+with the pony of St. Maurice, which immediately became his own; and
+inebriated by the attentions of his uncle,--who, at eight years of age,
+treated him, as his Lordship styled it, ‘like a man’--contrasted this
+life of early excitement with what now appeared the gloom and the
+restraint of Castle Dacre, and he soon entered into the conspiracy,
+which had long been hatching, with genuine enthusiasm. He wrote to his
+guardian, and obtained permission to spend his vacation with his uncle.
+Thus, through the united indulgence of Dr. Coronet and Mr. Dacre, the
+Duke of St. James became a member of the family of St. Maurice.
+
+No sooner had Lord Fitz-pompey secured the affections of the ward than
+he entirely changed his system towards the guardian. He wrote to
+Mr. Dacre, and in a manner equally kind and dignified courted his
+acquaintance. He dilated upon the extraordinary, though extremely
+natural, affection which Lady Fitz-pompey entertained for the only
+offspring of her beloved brother, upon the happiness which the young
+Duke enjoyed with his cousins, upon the great and evident advantages
+which his Grace would derive from companions of his own age, of the
+singular friendship which he had already formed with St. Maurice; and
+then, after paying Mr. Dacre many compliments upon the admirable manner
+in which he had already fulfilled the duties of his important office,
+and urging the lively satisfaction that a visit from their brother’s
+friend would confer both upon Lady Fitz-pompey and himself, he requested
+permission for his nephew to renew the visit in which he had been ‘so
+happy!’ The Duke seconded the Earl’s diplomatic scrawl in the most
+graceful round-text. The masterly intrigues of Lord Fitz-pompey,
+assisted by Mrs. Dacre’s illness, which daily increased, and which
+rendered perfect quiet indispensable, were successful, and the young
+Duke arrived at his twelfth year without revisiting Dacre. Every year,
+however, when Mr. Dacre made a short visit to London, his ward spent
+a few days in his company, at the house of an old-fashioned Catholic
+nobleman; a visit which only afforded a dull contrast to the gay society
+and constant animation of his uncle’s establishment.
+
+It would seem that fate had determined to counteract the intentions
+of the late Duke of St. James, and to achieve those of the Earl of
+Fitz-pompey. At the moment that the noble minor was about to leave Dr.
+Coronet for Eton, Mrs. Dacre’s state was declared hopeless, except from
+the assistance of an Italian sky, and Mr. Dacre, whose attachment to his
+lady was romantic, determined to leave England immediately.
+
+It was with deep regret that he parted from his ward, whom he tenderly
+loved; but all considerations merged in the paramount one; and he was
+consoled by the reflection that he was, at least, left to the care of
+his nearest connections. Mr. Dacre was not unaware of the dangers
+to which his youthful pledge might be exposed by the indiscriminate
+indulgence of his uncle, but he trusted to the impartial and inviolable
+system of a public school to do much; and he anticipated returning to
+England before his ward was old enough to form those habits which are
+generally so injurious to young nobles. In this hope Mr. Dacre was
+disappointed. Mrs. Dacre lingered, and revived, and lingered, for nearly
+eight years; now filling the mind of her husband and her daughter with
+unreasonable hope, now delivering them to that renewed anguish, that
+heart-rending grief, which the attendant upon a declining relative can
+alone experience, additionally agonizing because it cannot be indulged.
+Mrs. Dacre died, and the widower and his daughter returned to England.
+In the meantime, the Duke of St. James had not been idle.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+     _Tender Relatives_
+
+THE departure and, at length, the total absence of Mr. Dacre from
+England yielded to Lord Fitz-pompey all the opportunity he had long
+desired. Hitherto he had contented himself with quietly sapping the
+influence of the guardian: now that influence was openly assailed. All
+occasions were seized of depreciating the character of Mr. Dacre,
+and open lamentations were poured forth on the strange and unhappy
+indiscretion of the father who had confided the guardianship of his son,
+not to his natural and devoted friends, but to a harsh and repulsive
+stranger. Long before the young Duke had completed his sixteenth year
+all memory of the early kindness of his guardian, if it had ever
+been imprinted on his mind, was carefully obliterated from it. It was
+constantly impressed upon him that nothing but the exertions of his aunt
+and uncle had saved him from a life of stern privation and irrational
+restraint: and the man who had been the chosen and cherished confidant
+of the father was looked upon by the son as a grim tyrant, from whose
+clutches he had escaped, and in which he determined never again to find
+himself. ‘Old Dacre,’ as Lord Fitz-pompey described him, was a phantom
+enough at any time to frighten his youthful ward. The great object
+of the uncle was to teaze and mortify the guardian into resigning his
+trust, and infinite were the contrivances to bring about this desirable
+result; but Mr. Dacre was obstinate, and, although absent, contrived to
+carry on and complete the system for the management of the Hauteville
+property which he had so beneficially established and so long pursued.
+
+In quitting England, although he had appointed a fixed allowance for
+his noble ward, Mr. Dacre had thought proper to delegate a discretionary
+authority to Lord Fitz-pompey to furnish him with what might be called
+extraordinary necessaries. His Lordship availed himself with such
+dexterity of this power that his nephew appeared to be indebted for
+every indulgence to his uncle, who invariably accompanied every act of
+this description with an insinuation that he might thank Mrs. Dacre’s
+illness for the boon.
+
+‘Well, George,’ he would say to the young Etonian, ‘you shall have
+the boat, though I hardly know how I shall pass the account at
+head-quarters; and make yourself easy about Flash’s bill, though I
+really cannot approve of such proceedings. Thank your stars you have not
+got to present that account to old Dacre. Well, I am one of those who
+are always indulgent to young blood. Mr. Dacre and I differ. He is your
+guardian, though. Everything is in his power; but you shall never want
+while your uncle can help you; and so run off to Caroline, for I see you
+want to be with her.’
+
+The Lady Isabella and the Lady Augusta, who had so charmed Mrs. and Miss
+Coronet, were no longer in existence. Each had knocked down her earl.
+Brought up by a mother exquisitely adroit in female education, the
+Ladies St. Maurice had run but a brief, though a brilliant, career.
+Beautiful, and possessing every accomplishment which renders beauty
+valuable, under the unrivalled chaperonage of the Countess they had
+played their popular parts without a single blunder. Always in the best
+set, never flirting with the wrong man, and never speaking to the wrong
+woman, all agreed that the Ladies St. Maurice had fairly won their
+coronets. Their sister Caroline was much younger; and although she did
+not promise to develop so unblemished a character as themselves, she
+was, in default of another sister, to be the Duchess of St. James.
+
+Lady Caroline St. Maurice was nearly of the same age as her cousin, the
+young Duke. They had been play-fellows since his emancipation from
+the dungeons of Castle Dacre, and every means had been adopted by her
+judicious parents to foster and to confirm the kind feelings which had
+been first engendered by being partners in the same toys and sharing
+the same sports. At eight years old the little Duke was taught to call
+Caroline his ‘wife;’ and as his Grace grew in years, and could better
+appreciate the qualities of his sweet and gentle cousin, he was not
+disposed to retract the title. When George rejoined the courtly Coronet,
+Caroline invariably mingled her tears with those of her sorrowing
+spouse; and when the time at length arrived for his departure for Eton,
+Caroline knitted him a purse and presented him with a watch-ribbon. At
+the last moment she besought her brother, who was two years older, to
+watch over him, and soothed the moment of final agony by a promise to
+correspond. Had the innocent and soft-hearted girl been acquainted with,
+or been able to comprehend, the purposes of her crafty parents, she
+could not have adopted means more calculated to accomplish them. The
+young Duke kissed her a thousand times, and loved her better than all
+the world.
+
+In spite of his private house and his private tutor, his Grace did not
+make all the progress in his classical studies which means so calculated
+to promote abstraction and to assist acquirement would seem to promise.
+The fact is, that as his mind began to unfold itself he found a
+perpetual and a more pleasing source of study in the contemplation of
+himself. His early initiation in the school of Fitz-pompey had not been
+thrown away. He had heard much of nobility, and beauty, and riches,
+and fashion, and power; he had seen many individuals highly, though
+differently, considered for the relative quantities which they possessed
+of these qualities; it appeared to the Duke of St. James that among the
+human race he possessed the largest quantity of them all: he cut his
+private tutor. His private tutor, who had been appointed by Mr. Dacre,
+remonstrated to Lord Fitz-pompey, and with such success that he thought
+proper shortly after to resign his situation. Dr. Coronet begged to
+recommend his son, the Rev. Augustus Granville Coronet. The Duke of St.
+James now got on rapidly, and also found sufficient time for his boat,
+his tandem, and his toilette.
+
+The Duke of St. James appeared at Christ Church. His conceit kept him
+alive for a few terms. It is delightful to receive the homage of two
+thousand young men of the best families in the country, to breakfast
+with twenty of them, and to cut the rest. In spite, however, of the
+glories of the golden tuft and a delightful private establishment which
+he and his followers maintained in the chaste suburbs of Alma Mater, the
+Duke of St. James felt ennuied. Consequently, one clear night, they set
+fire to a pyramid of caps and gowns in Peckwater. It was a silly thing
+for any one: it was a sad indiscretion for a Duke; but it was done. Some
+were expelled; his Grace had timely notice, and having before cut the
+Oxonians, now cut Oxford.
+
+Like all young men who get into scrapes, the Duke of St. James
+determined to travel. The Dacres returned to England before he did. He
+dexterously avoided coming into contact with them in Italy. Mr. Dacre
+had written to him several times during the first years of his absence;
+and although the Duke’s answers were short, seldom, and not very
+satisfactory, Mr. Dacre persisted in occasionally addressing him. When,
+however, the Duke had arrived at an age when he was at least morally
+responsible for his own conduct, and entirely neglected answering his
+guardian’s letters, Mr. Dacre became altogether silent.
+
+The travelling career of the young Duke may be conceived by those who
+have wasted their time, and are compensated for that silliness by being
+called men of the world. He gamed a little at Paris; he ate a good deal
+at Vienna; and he studied the fine arts in Italy. In all places his
+homage to the fair sex was renowned. The Parisian duchess, the Austrian
+princess, and the Italian countess spoke in the most enthusiastic terms
+of the English nobility. At the end of three years the Duke of St. James
+was of opinion that he had obtained a great knowledge of mankind. He was
+mistaken; travel is not, as is imagined, the best school for that sort
+of science. Knowledge of mankind is a knowledge of their passions. The
+traveller is looked upon as a bird of passage, whose visit is short, and
+which the vanity of the visited wishes to make agreeable. All is
+show, all false, and all made up. Coterie succeeds coterie, equally
+smiling--the explosions take place in his absence. Even a grand passion,
+which teaches a man more, perhaps, than anything else, is not very
+easily excited by the traveller. The women know that, sooner or later,
+he must disappear; and though this is the case with all lovers, they do
+not like to miss the possibility of delusion. Thus the heroines keep in
+the background, and the visitor, who is always in a hurry, falls into
+the net of the first flirtation that offers.
+
+The Duke of St. James had, however, acquired a great knowledge; if
+not of mankind, at any rate of manners. He had visited all Courts, and
+sparkled in the most brilliant circles of the Continent. He returned to
+his own country with a taste extremely refined, a manner most polished,
+and a person highly accomplished.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+     _The Duke Returns_
+
+A SORT of scrambling correspondence had been kept up between the young
+Duke and his cousin, Lord St. Maurice, who had for a few months been his
+fellow-traveller. By virtue of these epistles, notice of the movements
+of their interesting relative occasionally reached the circle at
+Fitz-pompey House, although St. Maurice was scanty in the much-desired
+communications; because, like most young Englishmen, he derived
+singular pleasure from depriving his fellow-creatures of all that small
+information which every one is so desirous to obtain. The announcement,
+however, of the approaching arrival of the young Duke was duly made.
+Lord Fitz-pompey wrote and offered apartments at Fitz-pompey House. They
+were refused. Lord Fitz-pompey wrote again to require instructions for
+the preparation of Hauteville House. His letter was unanswered. Lord
+Fitz-pompey was quite puzzled.
+
+‘When does your cousin mean to come, Charles?’ ‘Where does your cousin
+mean to go, Charles?’ ‘What does your cousin mean to do, Charles?’ These
+were the hourly queries of the noble uncle.
+
+At length, in the middle of January, when no one expected him, the Duke
+of St. James arrived at Mivart’s.
+
+He was attended by a French cook, an Italian valet, a German jäger, and
+a Greek page. At this dreary season of the year this party was, perhaps,
+the most distinguished in the metropolis.
+
+Three years’ absence and a little knowledge of life had somewhat changed
+the Duke of St. James’s feelings with regard to his noble relatives.
+He was quite disembarrassed of that Panglossian philosophy which had
+hitherto induced him to believe that the Earl of Fitz-pompey was the
+best of all possible uncles. On the contrary, his Grace rather doubted
+whether the course which his relations had pursued towards him was
+quite the most proper and the most prudent; and he took great credit
+to himself for having, with such unbounded indulgence, on the whole
+deported himself with so remarkable a temperance. His Grace, too, could
+no longer innocently delude himself with the idea that all the attention
+which had been lavished upon him was solely occasioned by the impulse
+of consanguinity. Finally, the young Duke’s conscience often misgave him
+when he thought of Mr. Dacre. He determined, therefore, on returning to
+England, not to commit himself too decidedly with the Fitz-pompeys, and
+he had cautiously guarded himself from being entrapped into becoming
+their guest. At the same time, the recollection of old intimacy, the
+general regard which he really felt for them all, and the sincere
+affection which he entertained for his cousin Caroline, would have
+deterred him from giving any outward signs of his altered feelings, even
+if other considerations had not intervened.
+
+And other considerations did intervene. A Duke, and a young Duke, is
+an important personage; but he must still be introduced. Even our
+hero might make a bad tack on his first cruise. Almost as important
+personages have committed the same blunder. Talk of Catholic
+emancipation! O! thou Imperial Parliament, emancipate the forlorn
+wretches who have got into a bad set! Even thy omnipotence must fail
+there!
+
+Now, the Countess of Fitz-pompey was a brilliant of the first water.
+Under no better auspices could the Duke of St. James bound upon the
+stage. No man in town could arrange his club affairs for him with
+greater celerity and greater tact than the Earl; and the married
+daughters were as much like their mother as a pair of diamond ear-rings
+are like a diamond necklace.
+
+The Duke, therefore, though he did not choose to get caged in
+Fitz-pompey House, sent his page, Spiridion, to the Countess, on a
+special embassy of announcement on the evening of his arrival, and on
+the following morning his Grace himself made his appearance at an early
+hour.
+
+Lord Fitz-pompey, who was as consummate a judge of men and manners as he
+was an indifferent speculator on affairs, and who was almost as finished
+a man of the world as he was an imperfect philosopher, soon perceived
+that considerable changes had taken place in the ideas as well as in the
+exterior of his nephew. The Duke, however, was extremely cordial, and
+greeted the family in terms almost of fondness. He shook his uncle by
+the hand with a fervour with which few noblemen had communicated for
+a considerable period, and he saluted his aunt on the cheek with a
+delicacy which did not disturb the rouge. He turned to his cousin.
+
+Lady Caroline St. Maurice was indeed a right beautiful being. She, whom
+the young Duke had left merely a graceful and kind-hearted girl, three
+years had changed into a somewhat dignified but most lovely woman. A
+little perhaps of her native ease had been lost; a little perhaps of a
+manner rather too artificial had supplanted that exquisite address
+which Nature alone had prompted; but at this moment her manner was as
+unstudied and as genuine as when they had gambolled together in the
+bowers of Malthorpe. Her white and delicate arm was extended with
+cordial grace, her full blue eye beamed with fondness, and the soft
+blush that rose on her fair cheek exquisitely contrasted with the
+clusters of her dark brown hair.
+
+The Duke was struck, almost staggered. He remembered their infant
+loves; he recovered with ready address. He bent his head with graceful
+affection and pressed her lips. He almost repented that he had not
+accepted his uncle’s offer of hospitality.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+     _A Social Triumph_
+
+LORD FITZ-POMPEY was a little consoled for the change which he had
+observed in the character of the Duke by the remembrance of the embrace
+with which his Grace had greeted Lady Caroline. Never indeed did a
+process which has, through the lapse of so many ages, occasioned so much
+delight, produce more lively satisfaction than the kiss in question.
+Lord Fitz-pompey had given up his plan of managing the Duke after the
+family dinner which his nephew had the pleasure to join the first day
+of his first visit. The Duke and he were alone, and his Lordship availed
+himself of the rare opportunity with that adroitness for which he was
+celebrated. Nothing could be more polite, more affable, more kind,
+than his Grace’s manner! but the uncle cared little for politeness, or
+affability, or kindness. The crafty courtier wanted candour, and that
+was absent. That ingenuous openness of disposition, that frank and
+affectionate demeanour, for which the Duke of St. James had been
+so remarkable in his early youth, and with the aid of which Lord
+Fitz-pompey had built so many Spanish castles, had quite disappeared.
+
+Nothing could be more artificial, more conventional, more studied, than
+his whole deportment. In vain Lord Fitz-pompey pumped; the empty bucket
+invariably reminded him of his lost labour. In vain his Lordship laid
+his little diplomatic traps to catch a hint of the purposes or an
+intimation of the inclinations of his nephew; the bait was never seized.
+In vain the Earl affected unusual conviviality and boundless affection;
+the Duke sipped his claret and admired his pictures. Nothing would
+do. An air of habitual calm, a look of kind condescension, and an
+inclination to a smile, which never burst into a beam, announced that
+the Duke of St. James was perfectly satisfied with existence, and
+conscious that he was himself, of that existence, the most distinguished
+ornament. In fact, he was a sublime coxcomb; one of those rare
+characters whose finished manner and shrewd sense combined prevent
+their conceit from being contemptible. After many consultations it was
+determined between the aunt and uncle that it would be most prudent to
+affect a total non-interference with their nephew’s affairs, and in
+the meantime to trust to the goodness of Providence and the charms of
+Caroline.
+
+Lady Fitz-pompey determined that the young Duke should make his debut at
+once, and at her house. Although it was yet January, she did not despair
+of collecting a select band of guests, Brahmins of the highest caste.
+Some choice spirits were in office, like her lord, and therefore in
+town; others were only passing through; but no one caught a flying-fish
+with more dexterity than the Countess. The notice was short, the whole
+was unstudied. It was a felicitous impromptu, and twenty guests were
+assembled, who were the Corinthian capitals of the temple of fashion.
+
+There was the Premier, who was invited, not because he was a minister,
+but because he was a hero. There was another Duke not less celebrated,
+whose palace was a breathing shrine which sent forth the oracles of
+mode. True, he had ceased to be a young Duke; but he might be consoled
+for the vanished lustre of youth by the recollection that he had enjoyed
+it, and by the present inspiration of an accomplished manhood. There
+were the Prince and the Princess Protocoli: his Highness a first-rate
+diplomatist, unrivalled for his management of an opera; and his consort,
+with a countenance like Cleopatra and a tiara like a constellation,
+famed alike for her shawls and her snuff. There were Lord and Lady
+Bloomerly, who were the best friends on earth: my Lord a sportsman, but
+soft withal, his talk the Jockey Club, filtered through White’s; my Lady
+a little blue, and very beautiful. Their daughter, Lady Charlotte, rose
+by her mother’s side like a tall bud by a full-blown flower. There were
+the Viscountess Blaze, a peeress in her own right, and her daughter,
+Miss Blaze Dash-away, who, besides the glory of the future coronet,
+moved in all the confidence of independent thousands. There was the
+Marquess of Macaroni, who was at the same time a general, an ambassador,
+and a dandy; and who, if he had liked, could have worn twelve orders;
+but this day, being modest, only wore six. There, too, was the
+Marchioness, with a stomacher stiff with brilliants extracted from the
+snuff-boxes presented to her husband at a Congress.
+
+There were Lord Sunium, who was not only a peer but a poet; and his
+lady, a Greek, who looked just finished by Phidias. There, too, was
+Pococurante, the epicurean and triple millionaire, who in a political
+country dared to despise politics, in the most aristocratic of kingdoms
+had refused nobility, and in a land which showers all its honours upon
+its cultivators invested his whole fortune in the funds. He lived in a
+retreat like the villa of Hadrian, and maintained himself in an elevated
+position chiefly by his wit and a little by his wealth. There, too, were
+his noble wife, thoroughbred to her fingers’ tips, and beaming like the
+evening star; and his son, who was an M.P., and thought his father a
+fool. In short, our party was no common party, but a band who formed the
+very core of civilisation; a high court of last appeal, whose word was
+a fiat, whose sign was a hint, whose stare was death, and
+sneer----damnation!
+
+The Graces befriend us! We have forgotten the most important personage.
+It is the first time in his life that Charles Annesley has been
+neglected. It will do him good.
+
+Dandy has been voted vulgar, and beau is now the word. It may be doubted
+whether the revival will stand; and as for the exploded title, though it
+had its faults at first, the muse of Byron has made it not only English,
+but classical. Charles Annesley could hardly be called a dandy or a
+beau. There was nothing in his dress--though some mysterious arrangement
+in his costume, some rare simplicity, some curious happiness, always
+made it distinguished--there was nothing, however, in his dress, which
+could account for the influence which he exercised over the manners of
+his contemporaries. Charles Annesley was about thirty. He had inherited
+from his father, a younger brother, a small estate; and, though heir
+to a wealthy earldom, he had never abused what the world called ‘his
+prospects.’ Yet his establishment, his little house in Mayfair, his
+horses, his moderate stud at Melton, were all unique, and everything
+connected with him was unparalleled for its elegance, its invention, and
+its refinement. But his manner was his magic. His natural and subdued
+nonchalance, so different from the assumed non-emotion of a mere dandy;
+his coldness of heart, which was hereditary, not acquired; his cautious
+courage, and his unadulterated self-love, had permitted him to mingle
+much with mankind without being too deeply involved in the play of their
+passions; while his exquisite sense of the ridiculous quickly revealed
+those weaknesses to him which his delicate satire did not spare, even
+while it refrained from wounding. All feared, marry admired, and none
+hated him. He was too powerful not to dread, too dexterous not to
+admire, too superior to hate. Perhaps the great secret of his manner
+was his exquisite superciliousness, a quality which, of all, is the most
+difficult to manage. Even with his intimates he was never confidential,
+and perpetually assumed his public character with the private coterie
+which he loved to rule. On the whole, he was unlike any of the leading
+men of modern days, and rather reminded one of the fine gentlemen of our
+old brilliant comedy, the Dorimants, the Bellairs, and the Mirabels.
+
+Charles Annesley was a member of the distinguished party who were this
+day to decide the fate of the young Duke. Let him come forward!
+
+His Grace moved towards them, tall and elegant in figure, and with that
+air of affable dignity which becomes a noble, and which adorns a court;
+none of that affected indifference which seems to imply that nothing can
+compensate for the exertion of moving, and ‘which makes the dandy, while
+it mars the man.’ His large and somewhat sleepy grey eye, his clear
+complexion, his small mouth, his aquiline nose, his transparent
+forehead, his rich brown hair, and the delicacy of his extremities,
+presented, when combined, a very excellent specimen of that style of
+beauty for which the nobility of England are remarkable. Gentle, for
+he felt the importance of the tribunal, never loud, ready, yet a little
+reserved, he neither courted nor shunned examination. His finished
+manner, his experience of society, his pretensions to taste, the
+gaiety of his temper, and the liveliness of his imagination, gradually
+developed themselves with the developing hours.
+
+The banquet was over: the Duke of St. James passed his examination with
+unqualified approval; and having been stamped at the mint of fashion as
+a sovereign of the brightest die, he was flung forth, like the rest
+of his golden brethren, to corrupt the society of which he was the
+brightest ornament.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+     _Sweeping Changes_
+
+THE morning after the initiatory dinner the young Duke drove to
+Hauteville House, his family mansion, situated in his family square. His
+Grace particularly prided himself on his knowledge of the arts; a taste
+for which, among other things, he intended to introduce into England.
+Nothing could exceed the horror with which he witnessed the exterior of
+his mansion, except the agony with which he paced through the interior.
+
+‘Is this a palace?’ thought the young Duke; ‘this hospital a palace!’
+
+He entered. The marble hall, the broad and lofty double staircase
+painted in fresco, were not unpromising, in spite of the dingy gilding;
+but with what a mixed feeling of wonder and disgust did the Duke roam
+through clusters of those queer chambers which in England are called
+drawing-rooms!
+
+‘Where are the galleries, where the symmetrical saloons, where the
+lengthened suite, where the collateral cabinets, sacred to the statue of
+a nymph or the mistress of a painter, in which I have been customed to
+reside? What page would condescend to lounge in this ante-chamber? And
+is this gloomy vault, that you call a dining-room, to be my hall of
+Apollo? Order my carriage.’
+
+The Duke sent immediately for Sir Carte Blanche, the successor, in
+England, of Sir Christopher Wren. His Grace communicated at the same
+time his misery and his grand views. Sir Carte was astonished with his
+Grace’s knowledge, and sympathised with his Grace’s feelings. He offered
+consolation and promised estimates. They came in due time. Hauteville
+House, in the drawing of the worthy Knight, might have been mistaken for
+the Louvre. Some adjoining mansions were, by some magical process for
+which Sir Carte was famous, to be cleared of their present occupiers,
+and the whole side of the square was in future to be the site of
+Hauteville House. The difficulty was great, but the object was greater.
+The expense, though the estimate made a bold assault on the half
+million, was a mere trifle, ‘considering.’ The Duke was delighted. He
+condescended to make a slight alteration in Sir Carte’s drawing, which
+Sir Carte affirmed to be a great improvement. Now it was Sir Carte’s
+turn to be delighted. The Duke was excited by his architect’s
+admiration, and gave him a dissertation on Schönbrunn.
+
+Although Mr. Dacre had been disappointed in his hope of exercising a
+personal influence over the education of his ward, he had been more
+fortunate in his plans for the management of his ward’s property.
+Perhaps there never was an instance of the opportunities afforded by
+a long minority having been used to greater advantage. The estates had
+been increased and greatly improved, all and very heavy mortgages had
+been paid off, and the rents been fairly apportioned. Mr. Dacre, by his
+constant exertions and able dispositions since his return to England,
+also made up for the neglect with which an important point had been a
+little treated; and at no period had the parliamentary influence of the
+house of Hauteville been so extensive, so decided, and so well bottomed
+as when our hero became its chief.
+
+In spite of his proverbial pride, it seemed that Mr. Dacre was
+determined not to be offended by the conduct of his ward. The Duke had
+not yet announced his arrival in England to his guardian; but about a
+month after that event he received a letter of congratulation from Mr.
+Dacre, who at the same time expressed a desire to resign a trust into
+his Grace’s hand which, he believed, had not been abused. The Duke,
+who rather dreaded an interview, wrote in return that he intended very
+shortly to visit Yorkshire, when he should have the pleasure of availing
+himself of the kind invitation to Castle Dacre; and having thus, as he
+thought, dexterously got rid of the old gentleman for the present, he
+took a ride with Lady Caroline St. Maurice.
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+     _The Duke Visits Hauteville_
+
+PARLIAMENT assembled, the town filled, and every moment in the day of
+the Duke of St. James was occupied. Sir Carte and his tribe filled
+up the morning. Then there were endless visits to endless visitors;
+dressing; riding, chiefly with Lady Caroline; luncheons, and the bow
+window at White’s. Then came the evening with all its crash and glare;
+the banquet, the opera, and the ball.
+
+The Duke of St. James took the oaths and his seat. He was introduced
+by Lord Fitz-pompey. He heard a debate. We laugh at such a thing,
+especially in the Upper House; but, on the whole, the affair is
+imposing, particularly if we take part in it. Lord Ex-Chamberlain
+thought the nation going on wrong, and he made a speech full of currency
+and constitution. Baron Deprivyseal seconded him with great effect,
+brief but bitter, satirical and sore. The Earl of Quarterday answered
+these, full of confidence in the nation and in himself. When the debate
+was getting heavy, Lord Snap jumped up to give them something light. The
+Lords do not encourage wit, and so are obliged to put up with pertness.
+But Viscount Memoir was very statesmanlike, and spouted a sort
+of universal history. Then there was Lord Ego, who vindicated his
+character, when nobody knew he had one, and explained his motives,
+because his auditors could not understand his acts. Then there was a
+maiden speech, so inaudible that it was doubted whether, after all, the
+young orator really did lose his virginity. In the end, up started the
+Premier, who, having nothing to say, was manly, and candid, and liberal;
+gave credit to his adversaries and took credit to himself, and then the
+motion was withdrawn.
+
+While all this was going on, some made a note, some made a bet, some
+consulted a book, some their ease, some yawned, a few slept; yet, on the
+whole, there was an air about the assembly which can be witnessed in no
+other in Europe. Even the most indifferent looked as if he would come
+forward if the occasion should demand him, and the most imbecile as if
+he could serve his country if it required him. When a man raises his
+eyes from his bench and sees his ancestor in the tapestry, he begins to
+understand the pride of blood.
+
+The young Duke had not experienced many weeks of his career before he
+began to sicken of living in an hotel. Hitherto he had not reaped any of
+the fruits of the termination of his minority. He was a _cavalier seul_,
+highly considered, truly, but yet a mere member of society. He had been
+this for years. This was not the existence to enjoy which he had hurried
+to England. He aspired to be society itself. In a word, his tastes were
+of the most magnificent description, and he sighed to be surrounded by
+a court. As Hauteville House, even with Sir Carte’s extraordinary
+exertions, could not be ready for his reception for three years,
+which to him appeared eternity, he determined to look about for an
+establishment. He was fortunate. A nobleman who possessed an hereditary
+mansion of the first class, and much too magnificent for his resources,
+suddenly became diplomatic, and accepted an embassy. The Duke of St.
+James took everything off his hands: house, furniture, wines, cooks,
+servants, horses. Sir Carte was sent in to touch up the gilding and make
+a few temporary improvements; and Lady Fitz-pompey pledged herself to
+organise the whole establishment ere the full season commenced and the
+early Easter had elapsed, which had now arrived.
+
+It had arrived, and the young Duke had departed to his chief family
+seat, Hauteville Castle, in Yorkshire. He intended at the same time
+to fulfil his long-pledged engagement at Castle Dacre. He arrived at
+Hauteville amid the ringing of bells, the roasting of oxen, and the
+crackling of bonfires. The Castle, unlike most Yorkshire castles, was a
+Gothic edifice, ancient, vast, and strong; but it had received numerous
+additions in various styles of architecture, which were at the same time
+great sources of convenience and great violations of taste. The young
+Duke was seized with a violent desire to live in a genuine Gothic
+castle: each day his refined taste was outraged by discovering Roman
+windows and Grecian doors. He determined to emulate Windsor, and he sent
+for Sir Carte.
+
+Sir Carte came as quick as thunder after lightning. He was immediately
+struck with Hauteville, particularly with its capabilities. It was a
+superb place, certainly, and might be rendered unrivalled. The situation
+seemed made for the pure Gothic. The left wing should decidedly be
+pulled down, and its site occupied by a Knight’s hall; the old terrace
+should be restored; the donjon keep should be raised, and a gallery,
+three hundred feet long, thrown through the body of the castle.
+Estimates, estimates, estimates! But the time? This was a greater point
+than the expense. Wonders should be done. There were now five hundred
+men working for Hauteville House; there should be a thousand for
+Hauteville Castle. Carte Blanche, Carte Blanche, Carte Blanche!
+
+On his arrival in Yorkshire the Duke had learnt that the Dacres were
+in Norfolk on a visit. As the Castle was some miles off, he saw no
+necessity to make a useless exertion, and so he sent his jäger with his
+card. He had now been ten days in his native county. It was dull, and he
+was restless. He missed the excitement of perpetual admiration, and his
+eye drooped for constant glitter. He suddenly returned to town, just
+when the county had flattered itself that he was about to appoint his
+public days.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+     _The First Fancy_
+
+EASTER was over, the sun shone, the world was mad, and the young Duke
+made his début at Almack’s. He determined to prove that he had profited
+by a winter at Vienna. His dancing was declared consummate. He galloped
+with grace and waltzed with vigour. It was difficult to decide which
+was more admirable, the elegance of his prance or the precision of his
+whirl. A fat Russian Prince, a lean Austrian Count, a little German
+Baron, who, somehow or other, always contrived to be the most marked
+characters of the evening, disappeared in despair.
+
+There was a lady in the room who attracted the notice of our hero. She
+was a remarkable personage. There are some sorts of beauty which defy
+description, and almost scrutiny. Some faces rise upon us in the tumult
+of life like stars from out the sea, or as if they had moved out of a
+picture. Our first impression is anything but fleshly. We are struck
+dumb, we gasp, our limbs quiver, a faintness glides over our frame,
+we are awed; instead of gazing upon the apparition, we avert the eyes,
+which yet will feed upon its beauty. A strange sort of unearthly pain
+mixes with the intense pleasure. And not till, with a struggle, we call
+back to our memory the commonplaces of existence, can we recover our
+commonplace demeanour. These, indeed, are rare visions, early feelings,
+when our young existence leaps with its mountain torrents; but as the
+river of our life rolls on, our eyes grow dimmer or our blood more cold.
+
+Some effect of this kind was produced on the Duke of St. James by the
+unknown dame. He turned away his head to collect his senses. His eyes
+again rally; and this time, being prepared, he was more successful in
+his observations.
+
+The lady was standing against the wall; a young man was addressing some
+remarks to her which apparently were not very interesting. She was tall
+and young, and, as her tiara betokened, married; dazzling fair, but
+without colour; with locks like night and features delicate, but
+precisely defined. Yet all this did not at first challenge the
+observation of the young Duke. It was the general and peculiar
+expression of her countenance which had caused in him such emotion.
+There was an expression of resignation, or repose, or sorrow, or
+serenity, which in these excited chambers was strange, and singular, and
+lone. She gazed like some genius invisible to the crowd, and mourning
+over its degradation.
+
+He stopped St. Maurice, as his cousin passed by, to inquire her name,
+and learnt that she was Lady Aphrodite Grafton, the wife of Sir Lucius
+Grafton.
+
+‘What, Lucy Grafton!’ exclaimed the Duke. ‘I remember; I was his fag
+at Eton. He was a handsome dog; but I doubt whether he deserves such a
+wife. Introduce me.’
+
+Lady Aphrodite received our hero with a gentle bow, and did not seem
+quite as impressed with his importance as most of those to whom he had
+been presented in the course of the evening. The Duke had considerable
+tact with women, and soon perceived that the common topics of a hack
+flirtation would not do in the present case. He was therefore mild and
+modest, rather piquant, somewhat rational, and apparently perfectly
+unaffected. Her Ladyship’s reserve wore away. She refused to dance,
+but conversed with more animation. The Duke did not leave her side. The
+women began to stare, the men to bet: Lady Aphrodite against the
+field. In vain his Grace laid a thousand plans to arrange a tea-room
+tête-à-tête. He was unsuccessful. As he was about to return to the
+charge her Ladyship desired a passer-by to summon her carriage. No time
+was to be lost. The Duke began to talk hard about his old friend and
+schoolfellow, Sir Lucius. A greenhorn would have thought it madness to
+take an interest in such a person of all others; but women like you to
+enter their house as their husband’s friend. Lady Aphrodite could not
+refrain from expressing her conviction that Sir Lucius would be most
+happy to renew his acquaintance with the Duke of St. James, and the
+Duke of St. James immediately said that he would take the earliest
+opportunity of giving him that pleasure.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+     _A Noble Reprobate_
+
+SIR LUCIUS GRAFTON was five or six years older than the Duke of St.
+James, although he had been his contemporary at Eton. He, too, had been
+a minor, and had inherited an estate capable of supporting the becoming
+dignity of an ancient family. In appearance he was an Antinous. There
+was, however, an expression of firmness, almost of ferocity, about his
+mouth, which quite prevented his countenance from being effeminate, and
+broke the dreamy voluptuousness of the rest of his features. In mind he
+was a roué. Devoted to pleasure, he had racked the goblet at an early
+age; and before he was five-and-twenty procured for himself a reputation
+which made all women dread and some men shun him. In the very wildest
+moment of his career, when he was almost marked like Cain, he had met
+Lady Aphrodite Maltravers. She was the daughter of a nobleman who justly
+prided himself, in a degenerate age, on the virtue of his house. Nature,
+as if in recompense for his goodness, had showered all her blessings on
+his only daughter. Never was daughter more devoted to a widowed sire;
+never was woman influenced by principles of purer morality.
+
+This was the woman who inspired Sir Lucius Grafton with an ungovernable
+passion. Despairing of success by any other method, conscious that,
+sooner or later, he must, for family considerations, propagate future
+baronets of the name of Grafton, he determined to solicit her hand. But
+for him to obtain it, he was well aware, was difficult. Confident in
+his person, his consummate knowledge of the female character, and
+his unrivalled powers of dissimulation, Sir Lucius arranged his
+dispositions. The daughter feared, the father hated him. There was
+indeed much to be done; but the remembrance of a thousand triumphs
+supported the adventurer. Lady Aphrodite was at length persuaded that
+she alone could confirm the reformation which she alone had originated.
+She yielded to a passion which her love of virtue had alone kept in
+subjection. Sir Lucius and Lady Aphrodite knelt at the feet of the old
+Earl. The tears of his daughter, ay! and of his future son-in-law--for
+Sir Lucius knew when to weep--were too much for his kind and generous
+heart. He gave them his blessing, which faltered on his tongue.
+
+A year had not elapsed ere Lady Aphrodite woke to all the wildness of a
+deluded woman. The idol on whom she had lavished all the incense of
+her innocent affections became every day less like a true divinity.
+At length even the ingenuity of a passion could no longer disguise the
+hideous and bitter truth. She was no longer loved. She thought of her
+father. Ah, what was the madness of her memory!
+
+The agony of her mind disappointed her husband’s hope of an heir, and
+the promise was never renewed.
+
+In vain she remonstrated with the being to whom she was devoted: in vain
+she sought by meek endurance again to melt his heart. It was cold; it
+was callous. Most women would have endeavoured to recover their lost
+influence by different tactics; some, perhaps, would have forgotten
+their mortification in their revenge. But Lady Aphrodite had been the
+victim of passion, and now was its slave. She could not dissemble.
+
+Not so her spouse. Sir Lucius knew too well the value of a good
+character to part very easily with that which he had so unexpectedly
+regained. Whatever were his excesses, they were prudent ones. He felt
+that boyhood could alone excuse the folly of glorying in vice; and he
+knew that, to respect virtue, it was not absolutely necessary to be
+virtuous. No one was, apparently, more choice in his companions than Sir
+Lucius Grafton; no husband was seen oftener with his wife; no one paid
+more respect to age, or knew better when to wear a grave countenance.
+The world praised the magical influence of Lady Aphrodite; and Lady
+Aphrodite, in private, wept over her misery. In public she made an
+effort to conceal all she felt; and, as it is a great inducement to
+every woman to conceal that she is neglected by the man whom she adores,
+her effort was not unsuccessful. Yet her countenance might indicate that
+she was little interested in the scene in which she mixed. She was too
+proud to weep, but too sad to smile. Elegant and lone, she stood among
+her crushed and lovely hopes like a column amid the ruins of a beautiful
+temple.
+
+The world declared that Lady Aphrodite was desperately virtuous, and the
+world was right. A thousand fireflies had sparkled round this myrtle,
+and its fresh and verdant hue was still unsullied and un-scorched. Not
+a very accurate image, but pretty; and those who have watched a glancing
+shower of these glittering insects will confess that, poetically, the
+bush might burn. The truth is, that Lady Aphrodite still trembled when
+she recalled the early anguish of her broken sleep of love, and had not
+courage enough to hope that she might dream again. Like the old Hebrews,
+she had been so chastened for her wild idolatry that she dared not again
+raise an image to animate the wilderness of her existence. Man she at
+the same time feared and despised. Compared with her husband, all who
+surrounded her were, she felt, in appearance inferior, and were, she
+believed, in mind the same.
+
+We know not how it is, but love at first sight is a subject of constant
+ridicule; but, somehow, we suspect that it has more to do with the
+affairs of this world than the world is willing to own. Eyes meet which
+have never met before, and glances thrill with expression which is
+strange. We contrast these pleasant sights and new emotions with
+hackneyed objects and worn sensations. Another glance and another
+thrill, and we spring into each other’s arms. What can be more natural?
+
+Ah, that we should awake so often to truth so bitter! Ah, that charm
+by charm should evaporate from the talisman which had enchanted our
+existence!
+
+And so it was with this sweet woman, whose feelings grow under the pen.
+She had repaired to a splendid assembly to play her splendid part
+with the consciousness of misery, without the expectation of hope.
+She awaited without interest the routine which had been so often
+uninteresting; she viewed without emotion the characters which had never
+moved. A stranger suddenly appeared upon the stage, fresh as the morning
+dew, and glittering like the morning star. All eyes await, all tongues
+applaud him. His step is grace, his countenance hope, his voice music!
+And was such a being born only to deceive and be deceived? Was he to run
+the same false, palling, ruinous career which had filled so many hearts
+with bitterness and dimmed the radiancy of so many eyes? Never! The
+nobility of his soul spoke from his glancing eye, and treated the foul
+suspicion with scorn. Ah, would that she had such a brother to warn, to
+guide, to love!
+
+So felt the Lady Aphrodite! So felt; we will not say so reasoned. When
+once a woman allows an idea to touch her heart, it is miraculous with
+what rapidity the idea is fathered by her brain. All her experience, all
+her anguish, all her despair, vanished like a long frost, in an instant,
+and in a night. She felt a delicious conviction that a knight had at
+length come to her rescue, a hero worthy of an adventure so admirable.
+The image of the young Duke filled her whole mind; she had no ear for
+others’ voices; she mused on his idea with the rapture of a votary on
+the mysteries of a new faith.
+
+Yet strange, when he at length approached her, when he addressed her,
+when she replied to that mouth which had fascinated even before it had
+spoken, she was cold, reserved, constrained. Some talk of the burning
+cheek and the flashing eye of passion; but a wise man would not,
+perhaps, despair of the heroine who, when he approaches her, treats him
+almost with scorn, and trembles while she affects to disregard him.
+
+Lady Aphrodite has returned home: she hurries to her apartment, she
+falls in a sweet reverie, her head leans upon her hand. Her soubrette, a
+pretty and chattering Swiss, whose republican virtue had been corrupted
+by Paris, as Rome by Corinth, endeavours to divert Mer lady’s ennui: she
+excruciates her beautiful mistress with tattle about the admiration of
+Lord B------and the sighs of Sir Harry. Her Ladyship reprimands her for
+her levity, and the soubrette, grown sullen, revenges herself for her
+mistress’s reproof by converting the sleepy process of brushing into
+lively torture.
+
+The Duke of St. James called upon Lady Aphrodite Grafton the next
+day, and at an hour when he trusted to find her alone. He was not
+disappointed. More than once the silver-tongued pendule sounded during
+that somewhat protracted but most agreeable visit. He was, indeed,
+greatly interested by her, but he was an habitual gallant, and always
+began by feigning more than he felt. She, on the contrary, who was
+really in love, feigned much less. Yet she was no longer constrained,
+though calm. Fluent, and even gay, she talked as well as listened, and
+her repartees more than once called forth the resources of her guest.
+She displayed a delicate and even luxurious taste, not only in her
+conversation, but (the Duke observed it with delight) in her costume.
+She had a passion for music and for flowers; she sang a romance, and she
+gave him a rose. He retired perfectly fascinated.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+     _Old Friends Meet_
+
+SIR LUCIUS GRAFTON called on the Duke of St. James. They did not
+immediately swear an eternal friendship, but they greeted each other
+with considerable warmth, talked of old times and old companions, and
+compared their former sensations with their present. No one could be a
+more agreeable companion than Sir Lucius, and this day he left a very
+favourable impression with his young friend. From this day, too, the
+Duke’s visits at the Baronet’s were frequent; and as the Graftons were
+intimate with the Fitz-pompeys, scarcely a day elapsed without his
+having the pleasure of passing a portion of it in the company of Lady
+Aphrodite: his attentions to her were marked, and sometimes mentioned.
+Lord Fitz-pompey was rather in a flutter. George did not ride so often
+with Caroline, and never alone with her. This was disagreeable; but the
+Earl was a man of the world, and a sanguine man withal. These things
+will happen. It is of no use to quarrel with the wind; and, for
+his part, he was not sorry that he had the honour of the Grafton
+acquaintance; it secured Caroline her cousin’s company; and as for
+the _liaison_, if there were one, why it must end, and probably the
+difficulty of terminating it might even hasten the catastrophe which he
+had so much at heart. ‘So, Laura, dearest! let the Graftons be asked to
+dinner.’
+
+In one of those rides to which Caroline was not admitted, for Lady
+Aphrodite was present, the Duke of St. James took his way to the
+Regent’s Park, a wild sequestered spot, whither he invariably repaired
+when he did not wish to be noticed; for the inhabitants of this pretty
+suburb are a distinct race, and although their eyes are not unobserving,
+from their inability to speak the language of London they are unable to
+communicate their observations.
+
+The spring sun was setting, and flung a crimson flush over the blue
+waters and the white houses. The scene was rather imposing, and reminded
+our hero of days of travel. A sudden thought struck him. Would it not be
+delightful to build a beautiful retreat in this sweet and retired land,
+and be able in an instant to fly from the formal magnificence of a
+London mansion? Lady Aphrodite was charmed with the idea; for the
+enamoured are always delighted with what is fanciful. The Duke
+determined immediately to convert the idea into an object. To lose no
+time was his grand motto. As he thought that Sir Carte had enough upon
+his hands, he determined to apply to an artist whose achievements had
+been greatly vaunted to him by a distinguished and noble judge.
+
+M. Bijou de Millecolonnes, Chevalier of the Legion of Honour and member
+of the Academy of St. Luke’s, except in his title, was the antipodes
+of Sir Carte Blanche. Sir Carte was all solidity, solemnity, and
+correctness; Bijou de Millecolonnes all lightness, gaiety, and
+originality. Sir Carte was ever armed with the Parthenon, Palladio,
+and St. Peter’s; Bijou de Millecolonnes laughed at the ancients, called
+Palladio and Michel barbarians of the middle ages, and had himself
+invented an order. Bijou was not so plausible as Sir Carte; but he was
+infinitely more entertaining. Far from being servile, he allowed no one
+to talk but himself, and made his fortune by his elegant insolence. How
+singular it is that those who love servility are always the victims of
+impertinence!
+
+Gaily did Bijou de Millecolonnes drive his pea-green cabriolet to the
+spot in question. He formed his plan in an instant. ‘The occasional
+retreat of a noble should be something picturesque and poetical. The
+mind should be led to voluptuousness by exquisite associations, as well
+as by the creations of art. It is thus their luxury is rendered more
+intense by the reminiscences that add past experience to present
+enjoyment! For instance, if you sail down a river, imitate the progress
+of Cleopatra. And here, here, where the opportunity is so ample, what
+think you of reviving the Alhambra?’
+
+Splendid conception! The Duke already fancied himself a Caliph. ‘Lose no
+time, Chevalier! Dig, plant, build!’
+
+Nine acres were obtained from the Woods and Forests; mounds were thrown
+up, shrubs thrown in; the paths emulated the serpent; the nine acres
+seemed interminable. All was surrounded by a paling eight feet high,
+that no one might pierce the mystery of the preparations.
+
+A rumour was soon current that the Zoological Society intended to keep
+a Bengal tiger _au naturel_, and that they were contriving a residence
+which would amply compensate him for his native jungle. The Regent’s
+Park was in despair, the landlords lowered their rents, and the
+tenants petitioned the King. In a short time some hooded domes and some
+Saracenic spires rose to sight, and the truth was then made known that
+the young Duke of St. James was building a villa. The Regent’s Park was
+in rapture, the landlords raised their rents, and the tenants withdrew
+their petition.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X. His Grace Entertains.
+
+MR. DACRE again wrote to the Duke of St. James. He regretted that he had
+been absent from home when his Grace had done him the honour of calling
+at Castle Dacre. Had he been aware of that intended gratification, he
+could with ease, and would with pleasure, have postponed his visit to
+Norfolk. He also regretted that it would not be in his power to visit
+London this season; and as he thought that no further time should be
+lost in resigning the trust with which he had been so honoured, he
+begged leave to forward his accounts to the Duke, and with them some
+notes which he believed would convey some not unimportant information
+to his Grace for the future management of his property. The young Duke
+took a rapid glance at the sum total of his rental, crammed all the
+papers into a cabinet with a determination to examine them the first
+opportunity, and then rolled off to a morning concert of which he was
+the patron.
+
+The intended opportunity for the examination of the important papers
+was never caught, nor was it surprising that it escaped capture. It is
+difficult to conceive a career of more various, more constant, or more
+distracting excitement than that in which the Duke of St. James was now
+engaged. His life was an ocean of enjoyment, and each hour, like each
+wave, threw up its pearl. How dull was the ball in which he did not
+bound! How dim the banquet in which he did not glitter! His presence in
+the Gardens compensated for the want of flowers; his vision in the Park
+for the want of sun. In public breakfasts he was more indispensable
+than pine-apples; in private concerts more noticed than an absent
+prima donna. How fair was the dame on whom he smiled! How dark was the
+tradesman on whom he frowned! Think only of prime ministers and princes,
+to say nothing of princesses; nay! think only of managers of operas
+and French actors, to say nothing of French actresses; think only of
+jewellers, milliners, artists, horse-dealers, all the shoals who hurried
+for his sanction; think only of the two or three thousand civilised
+beings for whom all this population breathed, and who each of them had
+claims upon our hero’s notice! Think of the statesmen, who had so much
+to ask and so much to give; the dandies to feed with and to be fed; the
+dangerous dowagers and the desperate mothers; the widows, wild as early
+partridges; the budding virgins, mild as a summer cloud and soft as an
+opera hat! Think of the drony bores, with their dull hum; think of
+the chivalric guardsmen, with their horses to sell and their bills to
+discount; think of Willis, think of Crockford, think of White’s, think
+of Brooks’, and you may form a faint idea how the young Duke had to
+talk, and eat, and flirt, and cut, and pet, and patronise!
+
+You think it impossible for one man to do all this. There is yet much
+behind. You may add to the catalogue Melton and Newmarket; and if to
+hunt without an appetite and to bet without an object will not sicken
+you, why, build a yacht!
+
+The Duke of St. James gave his first grand entertainment for the season.
+It was like the assembly of the immortals at the first levee of Jove.
+All hurried to pay their devoirs to the young king of fashion; and each
+who succeeded in becoming a member of the Court felt as proud as a
+peer with a new title, or a baronet with an old one. An air of
+regal splendour, an almost imperial assumption, was observed in the
+arrangements of the fête. A troop of servants in rich liveries filled
+the hall; grooms lined the staircase; Spiridion, the Greek page, lounged
+on an ottoman in an ante-chamber, and, with the assistance of six young
+gentlemen in crimson-and-silver uniforms, announced the coming of
+the cherished guests. Cartloads of pine-apples were sent up from the
+Yorkshire Castle, and waggons of orange-trees from the Twickenham Villa.
+
+A brilliant coterie, of which his Grace was a member, had amused
+themselves a few nights before by representing in costume the Court of
+Charles the First. They agreed this night to reappear in their splendid
+dresses; and the Duke, who was Villiers, supported his character, even
+to the gay shedding of a shower of diamonds. In his cap was observed an
+hereditary sapphire, which blazed like a volcano, and which was rumoured
+to be worth his rent-roll.
+
+There was a short concert, at which the most celebrated Signora made
+her début; there was a single vaudeville, which a white satin play-bill,
+presented to each guest as they entered the temporary theatre, indicated
+to have been written for the occasion; there was a ball, in which
+was introduced a new dance. Nothing for a moment was allowed to lag.
+_Longueurs_ were skilfully avoided, and the excitement was so rapid that
+every one had an appetite for supper.
+
+A long gallery lined with bronzes and _bijouterie_, with cabinets and
+sculpture, with china and with paintings, all purchased for the future
+ornament of Hauteville House, and here stowed away in unpretending, but
+most artificial, confusion, offered accommodation to all the guests.
+To a table covered with gold, and placed in a magnificent tent upon the
+stage, his Grace loyally led two princes of the blood and a child of
+France. Madame de Protocoli, Lady Aphrodite Grafton, the Duchess of
+Shropshire, and Lady Fitz-pompey, shared the honours of the pavilion,
+and some might be excused for envying a party so brilliant and a
+situation so distinguished. Yet Lady Aphrodite was an unwilling member
+of it; and nothing but the personal solicitation of Sir Lucius would
+have induced her to consent to the wish of their host.
+
+A pink _carte_ succeeded to the satin play-bill. Vi-tellius might have
+been pleased with the banquet. Ah, how shall we describe those soups,
+which surely must have been the magical elixir! How paint those ortolans
+dressed by the inimitable artist, à la St. James, for the occasion, and
+which look so beautiful in death that they must surely have preferred
+such an euthanasia even to flying in the perfumed air of an Auso-nian
+heaven!
+
+Sweet bird! though thou hast lost thy plumage, thou shalt fly to my
+mistress! Is it not better to be nibbled by her than mumbled by a
+cardinal? I, too, will feed on thy delicate beauty. Sweet bird! thy
+companion has fled to my mistress; and now thou shalt thrill the nerves
+of her master! Oh! doff, then, thy waistcoat of wine-leaves, pretty
+rover! and show me that bosom more delicious even than woman’s. What
+gushes of rapture! What a flavour! How peculiar! Even how sacred I
+Heaven at once sends both manna and quails. Another little wanderer!
+Pray follow my example! Allow me. All Paradise opens! Let me die eating
+ortolans to the sound of soft music!
+
+Even the supper was brief, though brilliant; and again the cotillon and
+the quadrille, the waltz and the galoppe! At no moment of his life had
+the young Duke felt existence so intense. Wherever he turned his eye he
+found a responding glance of beauty and admiration; wherever he turned
+his ear the whispered tones were soft and sweet as summer winds. Each
+look was an offering, each word adoration! His soul dilated; the glory
+of the scene touched all his passions. He almost determined not again
+to mingle in society; but, like a monarch, merely to receive the
+world which worshipped him. The idea was sublime: was it even to him
+impracticable? In the midst of his splendour he fell into a reverie, and
+mused on his magnificence. He could no longer resist the conviction
+that he was a superior essence, even to all around him. The world seemed
+created solely for his enjoyment. Nor man nor woman could withstand him.
+From this hour he delivered himself up to a sublime selfishness. With
+all his passions and all his profusion, a callousness crept over his
+heart. His sympathy for those he believed his inferiors and his vassals
+was slight. Where we do not respect we soon cease to love; when we
+cease to love, virtue weeps and flies. His soul wandered in dreams of
+omnipotence.
+
+This picture perhaps excites your dislike; perchance your contempt.
+Pause! Pity him! Pity his fatal youth!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+     _Love at a Bazaar_
+
+THE Lady Aphrodite at first refused to sit in the Duke’s pavilion. Was
+she, then, in the _habit_ of refusing? Let us not forget our Venus of
+the Waters. Shall we whisper where the young Duke first dared to hope?
+No, you shall guess. _Je vous le donne en trois_. The Gardens? The
+opera? The tea-room? No! no! no! You are conceiving a locality much more
+romantic. Already you have created the bower of a Parisina, where the
+waterfall is even more musical than the birds, more lulling than the
+evening winds; where all is pale, except the stars; all hushed, except
+their beating pulses! Will this do? No! What think you, then, of a
+_Bazaar_?
+
+O thou wonderful nineteenth century! thou that believest in no miracles
+and doest so many, hast thou brought this, too, about, that ladies’
+hearts should be won, and gentlemen’s also, not in courts of tourney or
+halls of revel, but over a counter and behind a stall? We are, indeed, a
+nation of shopkeepers!
+
+The king of Otaheite, though a despot, was a reformer. He discovered
+that the eating of bread-fruit was a barbarous custom, which would
+infallibly prevent his people from being a great nation. He determined
+to introduce French rolls. A party rebelled; the despot was energetic;
+some were executed; the rest ejected. The vagabonds arrived in England.
+As they had been banished in opposition to French rolls, they were
+declared to be a British interest. They professed their admiration of
+civil and religious liberty, and also of a subscription. When they had
+drunk a great deal of punch, and spent all their money, they discovered
+that they had nothing to eat, and would infallibly have been starved,
+had not an Hibernian Marchioness, who had never been in Ireland, been
+exceedingly shocked that men should die of hunger; and so, being one of
+the bustlers, she got up a fancy sale and a _Sandwich Isle Bazaar_.
+
+All the world was there and of course our hero. Never was the arrival of
+a comet watched by astronomers who had calculated its advent with more
+anxiety than was the appearance of the young Duke. Never did man pass
+through such dangers. It was the fiery ordeal. St. Anthony himself was
+not assailed by more temptations. Now he was saved from the lustre of
+a blonde face by the superior richness of a blonde lace. He would
+infallibly have been ravished by that ringlet had he not been nearly
+reduced by that ring which sparkled on a hand like the white cat’s. He
+was only preserved from his unprecedented dangers by their number. No,
+no! He had a better talisman: his conceit.
+
+‘Ah, Lady Balmont!’ said his Grace to a smiling artist, who offered him
+one of her own drawings of a Swiss cottage, ‘for me to be a tenant, it
+must be love and a cottage!’
+
+‘What! am I to buy this ring, Mrs. Abercroft? _Point de jour_. Oh!
+dreadful phrase! Allow me to present it to you, for you are the only one
+whom such words cannot make tremble.’
+
+‘This chain, Lady Jemima, for my glass! It will teach me where to direct
+it.’
+
+‘Ah! Mrs. Fitzroy!’ and he covered his face with affected fear. ‘Can you
+forgive me? Your beautiful note has been half an hour unanswered. The
+box is yours for Tuesday.’
+
+He tried to pass the next stall with a smiling bow, but he could not
+escape. It was Lady de Courcy, a dowager, but not old. Once beautiful,
+her charms had not yet disappeared. She had a pair of glittering eyes,
+a skilfully-carmined cheek, and locks yet raven. Her eloquence made
+her now as conspicuous as once did her beauty. The young Duke was her
+constant object and her occasional victim. He hated above all things a
+talking woman; he dreaded above all others Lady de Courcy.
+
+He could not shirk. She summoned him by name so loud that crowds of
+barbarians stared, and a man called to a woman, and said, ‘My dear! make
+haste; here’s a Duke!’
+
+Lady de Courcy was prime confidant of the Irish Marchioness. She
+affected enthusiasm about the poor sufferers. She had learnt Otaheitan,
+she lectured about the bread-fruit, and she played upon a barbarous
+thrum-thrum, the only musical instrument in those savage wastes,
+ironically called the Society Islands, because there is no society. She
+was dreadful. The Duke in despair took out his purse, poured forth from
+the pink and silver delicacy, worked by the slender fingers of Lady
+Aphrodite, a shower of sovereigns, and fairly scampered off. At length
+he reached the lady of his heart.
+
+‘I fear,’ said the young Duke with a smile, and in a soft sweet voice,
+‘that you will never speak to me again, for I am a ruined man.’
+
+A beam of gentle affection reprimanded him even for badinage on such a
+subject.
+
+‘I really came here to buy up all your stock, but that gorgon, Lady de
+Courcy, captured me, and my ransom has sent me here free, but a beggar.
+I do not know a more ill-fated fellow than myself. Now, if you had only
+condescended to take me prisoner, I might have saved my money; for I
+should have kissed my chain.’
+
+‘My chains, I fear, are neither very alluring nor very strong.’ She
+spoke with a thoughtful air, and he answered her only with his eye.
+
+‘I must bear off something from your stall,’ he resumed in a more rapid
+and gayer tone, ‘and, as I cannot purchase you must present. Now for a
+gift!’
+
+‘Choose!’
+
+‘Yourself.’
+
+‘Your Grace is really spoiling my sale. See! poor Lord Bagshot. What a
+valuable purchaser.’
+
+‘Ah! Bag, my boy!’ said the Duke to a slang young nobleman whom he
+abhorred, but of whom he sometimes made a butt, ‘am I in your way? Here!
+take this, and this, and this, and give me your purse. I’ll pay Lady
+Aphrodite.’ And so the Duke again showered some sovereigns, and returned
+the shrunken silk to its defrauded owner, who stared, and would have
+remonstrated, but the Duke turned his back upon him.
+
+‘There now,’ he continued to Lady Aphrodite; ‘there is two hundred per
+cent, profit for you. You are not half a _marchande_. I will stand here
+and be your shopman. Well, Annesley,’ said he, as that dignitary passed,
+‘what will you buy? I advise you to get a place. ‘Pon my soul, ‘tis
+pleasant! Try Lady de Courcy. You know you are a favourite.’
+
+‘I assure your Grace,’ said Mr. Annesley, speaking slowly, ‘that that
+story about Lady de Courcy is quite untrue and very rude. I never turn
+my back on any woman; only my heel. We are on the best possible terms.
+She is never to speak to me, and I am always to bow to her. But I really
+must purchase. Where did you get that glass-chain, St. James? Lady Afy,
+can you accommodate me?’
+
+‘Here is one prettier! But are you near-sighted, too, Mr. Annesley?’
+
+‘Very. I look upon a long-sighted man as a brute who, not being able to
+see with his mind, is obliged to see with his body. The price of this?’
+
+‘A sovereign,’ said the Duke; ‘cheap; but we consider you as a friend.’
+
+‘A sovereign! You consider me a young Duke rather. Two shillings, and
+that a severe price; a charitable price. Here is half-a-crown; give me
+sixpence. I was not a minor. Farewell! I go to the little Pomfret. She
+is a sweet flower, and I intend to wear her in my button-hole. Good-bye,
+Lady Afy!’
+
+The gay morning had worn away, and St. James never left his fascinating
+position. Many a sweet and many a soft thing he uttered. Sometimes he
+was baffled, but never beaten, and always returned to the charge with
+spirit. He was confident, because he was reckless: the lady had less
+trust in herself, because she was anxious. Yet she combated well, and
+repressed the feelings which she could hardly conceal.
+
+Many of her colleagues had already departed. She requested the Duke to
+look after her carriage. A bold plan suddenly occurred to him, and he
+executed it with rare courage and rarer felicity.
+
+‘Lady Aphrodite Grafton’s carriage!’
+
+‘Here, your Grace!’
+
+‘Oh! go home. Your lady will return with Madame de Protocoli.’
+
+He rejoined her.
+
+‘I am sorry, that, by some blunder, your carriage has gone. What could
+you have told them?’
+
+‘Impossible! How provoking! How stupid!’
+
+‘Perhaps you told them that you would return with the Fitz-pompeys, but
+they are gone; or Mrs. Aberleigh, and she is not here; or perhaps--but
+they have gone too. Everyone has gone.’
+
+‘What shall I do? How distressing! I had better send. Pray send; or I
+will ask Lady de Courcy.’
+
+‘Oh! no, no! I really did not like to see you with her. As a favour--as
+a favour to me, I pray you not.’
+
+‘What can I do? I must send. Let me beg your Grace to send.’
+
+‘Certainly, certainly; but, ten to one, there will be some mistake.
+There always is some mistake when you send these strangers. And,
+besides, I forgot all this time my carriage is here. Let it take you
+home.’
+
+‘No, no!’
+
+‘Dearest Lady Aphrodite, do not distress yourself. I can wait here till
+the carriage returns, or I can walk; to be sure, I can walk. Pray, pray
+take the carriage! As a favour--as a favour to me!’
+
+‘But I cannot bear you to walk. I know you dislike walking.’
+
+‘Well, then, I will wait.’
+
+‘Well, if it must be so; but I am ashamed to inconvenience you. How
+provoking of these men! Pray, then, tell the coachman to drive fast,
+that you may not have to wait. I declare there is scarcely a human being
+in the room; and those odd people are staring so!’
+
+He pressed her arm as he led her to his carriage. She is in; and yet,
+before the door shuts, he lingers.
+
+‘I shall certainly walk,’ said he. ‘I do not think the easterly wind
+will make me very ill. Good-bye! Oh, what a _coup-de-vent_!’
+
+‘Let me get out, then; and pray, pray take the carriage. I would much
+sooner do anything than go in it. I would much rather walk. I am sure
+you will be ill!’
+
+‘Not if I be with you.’
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+     _Royal Favour_
+
+THERE was a brilliant levee, all stars and garters; and a splendid
+drawing-room, all plumes and _séduisantes_. Many a bright eye, as its
+owner fought his way down St. James’s Street, shot a wistful glance at
+the enchanted bow-window where the Duke and his usual companions, Sir
+Lucius, Charles Annesley, and Lord Squib, lounged and laughed, stretched
+themselves and sneered: many a bright eye, that for a moment pierced the
+futurity that painted her going in state as Duchess of St. James.
+
+His Majesty summoned a dinner party, a rare but magnificent event, and
+the chief of the house of Hauteville appeared among the chosen
+vassals. This visit did the young Duke good; and a few more might have
+permanently cured the conceit which the present one momentarily calmed.
+His Grace saw the plate, and was filled with envy; his Grace listened to
+his Majesty, and was filled with admiration. O, father of thy people! if
+thou wouldst but look a little oftener on thy younger sons, their morals
+and their manners might be alike improved.
+
+His Majesty, in the course of the evening, with his usual good-nature,
+signalled out for his notice the youngest, and not the least
+distinguished, of his guests. He complimented the young Duke on the
+accession to the ornaments of his court, and said, with a smile, that
+he had heard of conquests in foreign ones. The Duke accounted for his
+slight successes by reminding his Majesty that he had the honour of
+being his godson, and this he said in a slight and easy way, not smart
+or quick, or as a repartee to the royal observation; for ‘it is not
+decorous to bandy compliments with your Sovereign.’ His Majesty asked
+some questions about an Emperor or an Archduchess, and his Grace
+answered to the purpose, but short, and not too pointed. He listened
+rather than spoke, and smiled more assents than he uttered. The King was
+pleased with his young subject, and marked his approbation by conversing
+with that unrivalled affability which is gall to a Roundhead and
+inspiration to a Cavalier. There was a _bon mot_, which blazed with all
+the soft brilliancy of sheet lightning. What a contrast to the forky
+flashes of a regular wit! Then there was an anecdote of Sheridan--the
+royal Sheridaniana are not thrice-told tales--recounted with that
+curious felicity which has long stamped the illustrious narrator as a
+consummate _raconteur_. Then----but the Duke knew when to withdraw; and
+he withdrew with renewed loyalty.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+     _A Lover’s Trick_
+
+ONE day, looking in at his jeweller’s, to see some models of a shield
+and vases which were executing for him in gold, the young Duke met Lady
+Aphrodite and the Fitz-pompeys. Lady Aphrodite was speaking to the
+jeweller about her diamonds, which were to be reset for her approaching
+fête. The Duke took the ladies upstairs to look at the models, and while
+they were intent upon them and other curiosities, his absence for a
+moment was unperceived. He ran downstairs and caught Mr. Garnet.
+
+‘Mr. Garnet! I think I saw Lady Aphrodite give you her diamonds?’ ‘Yes,
+your Grace.’
+
+‘Are they valuable?’ in a careless tone. ‘Hum! pretty stones; very
+pretty stones, indeed. Few Baronets’ ladies have a prettier set; worth
+perhaps a 1000L.; say 1200L. Lady Aphrodite Grafton is not the
+Duchess of St. James, you know,’ said Mr. Garnet, as if he anticipated
+furnishing that future lady with a very different set of brilliants.
+
+‘Mr. Garnet, you can do me the greatest favour.’ ‘Your Grace has only to
+command me at all times.’
+
+‘Well, then, in a word, for time presses, can you contrive, without
+particularly altering--that is, without altering the general appearance
+of these diamonds--can you contrive to change the stones, and substitute
+the most valuable that you have; consistent, as I must impress upon you,
+with maintaining their general appearance as at present?’
+
+‘The most valuable stones,’ musingly repeated Mr. Garnet; ‘general
+appearance as at present? Your Grace is aware that we may run up some
+thousands even in this set?’
+
+‘I give you no limit.’
+
+‘But the time,’ rejoined Mr. Garnet. ‘They must be ready for her
+Ladyship’s party. We shall be hard pressed. I am afraid of the time.’
+
+‘Cannot the men work all night? Pay them anything.’
+
+‘It shall be done, your Grace. Your Grace may command me in anything.’
+
+‘This is a secret between us, Garnet. Your partners------’
+
+‘Shall know nothing. And as for myself, I am as close as an emerald in a
+seal-ring.’
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+     _Close of the Season_
+
+HUSSEIN PACHA, ‘the favourite,’ not only of the Marquess of Mash, but of
+Tattersall’s, unaccountably sickened and died. His noble master, full of
+chagrin took to his bed, and followed his steed’s example. The death
+of the Marquess caused a vacancy in the stewardship of the approaching
+Doncaster. Sir Lucius Grafton was the other steward, and he proposed to
+the Duke of St. James, as he was a Yorkshireman, to become his
+colleague. His Grace, who wished to pay a compliment to his county,
+closed with the proposition. Sir Lucius was a first-rate jockey; his
+colleague was quite ignorant of the noble science in all its details;
+but that was of slight importance. The Baronet was to be the working
+partner, and do the business; the Duke the show member of the concern,
+and do the magnificence; as one banker, you may observe, lives always in
+Portland Place, reads the Court Journal all the morning, and has an
+opera-box, while his partner lodges in Lombard Street, thumbs a
+price-current, and only has a box at Clapham.
+
+The young Duke, however, was ambitious of making a good book; and, with
+all the calm impetuosity which characterises a youthful Hauteville,
+determined to have a crack stud at once. So at Ascot, where he spent
+a few pleasant hours, dined at the Cottage, was caught in a shower, in
+return caught a cold, a slight influenza for a week, and all the world
+full of inquiries and anxiety; at Ascot, I say, he bought up all the
+winning horses at an average of three thousand guineas for each pair of
+ears. Sir Lucius stared, remonstrated, and, as his remonstrances were in
+vain, assisted him.
+
+As people at the point of death often make a desperate rally, so
+this, the most brilliant of seasons, was even more lively as it nearer
+approached its end. The _déjeûner_ and the _villa fête_ the water party
+and the rambling ride, followed each other with the bright rapidity of
+the final scenes in a pantomime. Each _dama_ seemed only inspired with
+the ambition of giving the last ball; and so numerous were the parties
+that the town really sometimes seemed illuminated. To breakfast at
+Twickenham, and to dine in Belgrave Square; to hear,’ or rather to
+honour, half an act of an opera; to campaign through half a dozen
+private balls, and to finish with a romp at the rooms, as after our wine
+we take a glass of liqueur; all this surely required the courage of
+an Alexander and the strength of a Hercules, and, indeed, cannot be
+achieved without the miraculous powers of a Joshua. So thought the young
+Duke, as with an excited mind and a whirling head he threw himself at
+half-past six o’clock on a couch which brought him no sleep.
+
+Yet he recovered, and with the aid of the bath, the soda, and the
+coffee, and all the thousand remedies which a skilful valet has ever at
+hand, at three o’clock on the same day he rose and dressed, and in an
+hour was again at the illustrious bow-window, sneering with Charles
+Annesley, or laughing downright with Lord Squib.
+
+The Duke of St. James gave a water party, and the astounded Thames
+swelled with pride as his broad breast bore on the ducal barges. St.
+Maurice, who was in the Guards, secured his band; and Lord Squib, who,
+though it was July, brought a furred great coat, secured himself. Lady
+Afy looked like Amphitrite, and Lady Caroline looked in love. They
+wandered in gardens like Calypso’s; they rambled over a villa which
+reminded them of Baise; they partook of a banquet which should have been
+described by Ariosto. All were delighted; they delivered themselves to
+the charms of an unrestrained gaiety. Even Charles Annesley laughed and
+romped.
+
+This is the only mode in which public eating is essentially agreeable.
+A banqueting-hall is often the scene of exquisite pleasure; but that is
+not so much excited by the gratification of a delicate palate as by
+the magnificent effect of light and shade; by the beautiful women, the
+radiant jewels, the graceful costume, the rainbow glass, the glowing
+wines, the glorious plate. For the rest, all is too hot, too crowded,
+and too noisy, to catch a flavour; to analyse a combination, to dwell
+upon a gust. To eat, _really_ to eat, one must eat alone, with a soft
+light, with simple furniture, an easy dress, and a single dish, at a
+time. Hours of bliss! Hours of virtue! for what is more virtuous than to
+be conscious of the blessings of a bountiful Nature? A good eater must
+be a good man; for a good eater must have a good digestion, and a good
+digestion depends upon a good conscience.
+
+But to our tale. If we be dull, skip: time will fly, and beauty will
+fade, and wit grow dull, and even the season, although it seems, for the
+nonce, like the existence of Olympus, will nevertheless steal away. It
+is the hour when trade grows dull and tradesmen grow duller; it is the
+hour that Howell loveth not and Stultz cannot abide; though the first
+may be consoled by the ghosts of his departed millions of _mouchoirs_,
+and the second by the vision of coming millions of shooting-jackets. Oh,
+why that sigh, my gloomy Mr. Gunter? Oh, why that frown, my gentle Mrs.
+Grange?
+
+One by one the great houses shut; shoal by shoal the little people sail
+away. Yet beauty lingers still. Still the magnet of a straggling ball
+attracts the remaining brilliants; still a lagging dinner, like a
+sumpter-mule on a march, is a mark for plunder. The Park, too, is not
+yet empty, and perhaps is even more fascinating; like a beauty in a
+consumption, who each day gets thinner and more fair. The young Duke
+remained to the last; for we linger about our first season, as we
+do about our first mistress, rather wearied, yet full of delightful
+reminiscences.
+
+
+
+
+BOOK II.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+     _His Grace Meets an Early Love_
+
+LADY APHRODITE and the Duke of St. James were for the first time parted;
+and with an absolute belief on the lady’s side, and an avowed conviction
+on the gentleman’s, that it was impossible to live asunder, they
+separated, her Ladyship shedding some temporary tears, and his Grace
+vowing eternal fidelity.
+
+It was the crafty Lord Fitz-pompey who brought about this catastrophe.
+Having secured his nephew as a visitor to Malthorpe, by allowing him
+to believe that the Graftons would form part of the summer coterie,
+his Lordship took especial care that poor Lady Aphrodite should not be
+invited. ‘Once part them, once get him to Malthorpe alone,’ mused the
+experienced Peer, ‘and he will be emancipated. I am doing him, too, the
+greatest kindness. What would I have given, when a young man, to have
+had such an uncle!’
+
+The Morning Post announced with a sigh the departure of the Duke of St.
+James to the splendid festivities of Malthorpe; and also apprised the
+world that Sir Lucius and Lady Aphrodite were entertaining a numerous
+and distinguished party at their seat, Cleve Park, Cambridgeshire.
+
+There was a constant bustle kept up at Malthorpe, and the young Duke was
+hourly permitted to observe that, independent of all private feeling, it
+was impossible for the most distinguished nobleman to ally himself with
+a more considered family. There was a continual swell of guests dashing
+down and dashing away, like the ocean; brilliant as its foam, numerous
+as its waves. But there was one permanent inhabitant of this princely
+mansion far more interesting to our hero than the evanescent crowds who
+rose like bubbles, glittered, broke, and disappeared.
+
+Once more wandering in that park of Malthorpe where had passed the
+innocent days of his boyhood, his thoughts naturally recurred to
+the sweet companion who had made even those hours of happiness more
+felicitous. Here they had rambled, here they had first tried their
+ponies, there they had nearly fallen, there he had quite saved her; here
+were the two very elms where St. Maurice made for them a swing, here was
+the very keeper’s cottage of which she had made for him a drawing, and
+which he still retained. Dear girl! And had she disappointed the romance
+of his boyhood; had the experience the want of which had allowed him
+then to be pleased so easily, had it taught him to be ashamed of those
+days of affection? Was she not now the most gentle, the most graceful,
+the most beautiful, the most kind? Was she not the most wife-like woman
+whose eyes had ever beamed with tenderness? Why, why not at once close a
+career which, though short, yet already could yield reminiscences which
+might satisfy the most craving admirer of excitement? But there was Lady
+Aphrodite; yet that must end. Alas! on his part, it had commenced in
+levity; he feared, on hers, it must terminate in anguish. Yet, though he
+loved his cousin; though he could not recall to his memory the woman
+who was more worthy of being his wife, he could not also conceal from
+himself that the feelings which impelled him were hardly so romantic as
+he thought should have inspired a youth of one-and-twenty when he mused
+on the woman he loved best. But he knew life, and he felt convinced that
+a mistress and a wife must always be different characters. A combination
+of passion with present respect and permanent affection he supposed to
+be the delusion of romance writers. He thought he must marry Caroline,
+partly because he must marry sooner or later; partly because he had
+never met a woman whom he had loved so much, and partly because he felt
+he should be miserable if her destiny in life were not, in some way or
+other, connected with his own. ‘Ah! if she had but been my sister!’
+
+After a little more cogitation, the young Duke felt much inclined to
+make his cousin a Duchess; but time did not press. After Doncaster he
+must spend a few weeks at Cleve, and then he determined to come to
+an explanation with Lady Aphrodite. In the meantime, Lord Fitz-pompey
+secretly congratulated himself on his skilful policy, as he perceived
+his nephew daily more engrossed with his daughter. Lady Caroline, like
+all unaffected and accomplished women, was seen to great effect in the
+country.
+
+There, while they feed their birds, tend their flowers, and tune their
+harp, and perform those more sacred, but not less pleasing, duties which
+become the daughter of a great proprietor, they favourably contrast with
+those more modish damsels who, the moment they are freed from the Park
+and from Willis’s, begin fighting for silver arrows and patronising
+county balls.
+
+September came, and brought some relief to those who were suffering in
+the inferno of provincial ennui; but this is only the purgatory to the
+Paradise of _battues_. Yet September has its days of slaughter; and
+the young Duke gained some laurels, with the aid of friend Egg, friend
+Purdy, and Manton. And the Premier galloped down sixty miles in one
+morning. He sacked his cover, made a light bet with St. James on the
+favourite, lunched standing, and was off before night; for he had only
+three days’ holiday, and had to visit Lord Protest, Lord Content, and
+Lord Proxy. So, having knocked off four of his crack peers, he galloped
+back to London to flog up his secretaries.
+
+And the young Duke was off too. He had promised to spend a week with
+Charles Annesley and Lord Squib, who had taken some Norfolk Baronet’s
+seat for the autumn, and while he was at Spa were thinning his
+preserves. It was a week! What fantastic dissipation! One day, the
+brains of three hundred hares made a _pâté_ for Charles Annesley.
+Oh, Heliogabalus! you gained eternal fame for what is now ‘done in a
+corner!’
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+     _A New Charmer_
+
+THE Carnival of the North at length arrived. All civilised eyes were on
+the most distinguished party of the most distinguished steward, who
+with his horse Sanspareil seemed to share universal favour. The
+French Princes and the Duke of Burlington; the Protocolis, and the
+Fitz-pompeys, and the Bloomerlys; the Duke and Duchess of Shropshire,
+and the three Ladies Wrekin, who might have passed for the Graces; Lord
+and Lady Vatican on a visit from Rome, his Lordship taking hints for a
+heat in the Corso, and her Ladyship, a classical beauty with a face like
+a cameo; St. Maurice, and Annesley, and Squib, composed the party. The
+Premier was expected, and there was murmur of an Archduke. Seven houses
+had been prepared, a party-wall knocked down to make a dining-room, the
+plate sent down from London, and venison and wine from Hauteville.
+
+The assemblage exceeded in quantity and quality all preceding years,
+and the Hauteville arms, the Hauteville liveries, and the Hauteville
+outriders, beat all hollow in blazonry, and brilliancy, and number. The
+North countrymen were proud of their young Duke and his carriages and
+six, and longed for the Castle to be finished. Nothing could exceed the
+propriety of the arrangements, for Sir Lucius was an unrivalled hand,
+and, though a Newmarket man, gained universal approbation even in
+Yorkshire. Lady Aphrodite was all smiles and new liveries, and the Duke
+of St. James reined in his charger right often at her splendid equipage.
+
+The day’s sport was over, and the evening’s sport begun, to a quiet man,
+who has no bet more heavy than a dozen pair of gloves, perhaps not the
+least amusing. Now came the numerous dinner-parties, none to be compared
+to that of the Duke of St. James. Lady Aphrodite was alone wanting, but
+she had to head the _ménage_ of Sir Lucius. Every one has an appetite
+after a race: the Duke of Shropshire attacked the venison as Samson the
+Philistines; and the French princes, for once in their life, drank real
+champagne.
+
+Yet all faces were not so serene as those of the party of Hauteville.
+Many a one felt that strange mixture of fear and exultation which
+precedes a battle. To-morrow was the dreaded St. Leger.
+
+‘Tis night, and the banquet is over, and all are hastening to the ball.
+
+In spite of the brilliant crowd, the entrance of the Hauteville party
+made a sensation. It was the crowning ornament to the scene, the stamp
+of the sovereign, the lamp of the Pharos, the flag of the tower. The
+party dispersed, and the Duke, after joining a quadrille with Lady
+Caroline, wandered away to make himself generally popular.
+
+As he was moving along, he turned his head; he started.
+
+‘Ah!’ exclaimed his Grace.
+
+The cause of this sudden and ungovernable exclamation can be no other
+than a woman. You are right. The lady who had excited it was advancing
+in a quadrille, some ten yards from her admirer. She was very young;
+that is to say, she had, perhaps, added a year or two to sweet
+seventeen, an addition which, while it does not deprive the sex of the
+early grace of girlhood, adorns them with that indefinable dignity which
+is necessary to constitute a perfect woman. She was not tall, but as she
+moved forward displayed a figure so exquisitely symmetrical that for a
+moment the Duke forgot to look at her face, and then her head was turned
+away; yet he was consoled a moment for his disappointment by watching
+the movements of a neck so white, and round, and long, and delicate,
+that it would have become Psyche, and might have inspired Praxiteles.
+Her face is again turning towards him. It stops too soon; yet his eye
+feeds upon the outline of a cheek not too full, yet promising of beauty,
+like hope of Paradise.
+
+She turns her head, she throws around a glance, and two streams of
+liquid light pour from her hazel eyes on his. It was a rapid, graceful
+movement, unstudied as the motion of a fawn, and was in a moment
+withdrawn, yet was it long enough to stamp upon his memory a memorable
+countenance. Her face was quite oval, her nose delicately aquiline, and
+her high pure forehead like a Parian dome. The clear blood coursed under
+her transparent cheek, and increased the brilliancy of her dazzling
+eyes. His never left her. There was an expression of decision about her
+small mouth, an air of almost mockery in her curling lip, which, though
+in themselves wildly fascinating, strangely contrasted with all
+the beaming light and beneficent lustre of the upper part of her
+countenance. There was something, too, in the graceful but rather
+decided air with which she moved, that seemed to betoken her
+self-consciousness of her beauty or her rank; perhaps it might be her
+wit; for the Duke observed that while she scarcely smiled, and conversed
+with lips hardly parted, her companion, with whom she was evidently
+intimate, was almost constantly convulsed with laughter, although, as he
+never spoke, it was clearly not at his own jokes.
+
+Was she married? Could it be? Impossible! Yet there was a richness in
+her costume which was not usual for unmarried women. A diamond arrow had
+pierced her clustering and auburn locks; she wore, indeed, no necklace;
+with such a neck it would have been sacrilege; no ear-rings, for
+her ears were too small for such a burthen; yet her girdle was of
+brilliants; and a diamond cross worthy of Belinda and her immortal bard
+hung upon her breast.
+
+The Duke seized hold of the first person he knew: it was Lord Bagshot.
+
+‘Tell me,’ he said, in the stern, low voice of a despot; ‘tell me who
+that creature is.’
+
+‘Which creature?’ asked Lord Bagshot.
+
+‘Booby! brute! Bag, that creature of light and love!’
+
+‘Where?’
+
+‘There!
+
+‘What, my mother?’
+
+‘Your mother! cub! cart-horse! answer me, or I will run you through.’
+
+‘Who do you mean?’
+
+‘There, there, dancing with that raw-boned youth with red hair.’
+
+‘What, Lord St. Jerome! Lor! he is a Catholic. I never speak to them. My
+governor would be so savage.’
+
+‘But the girl?’
+
+‘Oh! the girl! Lor! she is a Catholic, too.’
+
+‘But who is she?’
+
+‘Lor! don’t you know?’
+
+‘Speak, hound; speak!’
+
+‘Lor! that is the beauty of the county; but then she is a Catholic. How
+shocking! Blow us all up as soon as look at us.’
+
+‘If you do not tell me who she is directly, you shall never get into
+White’s. I will black-ball you regularly.’
+
+‘Lor! man, don’t be in a passion. I will tell. But then I know you know
+all the time. You are joking. Everybody knows the beauty of the county;
+everybody knows May Dacre.’
+
+‘May Dacre!’ said the Duke of St. James, as if he were shot.
+
+‘Why, what is the matter now?’ asked Lord Bag-shot.
+
+‘What, the daughter of Dacre of Castle Dacre?’ pursued his Grace.
+
+‘The very same; the beauty of the county. Everybody knows May Dacre. I
+knew you knew her all the time. You did not take me in. Why, what is the
+matter?’
+
+‘Nothing; get away!’
+
+‘Civil! But you will remember your promise about White’s?’
+
+‘Ay! ay! I shall remember you when you are proposed.’
+
+‘Here, here is a business!’ soliloquized the young Duke. ‘May Dacre!
+What a fool I have been! Shall I shoot myself through the head, or
+embrace her on the spot? Lord St. Jerome, too! He seems mightily
+pleased. And my family have been voting for two centuries to emancipate
+this fellow! Curse his grinning face! I am decidedly anti-Catholic. But
+then she is a Catholic! I will turn Papist. Ah! there is Lucy. I want a
+counsellor.’
+
+He turned to his fellow-steward. ‘Oh, Lucy! such a woman! such an
+incident!’
+
+‘What! the inimitable Miss Dacre, I suppose. Everybody speaking of her;
+wherever I go, one subject of conversation. Burlington wanting to
+waltz with her, Charles Annesley being introduced, and Lady Bloomerly
+decidedly of opinion that she is the finest creature in the county.
+Well, have you danced with her?’
+
+‘Danced, my dear fellow! Do not speak to me.’
+
+‘What is the matter?’
+
+‘The most diabolical matter that you ever heard of.’
+
+‘Well, well?’
+
+‘I have not even been introduced.’
+
+‘Well! come on at once.’
+
+‘I cannot.’
+
+‘Are you mad?’
+
+‘Worse than mad. Where is her father?’
+
+‘Who cares?’
+
+‘I do. In a word, my dear Lucy, her father is that guardian whom I have
+perhaps mentioned to you, and to whom I have behaved so delicately.’
+
+‘Why! I thought your guardian was an old curmudgeon.’
+
+‘What does that signify, with such a daughter!’
+
+‘Oh! here is some mistake. This is the only child of Dacre of Castle
+Dacre, a most delightful fellow; one of the first fellows in the county;
+I was introduced to him to-day on the course. I thought you knew them.
+You were admiring his outriders to-day, the green and silver.’
+
+‘Why, Bag told me they were old Lord Sunderland’s.’
+
+‘Bag! How can you believe a word that booby says? He always has an
+answer. To-day, when Afy drove in, I asked Bag who she was, and he said
+it was his aunt, Lady de Courcy. I begged to be introduced, and took
+over the blushing Bag and presented him.’
+
+‘But the father; the father, Lucy! How shall I get out of this scrape?’
+
+‘Oh! put on a bold face. Here! give him this ring, and swear you
+procured it for him at Genoa, and then say that, now you are here, you
+will try his pheasants.’
+
+‘My dear fellow, you always joke. I am in agony. Seriously, what shall I
+do?’
+
+‘Why, seriously, be introduced to him, and do what you can.’
+
+‘Which is he?’
+
+‘At the extreme end, next to the very pretty woman, who, by-the-bye, I
+recommend to your notice: Mrs. Dallington Vere. She is amusing. I know
+her well. She is some sort of relation to your Dacres. I will present
+you to both at once.’
+
+‘Why! I will think of it.’
+
+‘Well, then! I must away. The two stewards knocking their heads together
+is rather out of character. Do you know it is raining hard? I am
+cursedly nervous about to-morrow.’
+
+‘Pooh! pooh! If I could get through to-night, I should not care for
+to-morrow.’
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+
+     _The Duke Apologises_
+
+AS SIR LUCIUS hurried off his colleague advanced towards the upper end
+of the room, and, taking up a position, made his observations, through
+the shooting figures of the dancers, on the dreaded Mr. Dacre. The late
+guardian of the Duke of St. James was in the perfection of manhood;
+perhaps five-and-forty by age; but his youth had lingered long. He
+was tall, thin, and elegant, with a mild and benevolent expression of
+countenance, not unmixed, however, with a little reserve, the ghost of
+youthly pride. Listening with polished and courtly bearing to the pretty
+Mrs. Dallington Vere, assenting occasionally to her piquant observations
+by a slight bow, or expressing his dissent by a still slighter smile,
+seldom himself speaking, yet always with that unembarrassed manner which
+makes a saying listened to, Mr. Dacre was altogether, in appearance, one
+of the most distinguished personages in this distinguished assembly. The
+young Duke fell into an attitude worthy of Hamlet: ‘This, then, is _old_
+Dacre! O deceitful Fitz-pompey! O silly St. James! Could I ever forget
+that tall, mild man, who now is perfectly fresh in my memory? Ah! that
+memory of mine; it has been greatly developed to-night. Would that I had
+cultivated that faculty with a little more zeal! But what am I to do?
+The case is urgent. What must the Dacres think of me? What must May
+Dacre think? On the course the whole day, and I the steward, and not
+conscious of the presence of the first family in the Riding! Fool, fool!
+Why, why did I accept an office for which I was totally unfitted? Why,
+why must I flirt away a whole morning with that silly Sophy Wrekin? An
+agreeable predicament, truly, this! What would I give now once more to
+be in St. James’s Street! Confound my Yorkshire estates! How they
+must dislike, how they must despise me! And now, truly, I am to be
+_introduced_ to him! The Duke of St. James, Mr. Dacre! Mr. Dacre,
+the Duke of St. James! What an insult to all parties! How supremely
+ludicrous! What a mode of offering my gratitude to the man to whom I
+am under solemn and inconceivable obligations! A choice way, truly, to
+salute the bosom-friend of my sire, the guardian of my interests, the
+creator of my property, the fosterer of my orphan infancy! It is
+useless to conceal it; I am placed in the most disagreeable, the most
+inextricable situation. ‘Inextricable! Am I, then, the Duke of St.
+James? Am I that being who, two hours ago, thought that the world was
+formed alone for my enjoyment, and I quiver and shrink here like a
+common hind? Out, out on such craven cowardice! I am no Hauteville! I
+am bastard! Never! I will not be crushed. I will struggle with this
+emergency; I will conquer it. Now aid me, ye heroes of my house! On
+the sands of Palestine, on the plains of France, ye were not in a more
+difficult situation than is your descendant in a ball-room in his own
+county. My mind elevates itself to the occasion, my courage expands with
+the enterprise; I will right myself with these Dacres with honour, and
+without humiliation.’
+
+The dancing ceased, the dancers disappeared. There was a blank between
+the Duke of St. James on one side of the broad room, and Mr. Dacre and
+those with whom he was conversing on the other. Many eyes were on his
+Grace, and he seized the opportunity to execute his purpose. He advanced
+across the chamber with the air of a young monarch greeting a victorious
+general. It seemed that, for a moment, his Majesty wished to destroy
+all difference of rank between himself and the man that he honoured. So
+studied and so inexpressibly graceful were his movements that the
+gaze of all around involuntarily fixed upon him. Mrs. Dallington Vere
+unconsciously refrained from speaking as he approached; and one or two,
+without actually knowing his purpose, made way. They seemed awed by his
+dignity, and shuffled behind Mr. Dacre, as if he were the only person
+who was the Duke’s match.
+
+‘Mr. Dacre,’ said his Grace, in the softest but still audible tones, and
+he extended, at the same time, his hand; ‘Mr. Dacre, our first meeting
+should have been neither here nor thus; but you, who have excused so
+much, will pardon also this!’
+
+Mr. Dacre, though a calm personage, was surprised by this sudden
+address. He could not doubt who was the speaker. He had left his ward
+a mere child. He saw before him the exact and breathing image of the
+heart-friend of his ancient days. He forgot all but the memory of a
+cherished friendship.
+
+He was greatly affected; he pressed the offered hand; he advanced; he
+moved aside. The young Duke followed up his advantage, and, with an air
+of the greatest affection, placed Mr. Dacre’s arm in his own, and then
+bore off his prize in triumph.
+
+Right skilfully did our hero avail himself of his advantage. He spoke,
+and he spoke with emotion. There is something inexpressibly captivating
+in the contrition of a youthful and a generous mind. Mr. Dacre and his
+late ward soon understood each other; for it was one of those meetings
+which sentiment makes sweet.
+
+‘And now,’ said his Grace, ‘I have one more favour to ask, and that is
+the greatest: I wish to be recalled to the recollection of my oldest
+friend.’
+
+Mr. Dacre led the Duke to his daughter; and the Earl of St. Jerome, who
+was still laughing at her side, rose.
+
+‘The Duke of St. James, May, wishes to renew his acquaintance with you.’
+
+She bowed in silence. Lord St. Jerome, who was the great oracle of the
+Yorkshire School, and who had betted desperately against the favourite,
+took Mr. Dacre aside to consult him about the rain, and the Duke of
+St. James dropped into his chair. That tongue, however, which had never
+failed him, for once was wanting. There was a momentary silence, which
+the lady would not break; and at last her companion broke it, and not
+felicitously.
+
+‘I think there is nothing more delightful than meeting with old
+friends.’
+
+‘Yes! that is the usual sentiment; but I half suspect that it is
+a commonplace, invented to cover our embarrassment under such
+circumstances; for, after all, “an old friend” so situated is a person
+whom we have not seen for many years, and most probably not cared to
+see.’
+
+[Illustration: frontis-p79]
+
+‘You are indeed severe.’
+
+‘Oh! no. I think there is nothing more painful than parting with old
+friends; but when we have parted with them, I am half afraid they are
+lost.’
+
+‘Absence, then, with you is fatal?’
+
+‘Really, I never did part with any one I greatly loved; but I suppose it
+is with me as with most persons.’
+
+‘Yet you have resided abroad, and for many years?’
+
+‘Yes; but I was too young then to have many friends; and, in fact, I
+accompanied perhaps all that I possessed.’
+
+‘How I regret that it was not in my power to accept your kind invitation
+to Dacre in the Spring!’
+
+‘Oh! My father would have been very glad to see you; but we really are
+dull kind of people, not at all in your way, and I really do not think
+that you lost much amusement.’
+
+‘What better amusement, what more interesting occupation, could I have
+had than to visit the place where I passed my earliest and my happiest
+hours? ‘Tis nearly fifteen years since I was at Dacre.’
+
+‘Except when you visited us at Easter. We regretted our loss.’
+
+‘Ah! yes! except that,’ exclaimed the Duke, remembering his jäger’s
+call; ‘but that goes for nothing. I of course saw very little.’
+
+‘Yet, I assure you, you made a great impression. So eminent a personage,
+of course, observes less than he himself is observed. We had a graphical
+description of you on our return, and a very accurate one, too; for I
+recognised your Grace to-night merely from the report of your visit.’
+
+The Duke shot a shrewd glance at his companion’s face, but it betrayed
+no indication of badinage, and so, rather puzzled, he thought it best to
+put up with the parallel between himself and his servant. But Miss Dacre
+did not quit this agreeable subject with all that promptitude which he
+fondly anticipated.
+
+‘Poor Lord St. Jerome,’ said she, ‘who is really the most unaffected
+person I know, has been complaining most bitterly of his deficiency in
+the _air noble_. He is mistaken for a groom perpetually; and once, he
+says, had a _douceur_ presented to him in his character of an ostler.
+Your Grace must be proud of your advantage over him. You would have been
+gratified by the universal panegyric of our household. They, of course,
+you know, are proud of their young Duke, a real Yorkshire Duke, and they
+love to dwell upon your truly imposing appearance. As for myself, who
+am true Yorkshire also, I take the most honest pride in hearing them
+describe your elegant attitude, leaning back in your britzska, with your
+feet on the opposite cushions, your hat arranged aside with that air of
+undefinable grace characteristic of the Grand Seigneur, and, which is
+the last remnant of the feudal system, your reiterated orders to drive
+over an old woman. You did not even condescend to speak English, which
+made them quite enthusiastic--’
+
+‘Oh, Miss Dacre, spare me!’
+
+‘Spare you! I have heard of your Grace’s modesty; but this excessive
+sensibility, under well-earned praise, surprises me!’
+
+‘But, Miss Dacre, you cannot indeed really believe that this vulgar
+ruffian, this grim scarecrow, this Guy Faux, was--was--myself.’
+
+‘Not yourself! Really, I am a simple personage. I believe in my eyes and
+trust to my ears. I am at a loss for your meaning.’
+
+‘I mean, then,’ said the Duke, who had gained time to rally, ‘that this
+monster was some impostor, who must have stolen my carriage, picked my
+pocket, and robbed me of my card, which, next to his reputation, is a
+man’s most delicate possession.’
+
+‘Then you never called upon us?’
+
+‘I blush to confess it, never; but I will call, in future, every day.’
+
+‘Your ingenuousness really rivals your modesty.’
+
+‘Now, after these confessions and compliments, may I suggest a waltz?’
+
+‘No one is waltzing now.’
+
+‘When the quadrille, then, is finished?’
+
+‘Then I am engaged.’
+
+‘After your engagement?’
+
+‘That is indeed making a business of pleasure. I have just refused
+a similar request of your fellow-steward. We damsels shall soon be
+obliged to carry a book to enrol our engagements as well as our bets, if
+this system of reversionary dancing be any longer encouraged.’
+
+‘But you must dance with me!’ said the Duke, imploringly.
+
+‘Oh! you will stumble upon me in the course of the evening, and I shall
+probably be more fortunate.
+
+I suppose you feel nervous about to-morrow?’
+
+‘Not at all.’
+
+‘Ah! I forgot. Your Grace’s horse is the favourite. Favourites always
+win.’
+
+‘Have I a horse?’
+
+‘Why, Lord St. Jerome says he doubts whether it be one.’
+
+‘Lord St. Jerome seems a vastly amusing personage; and, as he is so
+often taken for an ostler, I have no doubt is an exceedingly good judge
+of horse-flesh.’
+
+Miss Dacre smiled. It was that wild, but rather wicked, gleam which
+sometimes accompanies the indulgence of innocent malice. It seemed to
+insinuate, ‘I know you are piqued, and I enjoy it’ But here her hand was
+claimed for the waltz.
+
+The young Duke remained musing.
+
+‘There she swims away! By heavens! unrivalled! And there is Lady Afy
+and Burlington; grand, too. Yet there is something in this little Dacre
+which touches my fancy more. What is it? I think it is her impudence.
+That confounded scrape of Carlstein! I will cashier him to-morrow.
+Confound his airs! I think I got out of it pretty well. To-night, on
+the whole, has been a night of triumph; but if I do not waltz with the
+little Dacre I will only vote myself an ovation. But see, here comes Sir
+Lucius. Well! how fares my brother consul?’
+
+‘I do not like this rain. I have been hedging with Hounslow, having
+previously set Bag at his worthy sire with a little information. We
+shall have a perfect swamp, and then it will be strength against speed;
+the old story. Damn the St. Leger. I am sick of it.’
+
+‘Pooh! pooh! think of the little Dacre!’
+
+‘Think of her, my dear fellow! I think of her too much. I should
+absolutely have diddled Hounslow, if it had not been for her confounded
+pretty face flitting about my stupid brain. I saw you speaking to
+Guardy. You managed that business well.’
+
+‘Why, as I do all things, I flatter myself, Lucy. Do you know Lord St.
+Jerome?’
+
+‘Verbally. We have exchanged monosyllables; but he is of the other set.’
+
+‘He is cursedly familiar with the little Dacre. As the friend of her
+father, I think I shall interfere. Is there anything in it, think you?’
+
+‘Oh! no; she is engaged to another.’
+
+‘Engaged!’ said the Duke, absolutely turning pale.
+
+‘Do you remember a Dacre at Eton?’
+
+‘A Dacre at Eton!’ mused the Duke. At another time it would not have
+been in his power to have recalled the stranger to his memory; but this
+evening the train of association had been laid, and after struggling a
+moment with his mind he had the man. ‘To be sure I do: Arundel Dacre, an
+odd sort of a fellow; but he was my senior.’
+
+‘Well, that is the man; a nephew of Guardy, and cousin, of course, to La
+Bellissima. He inherits, you know, all the property. She will not have
+a sou; but old Dacre, as you call him, has managed pretty well, and
+Monsieur Arundel is to compensate for the entail by presenting him with
+a grandson.’
+
+‘The deuce!’
+
+‘The deuce, indeed! Often have I broken his head. Would that I had to a
+little more purpose!’
+
+‘Let us do it now!’
+
+‘He is not here, otherwise----One dislikes a spooney to be successful.’
+
+‘Where are our friends?’
+
+‘Annesley with the Duchess, and Squib with the Duke at écarté.’
+
+‘Success attend them both!’
+
+‘Amen!’
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+     _Innocence and Experience_
+
+TO FEEL that the possessions of an illustrious ancestry are about to
+slide from out your line for ever; that the numerous tenantry, who look
+up to you with the confiding eye that the most liberal parvenu cannot
+attract, will not count you among their lords; that the proud park,
+filled with the ancient and toppling trees that your fathers planted,
+will yield neither its glory nor its treasures to your seed, and that
+the old gallery, whose walls are hung with pictures more cherished than
+the collections of kings, will not breathe with your long posterity; all
+these are feelings sad and trying, and are among those daily pangs which
+moralists have forgotten in their catalogue of miseries, but which
+do not the less wear out those heart-strings at which they are so
+constantly tugging.
+
+This was the situation of Mr. Dacre. The whole of his large property was
+entailed, and descended to his nephew, who was a Protestant; and yet,
+when he looked upon the blooming face of his enchanting daughter, he
+blessed the Providence which, after all his visitations, had doomed him
+to be the sire of a thing so lovely. An exile from her country at an
+early age, the education of May Dacre had been completed in a foreign
+land; yet the mingling bloods of Dacre and of Howard would not in a
+moment have permitted her to forget The inviolate island of the sage and
+free! even if the unceasing and ever-watchful exertions of her father
+had been wanting to make her worthy of so illustrious an ancestry.
+
+But this, happily, was not the case; and to aid the development of the
+infant mind of his young child, to pour forth to her, as she grew
+in years and in reason, all the fruits of his own richly-cultivated
+intellect, was the solitary consolation of one over whose conscious head
+was impending the most awful of visitations. May Dacre was gifted with
+a mind which, even if her tutor had not been her father, would have
+rendered tuition a delight. Her lively imagination, which early unfolded
+itself; her dangerous yet interesting vivacity; the keen delight, the
+swift enthusiasm, with which she drank in knowledge, and then panted for
+more; her shrewd acuteness, and her innate passion for the excellent and
+the beautiful, filled her father with rapture which he repressed, and
+made him feel conscious how much there was to check, to guide, and to
+form, as well as to cherish, to admire, and to applaud.
+
+As she grew up the bright parts of her character shone with increased
+lustre; but, in spite of the exertions of her instructor, some less
+admirable qualities had not yet disappeared. She was still too often
+the dupe of her imagination, and though perfectly inexperienced, her
+confidence in her theoretical knowledge of human nature was unbounded.
+She had an idea that she could penetrate the characters of individuals
+at a first meeting; and the consequence of this fatal axiom was, that
+she was always the slave of first impressions, and constantly the victim
+of prejudice. She was ever thinking individuals better or worse than
+they really were, and she believed it to be out of the power of anyone
+to deceive her. Constant attendance during many years on a dying and
+beloved mother, and her deeply religious feelings, had first broken, and
+then controlled, a spirit which nature had intended to be arrogant and
+haughty. Her father she adored; and she seemed to devote to him all
+that consideration which, with more common characters, is generally
+distributed among their acquaintance. We hint at her faults. How
+shall we describe her virtues? Her unbounded generosity, her dignified
+simplicity, her graceful frankness, her true nobility of thought and
+feeling, her firmness, her courage and her truth, her kindness to
+her inferiors, her constant charity, her devotion to her parents, her
+sympathy with sorrow, her detestation of oppression, her pure unsullied
+thoughts, her delicate taste, her deep religion. All these combined
+would have formed a delightful character, even if unaccompanied with
+such brilliant talents and such brilliant beauty. Accustomed from an
+early age to the converse of courts and the forms of the most polished
+circles, her manner became her blood, her beauty, and her mind. Yet
+she rather acted in unison with the spirit of society than obeyed its
+minutest decree. She violated etiquette with a wilful grace which made
+the outrage a precedent, and she mingled with princes without feeling
+her inferiority. Nature, and art, and fortune were the graces which had
+combined to form this girl. She was a jewel set in gold, and worn by a
+king.
+
+Her creed had made her, in ancient Christendom, feel less an alien; but
+when she returned to that native country which she had never forgotten,
+she found that creed her degradation. Her indignant spirit clung with
+renewed ardour to the crushed altars of her faith; and not before those
+proud shrines where cardinals officiate, and a thousand acolytes fling
+their censers, had she bowed with half the abandonment of spirit with
+which she invoked the Virgin in her oratory at Dacre.
+
+The recent death of her mother rendered Mr. Dacre and herself little
+inclined to enter society; and as they were both desirous of residing on
+that estate from which they had been so long and so unwillingly absent,
+they had not yet visited London. The greater part of their time had been
+passed chiefly in communication with those great Catholic families with
+whom the Dacres were allied, and to which they belonged. The modern race
+of the Howards and the Cliffords, the Talbots, the Arundels, and the
+Jerninghams, were not unworthy of their proud progenitors. Miss Dacre
+observed with respect, and assuredly with sympathy, the mild
+dignity, the noble patience, the proud humility, the calm hope, the
+uncompromising courage, with which her father and his friends sustained
+their oppression and lived as proscribed in the realm which they had
+created. Yet her lively fancy and gay spirit found less to admire in the
+feelings which influenced these families in their intercourse with the
+world, which induced them to foster but slight intimacies out of the
+pale of the proscribed, and which tinged their domestic life with
+that formal and gloomy colouring which ever accompanies a monotonous
+existence. Her disposition told her that all this affected
+non-interference with the business of society might be politic, but
+assuredly was not pleasant; her quick sense whispered to her it was
+unwise, and that it retarded, not advanced, the great result in which
+her sanguine temper dared often to indulge. Under any circumstances,
+it did not appear to her to be wisdom to second the efforts of their
+oppressors for their degradation or their misery, and to seek no
+consolation in the amiable feelings of their fellow-creatures for the
+stern rigour of their unsocial government. But, independently of all
+general principles, Miss Dacre could not but believe that it was
+the duty of the Catholic gentry to mix more with that world which so
+misconceived their spirit. Proud in her conscious knowledge of
+their exalted virtues, she felt that they had only to be known to be
+recognised as the worthy leaders of that nation which they had so often
+saved and never betrayed.
+
+She did not conceal her opinions from the circle in which they had grown
+up. All the young members were her disciples, and were decidedly of
+opinion that if the House of Lords would but listen to May Dacre,
+emancipation would be a settled thing. Her logic would have destroyed
+Lord Liverpool’s arguments; her wit extinguished Lord Eldon’s jokes.
+But the elder members only shed a solemn smile, and blessed May Dacre’s
+shining eyes and sanguine spirit.
+
+Her greatest supporter was Mrs. Dallington Vere. This lady was a distant
+relation of Mr. Dacre. At seventeen she, herself a Catholic, had married
+Mr. Dallington Vere, of Dallington House, a Catholic gentleman of
+considerable fortune, whose age resembled his wealth. No sooner had this
+incident taken place than did Mrs. Dallington Vere hurry to London, and
+soon evinced a most laudable determination to console herself for her
+husband’s political disabilities. Mrs. Dallington Vere went to Court;
+and Mrs. Dallington Vere gave suppers after the opera, and concerts
+which, in number and brilliancy, were only equalled by her balls. The
+dandies patronised her, and selected her for their Muse. The Duke of
+Shropshire betted on her always at écarté; and, to crown the whole
+affair, she made Mr. Dallington Vere lay claim to a dormant peerage. The
+women were all pique, the men all patronage. A Protestant minister
+was alarmed; and Lord Squib supposed that Mrs. Dallington must be the
+Scarlet Lady of whom they had heard so often.
+
+Season after season she kept up the ball; and although, of course, she
+no longer made an equal sensation, she was not less brilliant, nor
+her position less eminent. She had got into the best set, and was more
+quiet, like a patriot in place. Never was there a gayer lady than Mrs.
+Dallington Vere, but never a more prudent one. Her virtue was only
+equalled by her discretion; but, as the odds were equal, Lord Squib
+betted on the last. People sometimes indeed did say--they always
+will--but what is talk? Mere breath. And reputation is marble, and iron,
+and sometimes brass; and so, you see, talk has no chance. They did say
+that Sir Lucius Grafton was about to enter into the Romish communion;
+but then it turned out that it was only to get a divorce from his wife,
+on the plea that she was a heretic.
+
+The fact was, Mrs. Dallington Vere was a most successful woman, lucky in
+everything, lucky even in her husband; for he died. He did not only die;
+he left his whole fortune to his wife. Some said that his relations
+were going to set aside the will, on the plea that it was written with a
+crow-quill on pink paper; but this was false; it was only a codicil.
+
+All eyes were on a very pretty woman, with fifteen thousand a year, and
+only twenty-three. The Duke of Shropshire wished he were disembarrassed.
+Such a player of écarté might double her income. Lord Raff advanced,
+trusting to his beard, and young Amadée de Rouerie mortgaged his
+dressing-case, and came post from Paris; but in spite of his sky-blue
+nether garments and his Hessians, he followed my Lord’s example, and
+re-crossed the water. It is even said that Lord Squib was sentimental;
+but this must have been the malice of Charles Annesley.
+
+All, however, failed. The truth is, Mrs. Dallington Vere had nothing to
+gain by re-entering Paradise, which matrimony, of course, is; and so she
+determined to remain mistress of herself. She had gained fashion, and
+fortune, and rank; she was young, and she was pretty. She thought it
+might be possible for a discreet, experienced little lady to lead a very
+pleasant life without being assisted in her expenses or disturbed in her
+diversion by a gentleman who called himself her husband, occasionally
+asked her how she slept in a bed which he did not share, or munificently
+presented her with a necklace purchased with her own money. Discreet
+Mrs. Dallington Vere!
+
+She had been absent from London during the past season, having taken it
+also into her head to travel.
+
+She was equally admired and equally plotted for at Rome, at Paris, and
+at Vienna, as at London; but the bird had not been caught, and, flying
+away, left many a despairing prince and amorous count to muse over their
+lean visages and meagre incomes.
+
+Dallington House made its fair mistress a neighbour of her relations,
+the Dacres. No one could be a more fascinating companion than Mrs.
+Dallington Vere. May Dacre read her character at once, and these ladies
+became great allies. She was to assist Miss Dacre in her plans for
+rousing their Catholic friends, as no one was better qualified to be
+her adjutant. Already they had commenced their operations, and balls at
+Dallington and Dacre, frequent, splendid, and various, had already made
+the Catholic houses the most eminent in the Riding, and their brilliant
+mistresses the heroines of all the youth.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+     _Ruined Hopes_
+
+IT RAINED all night without ceasing yet the morrow was serene.
+Nevertheless the odds had shifted. On the evening, thy had not been more
+than two to one against the first favourite, the Duke of St. James’s ch.
+c. Sanspareil, by Ne Plus Ultra; while they were five to one against the
+second favourite, Mr. Dash’s gr. c. The Dandy, by Banker, and nine and
+ten to one against the next in favour. This morning, however, affairs
+were altered. Mr. Dash and his Dandy were at the head of the poll; and
+as the owner rode his own horse, being a jockey and a fit rival for the
+Duke of St. James, his backers were sanguine. Sanspareil, was, however,
+the second favourite.
+
+The Duke, however, was confident as an universal conqueror, and came on
+in his usual state, rode round the course, inspirited Lady Aphrodite,
+who was all anxiety, betted with Miss Dacre, and bowed to Mrs.
+Dallington.
+
+There were more than ninety horses, and yet the start was fair. But the
+result? Pardon me! The fatal remembrance overpowers my pen. An effort
+and some _Eau de Portingale_, and I shall recover. The first favourite
+was never heard of, the second favourite was never seen after the
+distance post, all the ten-to-oners were in the rear, and a _dark_
+horse, which had never been thought of, and which the careless St. James
+had never even observed in the list, rushed past the grand stand in
+sweeping triumph. The spectators were almost too surprised to cheer; but
+when the name of the winner was detected there was a deafening shout,
+particularly from the Yorkshiremen. The victor was the Earl of St.
+Jerome’s b. f. May Dacre, by Howard.
+
+Conceive the confusion! Sanspareil was at last discovered, and
+immediately shipped off for Newmarket, as young gentlemen who get into
+scrapes are sent to travel. The Dukes of Burlington and Shropshire
+exchanged a few hundreds; the Duchess and Charles Annesley a few gloves.
+The consummate Lord Bloomerly, though a backer of the favourite, in
+compliment to his host, contrived to receive from all parties, and
+particularly from St. Maurice. The sweet little Wrekins were absolutely
+ruined. Sir Lucius looked blue, but he had hedged; and Lord Squib looked
+yellow, but some doubted. Lord Hounslow was done, and Lord Bagshot was
+diddled.
+
+The Duke of St. James was perhaps the heaviest sufferer on the field,
+and certainly bore his losses the best. Had he seen the five-and-twenty
+thousand he was minus counted before him, he probably would have been
+staggered; but as it was, another crumb of his half-million was gone.
+The loss existed only in idea. It was really too trifling to think
+of, and he galloped up to Miss Dacre, and was among the warmest of her
+congratulators.
+
+‘I would offer your Grace my sympathy for your congratulations,’ said
+Miss Dacre, in a rather amiable tone; ‘but’ (and here she resumed her
+air of mockery) ‘you are too great a man to be affected by so light a
+casualty. And, now that I recollect myself, did you run a horse?’
+
+‘Why, no; the fault was, I believe, that he would not run; but
+Sanspareil is as great a hero as ever. He has only been conquered by the
+elements.’
+
+The dinner at the Duke of St. James’s was this day more splendid even
+than the preceding. He was determined to show that the disappointment
+had produced no effect upon the temper of so imperial a personage
+as himself, and he invited several of the leading gentry to join his
+coterie. The Dacres were among the solicited; but they were, during the
+races, the guests of Mrs. Dallington Vere, whose seat was only a mile
+off, and therefore were unobtainable.
+
+Blazed the plate, sparkled the wine, and the aromatic venison sent forth
+its odourous incense to the skies. The favourite cook had done wonders,
+though a Sanspareil pâté, on which he had been meditating for a week,
+was obliged to be suppressed, and was sent up as a tourte à la Bourbon,
+in compliment to his Royal Highness. It was a delightful party: all the
+stiffness of metropolitan society disappeared. All talked, and laughed,
+and ate, and drank; and the Protocolis and the French princes, who were
+most active members of a banquet, ceased sometimes, from want of breath,
+to moralize on the English character. The little Wrekins, with their
+well-acted lamentations over their losses, were capital; and Sophy
+nearly smiled and chattered her head this day into the reversion of the
+coronet of Fitz-pompey. May she succeed! For a wilder little partridge
+never yet flew. Caroline St. Maurice alone was sad, and would not be
+comforted; although St. James, observing her gloom, and guessing at its
+cause, had in private assured her that, far from losing, on the whole he
+was perhaps even a winner.
+
+None, however, talked more agreeable nonsense and made a more elegant
+uproar than the Duke of St. James.
+
+‘These young men,’ whispered Lord Squib to Annesley, ‘do not know the
+value of money. We must teach it them. I know too well; I find it very
+dear.’
+
+If the old physicians are correct in considering from twenty-five to
+thirty-five as the period of lusty youth, Lord Squib was still a lusty
+youth, though a very corpulent one indeed. The carnival of his life,
+however, was nearly over, and probably the termination of the race-week
+might hail him a man. He was the best fellow in the world; short and
+sleek, half bald, and looked fifty; with a waist, however, which had not
+yet vanished, and where Art successfully controlled rebellious Nature,
+like the Austrians the Lombards. If he were not exactly a wit, he was
+still, however, full of unaffected fun, and threw out the results of a
+_roué_ life with considerable ease and point. He had inherited a fair
+and peer-like property, which he had contrived to embarrass in so
+complicated and extraordinary a manner that he had been a ruined man for
+years, and yet lived well on an income allowed him by his creditors to
+manage his estate for their benefit. The joke was, he really managed
+it well. It was his hobby, and he prided himself especially upon his
+character as a man of business.
+
+The banquet is certainly the best preparative for the ball, if its
+blessings be not abused, for then you get heavy. Your true votary of
+Terpsichore, and of him we only speak, requires, particularly in a land
+of easterly winds, which cut into his cab-head at every turn of every
+street, some previous process to make his blood set him an example in
+dancing. It is strong Burgundy and his sparkling sister champagne that
+make a race-ball always so amusing a _divertissement_. One enters the
+room with a gay elation which defies rule without violating etiquette,
+and in these county meetings there is a variety of character, and
+classes, and manners, which is interesting, and affords an agreeable
+contrast to those more brilliant and refined assemblies the members of
+which, being educated by exactly the same system and with exactly the
+same ideas, think, look, move, talk, dress, and even eat, alike; the
+only remarkable personage being a woman somewhat more beautiful than
+the beauties who surround her, and a man rather more original in his
+affectations than the puppies that surround him. The proof of the
+general dulness of polite circles is the great sensation that is always
+produced by a new face. The season always commences briskly, because
+there are so many. Ball, and dinner, and concert collect then plentiful
+votaries; but as we move on the dulness will develop itself, and
+then come the morning breakfast, and the water party, and the _fête
+champêtre_, all desperate attempts to produce variety with old
+materials, and to occasion a second effect by a cause which is already
+exhausted.
+
+These philosophical remarks precede another introduction to the public
+ball-room at Doncaster. Mrs. Dallington Vere and Miss Dacre are walking
+arm in arm at the upper end of the room.
+
+‘You are disappointed, love, about Arundel?’ said Mrs. Dallington.
+
+‘Bitterly; I never counted on any event more certainly than on his
+return this summer.’
+
+‘And why tarrieth the wanderer? unwillingly of course?’
+
+‘Lord Darrell, who was to have gone over as _Chargé d’affaires_, has
+announced to his father the impossibility of his becoming a diplomatist,
+so our poor _attaché_ suffers, and is obliged to bear the _portefeuille
+ad interim_.’
+
+‘Does your cousin like Vienna?’
+
+‘Not at all. He is a regular John Bull; and, if I am to judge from his
+correspondence, he will make an excellent ambassador in one sense, for
+I think his fidelity and his patriotism may be depended on. We seldom
+serve those whom we do not love; and, if I am to believe Arundel, there
+is neither a person nor a place on the whole Continent that affords him
+the least satisfaction.’
+
+‘How singular, then, that he should have fixed on such a _métier_; but,
+I suppose, like other young men, his friends fixed for him?’
+
+‘Not at all. No step could be less pleasing to my father than his
+leaving England; but Arundel is quite unmanageable, even by papa. He is
+the oddest but the dearest person in the world!’
+
+‘He is very clever, is he not?’
+
+‘I think so. I have no doubt he will distinguish himself, whatever
+career he runs; but he is so extremely singular in his manner that I do
+not think his general reputation harmonises with my private opinion.’
+
+‘And will his visit to England be a long one?’
+
+‘I hope that it will be a permanent one. I, you know, am his confidant,
+and entrusted with all his plans. If I succeed in arranging something
+according to his wishes, I hope that he will not again quit us.’
+
+‘I pray you may, sweet! and wish, love, for your sake, that he would
+enter the room this moment.’
+
+‘This is the most successful meeting, I should think, that ever was
+known at Doncaster,’ said Miss Dacre. ‘We are, at least, indebted to the
+Duke of St. James for a very agreeable party, to say nothing of all the
+gloves we have won.’
+
+‘How do you like the Duke of Burlington?’
+
+‘Much. There is a calm courtliness about him which I think very
+imposing. He is the only man I ever saw who, without being very young,
+was not an unfit companion for youth. And there is no affectation of
+juvenility about him. He involuntarily reminds you of youth, as an empty
+orchestra does of music.’
+
+‘I shall tell him this. He is already your devoted; and I have no
+doubt that, inspired at the same time by your universal charms and
+our universal hints, I shall soon hail you Duchess of Burlington. Don
+Arundel will repent his diplomacy.’
+
+‘I thought I was to be another Duchess this morning.’
+
+‘You deserve to be a triple one. But dream not of the unhappy patron of
+Sanspareil. There is something in his eyes which tells me he is not a
+marrying man.’
+
+There was a momentary pause, and Miss Dacre spoke.
+
+‘I like his brother steward, Bertha. Sir Lucius is witty and candid. It
+is an agreeable thing to see a man who had been so gay, and who has had
+so many temptations to be gay, turn into a regular domestic character,
+without losing any of those qualities which made him an ornament to
+society. When men of the world terminate their career as prudently as
+Sir Lucius, I observe that they are always amusing companions, because
+they are perfectly unaffected.’
+
+‘No one is more unaffected than Lucius Grafton. I am quite happy to find
+you like him; for he is an old friend of mine, and I know that he has a
+good heart.’
+
+‘I like him especially because he likes you.’
+
+‘Dearest!’
+
+‘He introduced me to Lady Afy. I perceive that she is very attached to
+her husband.’
+
+‘Lady Afy is a charming woman. I know no woman so truly elegant as Lady
+Afy. The young Duke, you know they say, greatly admires Lady Afy.’
+
+‘Oh! does he? Well now, I should have thought her rather a sentimental
+and serious donna; one very unlikely------’
+
+‘Hush! here come two cavaliers.’
+
+The Dukes of Burlington and St. James advanced.
+
+‘We are attracted by observing two nymphs wandering in this desert,’
+said his Grace of Burlington. This was the Burgundy.
+
+‘And we wish to know whether there be any dragon to destroy, any ogre to
+devour, any magician to massacre, or how, when, and where we can testify
+our devotion to the ladies of our love,’ added his Grace of St. James.
+This was the champagne.
+
+‘The age of chivalry is past,’ said Miss Dacre. ‘Bores have succeeded
+to dragons, and I have shivered too many lances in vain ever to hope for
+their extirpation; and as for enchantments----’
+
+‘They depend only upon yourself,’ gallantly interrupted the Duke of
+Burgundy. Psha!--Burlington.
+
+‘Our spells are dissolved, our wands are sunk five fathom deep; we had
+retired to this solitude, and we were moralising,’ said Mrs. Dallington
+Vere.
+
+‘Then you were doing an extremely useless and not very magnanimous
+thing,’ said the Duke of St. James; ‘for to moralise in a desert is no
+great exertion of philosophy. You should moralise in a drawing-room; and
+so let me propose our return to that world which must long have missed
+us. Let us do something to astound these elegant barbarians. Look at
+that young gentleman: how stiff he is! A Yorkshire Apollo! Look at that
+old lady; how elaborately she simpers! The Venus of the Riding! They
+absolutely attempt to flirt. Let us give them a gallop!’
+
+He was advancing to salute this provincial couple; but his more mature
+companion repressed him.
+
+‘Ah! I forgot,’ said the young Duke. ‘I am Yorkshire. If I were a
+western, like yourself, I might compromise my character. Your Grace
+monopolises the fun.’
+
+‘I think you may safely attack them,’ said Miss Dacre. ‘I do not think
+you will be recognised. People entertain in this barbarous country, such
+vulgar, old-fashioned notions of a Duke of St. James, that I have not
+the least doubt your Grace might have a good deal of fun without being
+found out.’
+
+‘There is no necessity,’ said the Duke, ‘to fly from Miss Dacre for
+amusement. By-the-bye, you make a good repartee. You must permit me to
+introduce you to my friend, Lord Squib. I am sure you would agree so.’
+
+‘I have been introduced to Lord Squib.’
+
+‘And you found him most amusing? Did he say anything which vindicates my
+appointment of him as my court jester?’
+
+‘I found him modest. He endeavoured to excuse his errors by being your
+companion; and to prove his virtues by being mine.’
+
+‘Treacherous Squib! I positively must call him out. Duke, bear him a
+cartel.’
+
+‘The quarrel is ours, and must be decided here,’ said Mrs. Dallington
+Vere. ‘I second Miss Dacre.’
+
+‘We are in the way of some good people here, I think,’ said the Duke of
+Burlington, who, though the most dignified, was the most considerate of
+men; ‘at least, here are a stray couple or two staring as if they wished
+us to understand we prevented a set.’
+
+‘Let them stare,’ said the Duke of St. James; ‘we were made to be looked
+at. ‘Tis our vocation, Hal, and they are gifted with vision purposely to
+behold us.’
+
+‘Your Grace,’ said Miss Dacre, ‘reminds me of my old friend, Prince
+Rubarini, who told me one day that when he got up late he always gave
+orders to have the sun put back a couple of hours.’
+
+‘And you, Miss Dacre, remind me of my old friend, the Duchess of Nevers,
+who told me one day that in the course of her experience she had only
+met one man who was her rival in repartee.’
+
+‘And that man,’ asked Mrs. Vere.
+
+‘Was your slave, Mrs. Dallington,’ said the young Duke, bowing
+profoundly, with his hand on his heart.
+
+‘I remember she said the same thing to me,’ said the Duke of Burlington,
+‘about ten years before.’
+
+‘That was her grandmother, Burley,’ said the Duke of St. James.
+
+‘Her grandmother!’ said Mrs. Dallington, exciting the contest.
+
+‘Decidedly,’ said the young Duke. ‘I remember my friend always spoke of
+the Duke of Burlington as grandpapa.’
+
+‘You will profit, I have no doubt, then, by the company of so venerable
+a friend,’ said Miss Dacre.
+
+‘Why,’ said the young Duke, ‘I am not a believer in the perfectibility
+of the species; and you know, that when we come to a certain point----’
+
+‘We must despair of improvement,’ said the Duke of Burlington.
+
+‘Your Grace came forward, like a true knight, to my rescue,’ said Miss
+Dacre, bowing to the Duke of Burlington.
+
+‘Beauty can inspire miracles,’ said the Duke of St. James.
+
+‘This young gentleman has been spoiled by travel, Miss Dacre,’ said the
+Duke of Burlington. ‘You have much to answer for, for he tells every one
+that you were his guardian.’
+
+The eyes of Miss Dacre and the Duke of St. James met. He bowed with that
+graceful impudence which is, after all, the best explanation for every
+possible misunderstanding.
+
+‘I always heard that the Duke of St. James was born of age,’ said Miss
+Dacre.
+
+‘The report was rife on the Continent when I travelled,’ said Mrs.
+Dallington Vere.
+
+‘That was only a poetical allegory, which veiled the precocious results
+of my fair tutor’s exertions.’
+
+‘How discreet he is!’ said the Duke of Burlington. ‘You may tell
+immediately that he is two-and-forty.’
+
+‘We are neither of us, though, off the _pavé_ yet, Burlington; so what
+say you to inducing these inspiring muses to join the waltz which is
+just now commencing?’
+
+The young Duke offered his hand to Miss Dacre, and, followed by
+their companions, they were in a few minutes lost in the waves of the
+waltzers.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+     _A Complaisant Spouse_
+
+THE gaieties of the race-week closed with a ball at Dallington House.
+As the pretty mistress of this proud mansion was acquainted with all the
+members of the ducal party, our hero and his noble band were among those
+who honoured it with their presence.
+
+We really have had so many balls both in this and other as immortal
+works that, in a literary point of view, we think we must give up
+dancing; nor would we have introduced you to Dallington House if there
+had been no more serious business on hand than a flirtation with a lady
+or a lobster salad. Ah! why is not a little brief communion with the
+last as innocent as with the first?
+
+Small feet are flitting in the mazy dance and music winds with inspiring
+harmony through halls whose lofty mirrors multiply beauty and add fresh
+lustre to the blazing lights. May Dacre there is wandering like a peri
+in Paradise, and Lady Aphrodite is glancing with her dazzling brow, yet
+an Asmodeus might detect an occasional gloom over her radiant face.
+It is but for an instant, yet it thrills. She looks like some favoured
+sultana, who muses for a moment amid her splendour on her early love.
+
+And she, the sparkling mistress of this scene; say, where is she? Not
+among the dancers, though a more graceful form you could scarcely look
+upon; not even among her guests, though a more accomplished hostess
+it would be hard to find. Gaiety pours forth its flood, and all
+are thinking of themselves, or of some one sweeter even than
+self-consciousness, or else perhaps one absent might be missed.
+
+Leaning on the arm of Sir Lucius Grafton, and shrouded in her cashmere,
+Mrs. Dallington Vere paces the terrace in earnest conversation.
+
+‘If I fail in this,’ said Sir Lucius, ‘I shall be desperate. Fortune
+seems to have sent him for the very purpose. Think only of the state of
+affairs for a moment. After a thousand plots on my part; after having
+for the last two years never ceased my exertions to make her commit
+herself; when neither a love of pleasure, nor a love of revenge, nor the
+thoughtlessness to which women in her situation generally have recourse,
+produced the slightest effect; this stripling starts upon the stage, and
+in a moment the iceberg melts. Oh! I never shall forget the rapture of
+the moment when the faithful Lachen announced the miracle!’
+
+‘But why not let the adventure take the usual course? You have your
+evidence, or you can get it. Finish the business. The _exposés_, to be
+sure, are disagreeable enough; but to be the talk of the town for a week
+is no great suffering. Go to Baden, drink the waters, and it will be
+forgotten. Surely this is an inconvenience not to be weighed for a
+moment against the great result.’
+
+[Illustration: page106]
+
+‘Believe me, my dearest friend, Lucy Grafton cares very little about the
+babble of the million, provided it do not obstruct him in his objects.
+Would to Heaven I could proceed in the summary and effectual mode you
+point out; but that I much doubt. There is about Afy, in spite of
+all her softness and humility, a strange spirit, a cursed courage or
+obstinacy, which sometimes has blazed out, when I have over-galled her,
+in a way half-awful. I confess I dread her standing at bay. I am in her
+power, and a divorce she could successfully oppose if I appeared to be
+the person who hastened the catastrophe and she were piqued to show that
+she would not fall an easy victim. No, no! I have a surer, though a more
+difficult, game. She is intoxicated with this boy. I will drive her into
+his arms.’
+
+‘A probable result, forsooth! I do not think your genius has
+particularly brightened since we last met. I thought your letters were
+getting dull. You seem to forget that there is a third person to be
+consulted in this adventure. And why in the name of Doctors’ Commons,
+the Duke is to close his career by marrying a woman of whom, with your
+leave, he is already, if experience be not a dream, half-wearied, is
+really past my comprehension, although as Yorkshire, Lucy, I should not,
+you know, be the least apprehensive of mortals.’
+
+‘I depend upon my unbounded influence over St. James.’
+
+‘What! do you mean to recommend the step, then?’
+
+‘Hear me! At present I am his confidential counsellor on all
+subjects----’
+
+‘But one.’
+
+‘Patience, fair dame; and I have hitherto imperceptibly, but
+efficiently, exerted my influence to prevent his getting entangled with
+any other nets.’
+
+‘Faithful friend!’
+
+‘_Point de moquerie!_ Listen. I depend further upon his perfect
+inexperience of women; for, in spite of his numerous gallantries, he
+has never yet had a grand passion, and is quite ignorant, even at this
+moment, how involved his feelings are with his mistress. He has not yet
+learnt the bitter lesson that, unless we despise a woman when we
+cease to love her, we are still a slave, without the consolement of
+intoxication. I depend further upon his strong feelings; for strong
+I perceive they are, with all his affectation; and on his weakness
+of character, which will allow him to be the dupe of his first great
+emotion. It is to prevent that explosion from taking place under any
+other roof than my own that I now require your advice and assistance;
+that advice and assistance which already have done so much for me. I
+like not this sudden and uncontemplated visit to Castle Dacre. I fear
+these Dacres; I fear the revulsion of his feelings. Above all, I fear
+that girl.’
+
+‘But her cousin; is he not a talisman? She loves him.’
+
+‘Pooh! a cousin! Is not the name an answer? She loves him as she loves
+her pony; because he was her companion when she was a child, and kissed
+her when they gathered strawberries together. The pallid, moonlight
+passion of a cousin, and an absent one, too, has but a sorry chance
+against the blazing beams that shoot from the eyes of a new lover. Would
+to Heaven that I had not to go down to my boobies at Cleve! I should
+like nothing better than to amuse myself an autumn at Dallington with
+the little Dacre, and put an end to such an unnatural and irreligious
+connection. She is a splendid creature! Bring her to town next season.’
+
+‘But to the point. You wish me, I imagine, to act the same part with the
+lady as you have done with the gentleman. I am to step in, I suppose,
+as the confidential counsellor on all subjects of sweet May. I am to
+preserve her from a youth whose passions are so impetuous and whose
+principles are so unformed.’
+
+‘Admirable Bertha! You read my thoughts.’
+
+‘But suppose I endanger, instead of advance, your plans. Suppose, for
+instance, I captivate his Grace. As extraordinary things have happened,
+as you know. High place must be respected, and the coronet of a Duchess
+must not be despised.’
+
+‘All considerations must yield to you, as do all men,’ said Sir Lucius,
+with ready gallantry, but not free from anxiety.
+
+‘No, no; there is no danger of that. I am not going to play traitress
+to my system, even for the Duke of St. James; therefore, anything that
+occurs between us shall be merely an incident _pour passer le temps
+seulement_, and to preserve our young friend from the little Dacre. I
+have no doubt he will behave very well, and that I shall send him safe
+to Cleve Park in a fortnight with a good character. I would recommend
+you, however, not to encourage any unreasonable delay.’
+
+‘Certainly not; but I must, of course, be guided by circumstances.’ Sir
+Lucius observed truly. There were other considerations besides getting
+rid of his spouse which cemented his friendship with the young Duke. It
+will be curious if lending a few thousands to the husband save our hero
+from the wife. There is no such thing as unmixed evil. A man who loses
+his money gains, at least, experience, and sometimes something better.
+But what the Duke of St. James gained is not yet to be told.
+
+‘And you like Lachen?’ asked Mrs. Dallington.
+
+‘Very much.’
+
+‘I formed her with great care, but you must keep her in good humour.’
+
+‘That is not difficult. _Elle est très jolie_; and pretty women, like
+yourself, are always good-natured.’
+
+‘But has she really worked herself into the confidence of the virtuous
+Aphrodite?’
+
+‘Entirely. And the humour is, that Lachen has persuaded her that Lachen
+herself is on the best possible terms with my confidential valet, and
+can make herself at all times mistress of her master’s secrets. So it is
+always in my power, apparently without taking the slightest interest in
+Afy’s conduct, to regulate it as I will. At present she believes that my
+affairs are in a distracted state, and that I intend to reside solely on
+the Continent, and to bear her off from her Cupidon. This thought haunts
+her rest, and hangs heavy on her waking mind. I think it will do the
+business.’
+
+‘We have been too long absent. Let us return.’
+
+‘I accompany you, my charming friend. What should I do without such an
+ally? I only wish that I could assist you in a manner equally friendly.
+Is there no obdurate hero who wants a confidential adviser to dilate
+upon your charms, or to counsel him to throw himself at your feet; or
+are that beautiful in face and lovely form, as they must always be,
+invincible?’
+
+‘I assure you quite disembarrassed of any attentions whatever. But, I
+suppose, when I return to Athens, I must get Platonic again.’
+
+‘Let me be the philosopher!’
+
+‘No, no; we know each other too well. I have been free ever since that
+fatal affair of young Darrell, and travel has restored my spirits a
+little. They say his brother is just as handsome. He was expected at
+Vienna, but I could not meet him, although I suppose, as I made him a
+Viscount, I am rather popular than not with him.’
+
+‘Pooh! pooh! think not of this. No one blames you. You are still a
+universal favourite. But I would recommend you, nevertheless, to take me
+as your cavalier.’
+
+‘You are too generous, or too bold. No, man! I am tired of flirtation,
+and really think, for variety’s sake, I must fall in love. After all,
+there is nothing like the delicious dream, though it be but a dream.
+Spite of my discretion, I sometimes tremble lest I should end by making
+myself a fool, with some grand passion. You look serious. Fear not for
+the young Duke. He is a dazzling gentleman, but not a hero exactly to my
+taste.’
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+     _At Castle Dacre_
+
+THE moment that was to dissolve the spell which had combined and
+enchanted so many thousands of human beings arrived. Nobles and
+nobodies, beauties and blacklegs, dispersed in all directions. The Duke
+of Burlington carried off the French princes and the Protocolis, the
+Bloomerlys and the Vaticans, to his Paradise of Marringworth. The
+Fitz-pompeys cantered off with the Shropshires; omen of felicity to
+the enamoured St. Maurice and the enamouring Sophy. Annesley and Squib
+returned to their pâtés. Sir Lucius and Lady Aphrodite, neither of them
+with tempers like summer skies, betook their way to Cambridgeshire, like
+Adam and Eve from the glorious garden. The Duke of St. James, after a
+hurried visit to London, found himself, at the beginning of October, on
+his way to Dacre.
+
+As his carriage rolled on he revelled in delicious fancies. The young
+Duke built castles not only at Hauteville, but in less substantial
+regions. Reverie, in the flush of our warm youth, generally indulges in
+the future. We are always anticipating the next adventure and clothe the
+coming heroine with a rosy tint. When we advance a little on our limited
+journey, and an act or two of the comedy, the gayest in all probability,
+are over, the wizard Memory dethrones the witch Imagination, and ‘tis
+the past on which the mind feeds in its musings. ‘Tis then we ponder
+on each great result which has stolen on us without the labour of
+reflection; ‘tis then we analyse emotions which, at the time, we could
+not comprehend, and probe the action which passion inspired, and which
+prejudice has hitherto defended. Alas! who can strike these occasional
+balances in life’s great ledger without a sigh! Alas! how little do
+they promise in favour of the great account! What whisperings of final
+bankruptcy! what a damnable consciousness of present insolvency! My
+friends! what a blunder is youth! Ah! why does Truth light her torch but
+to illume the ruined temple of our existence! Ah! why do we know we are
+men only to be conscious of our exhausted energies!
+
+And yet there is a pleasure in a deal of judgment which your judicious
+man alone can understand. It is agreeable to see some younkers falling
+into the same traps which have broken our own shins; and, shipwrecked
+on the island of our hopes, one likes to mark a vessel go down full in
+sight. ‘Tis demonstration that we are not branded as Cains among the
+favoured race of man. Then giving advice: that _is_ delicious, and
+perhaps repays one all. It is a privilege your grey-haired signors
+solely can enjoy; but young men now-a-days may make some claims to it.
+And, after all, experience is a thing that all men praise. Bards sing
+its glories, and proud Philosophy has long elected it her favourite
+child. ‘Tis the ‘_rò Kaxàv_’, in spite of all its ugliness, and the
+_elixir vitæ_, though we generally gain it with a shattered pulse.
+
+No more! no more! it is a bitter cheat, the consolation of blunderers,
+the last refuge of expiring hopes, the forlorn battalion that is to
+capture the citadel of happiness; yet, yet impregnable! Oh! what is
+wisdom, and what is virtue, without youth! Talk not to me of knowledge
+of mankind; give, give me back the sunshine of the breast which they
+o’erclouded! Talk not to me of proud morality; oh! give me innocence!
+
+Amid the ruins of eternal Rome I scribble pages lighter than the wind,
+and feed with fancies volumes which will be forgotten ere I can hear
+that they are even published. Yet am I not one insensible to the magic
+of my memorable abode, and I could pour my passion o’er the land; but I
+repress my thoughts, and beat their tide back to their hollow caves!
+
+The ocean of my mind is calm, but dim, and ominous of storms that may
+arise. A cloud hangs heavy o’er the horizon’s verge, and veils the
+future. Even now a star appears, steals into light, and now again
+‘tis gone! I hear the proud swell of the growing waters; I hear the
+whispering of the wakening winds; but reason lays her trident on the
+cresting waves, and all again is hushed.
+
+For I am one, though young, yet old enough to know ambition is a demon;
+and I fly from what I fear. And fame has eagle wings, and yet she mounts
+not so high as man’s desires. When all is gained, how little then is
+won! And yet to gain that little how much is lost! Let us once aspire
+and madness follows. Could we but drag the purple from the hero’s heart;
+could we but tear the laurel from the poet’s throbbing brain, and read
+their doubts, their dangers, their despair, we might learn a greater
+lesson than we shall ever acquire by musing over their exploits or
+their inspiration. Think of unrecognised Caesar, with his wasting youth,
+weeping over the Macedonian’s young career! Could Pharsalia compensate
+for those withering pangs? View the obscure Napoleon starving in
+the streets of Paris! What was St. Helena to the bitterness of
+such existence? The visions of past glory might illumine even that
+dark-imprisonment; but to be conscious that his supernatural energies
+might die away without creating their miracles: can the wheel or the
+rack rival the torture of such a suspicion? Lo! Byron bending o’er his
+shattered lyre, with inspiration in his very rage. And the pert taunt
+could sting even this child of light! To doubt of the truth of the
+creed in which you have been nurtured is not so terrific as to doubt
+respecting the intellectual vigour on whose strength you have staked
+your happiness. Yet these were mighty ones; perhaps the records of the
+world will not yield us threescore to be their mates! Then tremble, ye
+whose cheek glows too warmly at their names! Who would be more than man
+should fear lest he be less.
+
+Yet there is hope, there should be happiness, for them, for all. Kind
+Nature, ever mild, extends her fond arms to her truant children, and
+breathes her words of solace. As we weep on her indulgent and maternal
+breast, the exhausted passions, one by one, expire like gladiators in
+yon huge pile that has made barbarity sublime. Yes! there is hope and
+joy; and it is here!
+
+Where the breeze wanders through a perfumed sky, and where the beautiful
+sun illumines beauty.
+
+On the poet’s farm and on the conqueror’s arch thy beam is lingering!
+It lingers on the shattered porticoes that once shrouded from thy
+o’erpowering glory the lords of earth; it lingers upon the ruined
+temples that even in their desolation are yet sacred! ‘Tis gone, as
+if in sorrow! Yet the woody lake still blushes with thy warm kiss; and
+still thy rosy light tinges the pine that breaks the farthest heaven!
+
+A heaven all light, all beauty, and all love! What marvel men should
+worship in these climes? And lo! a small and single cloud is sailing in
+the immaculate ether, burnished with twilight, like an Olympian chariot
+from above, with the fair vision of some graceful god!
+
+It is the hour that poets love; but I crush thoughts that rise from out
+my mind, like nymphs from out their caves, when sets the sun. Yes, ‘tis
+a blessing here to breathe and muse. And cold his clay, indeed, who does
+not yield to thy Ausonian beauty! Clime where the heart softens and the
+mind expands! Region of mellowed bliss! O most enchanting land!
+
+But we are at the park gates.
+
+They whirled along through a park which would have contained half a
+hundred of those Patagonian paddocks of modern times which have usurped
+the name. At length the young Duke was roused from his reverie
+by Carlstein, proud of his previous knowledge, leaning over and
+announcing--
+
+‘Château de Dacre, your Grace!’
+
+The Duke looked up. The sun, which had already set, had tinged with a
+dying crimson the eastern sky, against which rose a princely edifice.
+Castle Dacre was the erection of Vanbrugh, an imaginative artist,
+whose critics we wish no bitterer fate than not to live in his splendid
+creations. A spacious centre, richly ornamented, though broken, perhaps,
+into rather too much detail, was joined to wings of a corresponding
+magnificence by fanciful colonnades. A terrace, extending the whole
+front, was covered with orange trees, and many a statue, and many an
+obelisk, and many a temple, and many a fountain, were tinted with
+the warm twilight. The Duke did not view the forgotten scene of youth
+without emotion. It was a palace worthy of the heroine on whom he had
+been musing. The carriage gained the lofty portal. Luigi and Spiridion,
+who had preceded their master, were ready to receive the Duke, who was
+immediately ushered to the rooms prepared for his reception. He was
+later than he had intended, and no time was to be unnecessarily lost in
+his preparation for his appearance.
+
+His Grace’s toilet was already prepared: the magical dressing-box
+had been unpacked, and the shrine for his devotions was covered
+with richly-cut bottles of all sizes, arranged in all the elegant
+combinations which the picturesque fancy of his valet could devise,
+adroitly intermixed with the golden instruments, the china vases, and
+the ivory and rosewood brushes, which were worthy even of Delcroix’s
+exquisite inventions.
+
+The Duke of St. James was master of the art of dress, and consequently
+consummated that paramount operation with the decisive rapidity of one
+whose principles are settled. He was cognisant of all effects, could
+calculate in a second all consequences, and obtained his result with
+that promptitude and precision which stamp the great artist. For a
+moment he was plunged in profound abstraction, and at the same time
+stretched his legs after his drive. He then gave his orders with the
+decision of Wellington on the arrival of the Prussians, and the battle
+began.
+
+His Grace had a taste for magnificence in costume; but he was handsome,
+young, and a duke. Pardon him. Yet to-day he was, on the whole, simple.
+Confident in a complexion whose pellucid lustre had not yielded to a
+season of dissipation, his Grace did not dread the want of relief which
+a white face, a white cravat, and a white waistcoat would seem to imply.
+
+A hair chain set in diamonds, worn in memory of the absent Aphrodite,
+and to pique the present Dacre, is annexed to a glass, which reposes
+in the waistcoat pocket. This was the only weight that the Duke of St.
+James ever carried. It was a bore, but it was indispensable.
+
+It is done. He stops one moment before the long pier-glass, and shoots
+a glance which would have read the mind of Talleyrand. It will do.
+He assumes the look, the air that befit the occasion: cordial, but
+dignified; sublime, but sweet. He descends like a deity from Olympus to
+a banquet of illustrious mortals.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+     _‘Fair Women and Brave Men.’_
+
+MR. DACRE received him with affection: his daughter with a cordiality
+which he had never yet experienced from her. Though more simply dressed
+than when she first met his ardent gaze, her costume again charmed his
+practised eye. ‘It must be her shape,’ thought the young Duke; ‘it is
+magical!’
+
+The rooms were full of various guests, and some of these were presented
+to his Grace, who was, of course, an object of universal notice, but
+particularly by those persons who pretended not to be aware of his
+entrance. The party assembled at Castle Dacre consisted of some thirty
+or forty persons, all of great consideration, but of a different
+character from any with whom the Duke of St. James had been acquainted
+during his short experience of English society. They were not what are
+called fashionable people. We have no princes and no ambassadors, no
+duke who is a gourmand, no earl who is a jockey, no manoeuvring mothers,
+no flirting daughters, no gambling sons, for your entertainment. There
+is no superfine gentleman brought down specially from town to gauge
+the refinement of the manners of the party, and to prevent them, by
+his constant supervision and occasional sneer, from losing any of the
+beneficial results of their last campaign. We shall sadly want, too,
+a Lady Patroness to issue a decree or quote her code of consolidated
+etiquette. We are not sure that Almack’s will ever be mentioned: quite
+sure that Maradan has never yet been heard of. The Jockey Club may be
+quoted, but Crockford will be a dead letter. As for the rest, Boodle’s
+is all we can promise; miserable consolation for the bow-window. As for
+buffoons and artists, to amuse a vacant hour or sketch a vacant face, we
+must frankly tell you at once that there is not one. Are you frightened?
+Will you go on? Will you trust yourself with these savages? Try. They
+are rude, but they are hospitable.
+
+The party, we have said, were all persons of great consideration; some
+were noble, most were rich, all had ancestors. There were the Earl
+and Countess of Faulconcourt. He looked as if he were fit to reconquer
+Palestine, and she as if she were worthy to reward him for his valour.
+Misplaced in this superior age, he was _sans peur_ and she _sans
+reproche_. There was Lord Mildmay, an English peer and a French colonel.
+Methinks such an incident might have been a better reason for a late
+measure than an Irishman being returned a member of our Imperial
+Parliament. There was our friend Lord St. Jerome; of course his
+stepmother, yet young, and some sisters, pretty as nuns. There were some
+cousins from the farthest north, Northumbria’s bleakest bound, who came
+down upon Yorkshire like the Goths upon Italy, and were revelling in
+what they considered a southern clime.
+
+There was an M.P. in whom the Catholics had hopes. He had made a great
+speech; not only a great speech, but a great impression. His matter
+certainly was not new, but well arranged, and his images not singularly
+original, but appositely introduced; in short, a bore, who, speaking
+on a subject in which a new hand is indulged, and connected with the
+families whose cause he was pleading, was for once courteously listened
+to by the very men who determined to avenge themselves for their
+complaisance by a cough on the first opportunity. But the orator was
+prudent; he reserved himself, and the session closed with his fame yet
+full-blown.
+
+Then there were country neighbours in great store, with wives that
+were treasures, and daughters fresh as flowers. Among them we would
+particularise two gentlemen. They were great proprietors, and Catholics
+and Baronets, and consoled themselves by their active maintenance of the
+game-laws for their inability to regulate their neighbours by any other.
+One was Sir Chetwode Chetwode of Chetwode; the other was Sir Tichborne
+Tichborne of Tichborne. It was not easy to see two men less calculated
+to be the slaves of a foreign and despotic power, which we all know
+Catholics are. Tall, and robust, and rosy, with hearts even stouter
+than their massy frames, they were just the characters to assemble in
+Runnymede, and probably, even at the present day, might have imitated
+their ancestors, even in their signatures. In disposition they were
+much the same, though they were friends. In person there were some
+differences, but they were slight. Sir Chetwode’s hair was straight and
+white; Sir Tichborne’s brown and curly. Sir Chetwode’s eyes were blue;
+Sir Tichborne’s grey.
+
+Sir Chetwode’s nose was perhaps a snub; Sir Tichborne’s was certainly a
+bottle. Sir Chetwode was somewhat garrulous, and was often like a man at
+a play, in the wrong box! Sir Tichborne was somewhat taciturn; but when
+he spoke, it was always to the purpose, and made an impression, even if
+it were not new. Both were kind hearts; but Sir Chetwode was jovial,
+Sir Tichborne rather stern. Sir Chetwode often broke into a joke; Sir
+Tichborne sometimes backed into a sneer. .
+
+A few of these characters were made known by Mr. Dacre to his young
+friend, but not many, and in an easy way; those that stood nearest.
+Introduction is a formality and a bore, and is never resorted to by your
+well-bred host, save in a casual way. When proper people meet at proper
+houses, they give each other credit for propriety, and slide into an
+acquaintance by degrees. The first day they catch a name; the next, they
+ask you whether you are the son of General----. ‘No; he was my uncle.’
+‘Ah! I knew him well. A worthy soul!’ And then the thing is settled. You
+ride together, shoot, or fence, or hunt. A game of billiards will do no
+great harm; and when you part, you part with a hope that you may meet
+again.
+
+Lord Mildmay was glad to meet with the son of an old friend. He knew the
+late Duke well, and loved him better. It is pleasant to hear our fathers
+praised. We, too, may inherit their virtues with their lands, or
+cash, or bonds; and, scapegraces as we are, it is agreeable to find a
+precedent for the blood turning out well. And, after all, there is no
+feeling more thoroughly delightful than to be conscious that the kind
+being from whose loins we spring, and to whom we cling with an innate
+and overpowering love, is viewed by others with regard, with reverence,
+or with admiration. There is no pride like the pride of ancestry, for it
+is a blending of all emotions. How immeasurably superior to the herd is
+the man whose father only is famous! Imagine, then, the feelings of
+one who can trace his line through a thousand years of heroes and of
+princes!
+
+‘Tis dinner! hour that I have loved as loves the bard the twilight; but
+no more those visions rise that once were wont to spring in my quick
+fancy. The dream is past, the spell is broken, and even the lore on
+which I pondered in my first youth is strange as figures in Egyptian
+tombs.
+
+No more, no more, oh! never more to me, that hour shall bring its
+rapture and its bliss! No more, no more, oh! never more for me, shall
+Flavour sit upon her thousand thrones, and, like a syren with a sunny
+smile, win to renewed excesses, each more sweet! My feasting days are
+over: me no more the charms of fish, or flesh, still less of fowl, can
+make the fool of that they made before. The fricandeau is like a dream
+of early love; the fricassee, with which I have so often flirted, is
+like the tattle of the last quadrille; and no longer are my dreams
+haunted with the dark passion of the rich ragoût. Ye soups! o’er whose
+creation I have watched, like mothers o’er their sleeping child! Ye
+sauces! to which I have even lent a name, where are ye now? Tickling,
+perchance, the palate of some easy friend, who quite forgets the boon
+companion whose presence once lent lustre even to his ruby wine and
+added perfume to his perfumed hock!
+
+Our Duke, however, had not reached the age of retrospection. He pecked
+as prettily as any bird. Seated on the right hand of his delightful
+hostess, nobody could be better pleased; supervised by his jäger, who
+stood behind his chair, no one could be better attended. He smiled,
+with the calm, amiable complacency of a man who feels the world is quite
+right.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+     _The Châtelaine of Castle Dacre_
+
+HOW is your Grace’s horse, Sans-pareil?’ asked Sir Chetwode Chetwode
+of Chetwode of the Duke of St. James, shooting at the same time a sly
+glance at his opposite neighbour, Sir Tichborne Tichborne of Tichborne.
+
+‘Quite well, sir,’ said the Duke in his quietest tone, but with an air
+which, he flattered himself, might repress further inquiry.
+
+‘Has he got over his fatigue?’ pursued the dogged Baronet, with a short,
+gritty laugh, that sounded like a loose drag-chain dangling against the
+stones. ‘We all thought the Yorkshire air would not agree with him.’
+
+‘Yet, Sir Chetwode, that could hardly be your opinion of Sanspareil,’
+said Miss Dacre, ‘for I think, if I remember right, I had the pleasure
+of making you encourage our glove manufactory.’
+
+Sir Chetwode looked a little confused. The Duke of St. James, inspirited
+by his fair ally, rallied, and hoped Sir Chetwode did not back his steed
+to a fatal extent. ‘If,’ continued he, ‘I had had the slightest idea
+that any friend of Miss Dacre was indulging in such an indiscretion, I
+certainly would have interfered, and have let him known that the horse
+was not to win.’
+
+‘Is that a fact?’ asked Sir Tichborne Tichborne of Tichborne, with a
+sturdy voice.
+
+‘Can a Yorkshireman doubt it?’ rejoined the Duke. ‘Was it possible for
+anyone but a mere Newmarket dandy to have entertained for a moment the
+supposition that anyone but May Dacre should be the Queen of the St.
+Leger?’
+
+‘I have heard something of this before,’ said Sir Tichborne, ‘but I did
+not believe it. A young friend of mine consulted me upon the subject.
+“Would you advise me,” said he, “to settle?” “Why,” said I, “if you
+can prove any bubble, my opinion is, don’t; but if you cannot prove
+anything, my opinion is, do.”’
+
+‘Very just! very true!’ were murmured by many in the neighbourhood of
+the oracle; by no one with more personal sincerity than Lady Tichborne
+herself.
+
+‘I will write to my young friend,’ continued the Baronet.
+
+‘Oh, no!’ said Miss Dacre. ‘His Grace’s candour must not be abused. I
+have no idea of being robbed of my well-earned honours. Sir Tichborne,
+private conversation must be respected, and the sanctity of domestic
+life must not be profaned. If the tactics of Doncaster are no longer to
+be fair war, why, half the families in the Riding will be ruined!’
+
+‘Still,’--said Sir Tichborne.
+
+But Mr. Dacre, like a deity in a Trojan battle, interposed, and asked
+his opinion of a keeper.
+
+‘I hope you are a sportsman,’ said Miss Dacre to the Duke, ‘for this is
+the palace of Nimrod!’
+
+‘I have hunted; it was not very disagreeable. I sometimes shoot; it is
+not very stupid.’
+
+‘Then, in fact, I perceive that you are a heretic. Lord Faulconcourt,
+his Grace is moralising on the barbarity of the chase.’
+
+‘Then he has never had the pleasure of hunting in company with Miss
+Dacre.’
+
+‘Do you indeed follow the hounds?’ asked the Duke.
+
+‘Sometimes do worse, ride over them; but Lord Faulconcourt is fast
+emancipating me from the trammels of my frippery foreign education,
+and I have no doubt that, in another season, I shall fling off quite in
+style.’
+
+‘You remember Mr. Annesley?’ asked the Duke.
+
+‘It is difficult to forget him. He always seemed to me to think that the
+world was made on purpose for him to have the pleasure of “cutting” it.’
+
+‘Yet he was your admirer!’
+
+‘Yes, and once paid me a compliment. He told me it was the only one that
+he had ever uttered.’
+
+‘Oh, Charley, Charley! this is excellent. We shall have a tale when we
+meet. What was the compliment?’
+
+‘It would be affectation in me to pretend that I have forgotten it.
+Nevertheless, you must excuse me.’
+
+‘Pray, pray let me have it!’
+
+‘Perhaps you will not like it?’
+
+‘Now, I must hear it.’
+
+‘Well then, he said that talking to me was the only thing that consoled
+him for having to dine with you and to dance with Lady Shropshire.’
+
+‘Charles is jealous,’ drawled the Duke.
+
+‘Of her Grace?’ asked Miss Dacre, with much anxiety.
+
+‘No; but Charles is aged, and once, when he dined with me, was taken for
+my uncle.’
+
+The ladies retired, and the gentlemen sat barbarously long. Sir Chetwode
+Chetwode of Chetwode and Sir Tichborne Tichborne of Tichborne were two
+men who drank wine independent of fashion, and exacted, to the last
+glass, the identical quantity which their fathers had drunk half a
+century before, and to which they had been used almost from their
+cradle. The only subject of conversation was sporting. Terrible shots,
+more terrible runs, neat barrels, and pretty fencers. The Duke of St.
+James was not sufficiently acquainted with the geography of the mansion
+to make a premature retreat, an operation which is looked upon with an
+evil eye, and which, to be successful, must be prompt and decisive,
+and executed with supercilious nonchalance. So he consoled himself by
+a little chat with Lord Mildmay, who sat smiling, handsome, and
+mustachioed, with an empty glass, and who was as much out of water as he
+was out of wine. The Duke was not very learned in Parisian society; but
+still, with the aid of the Duchess de Berri and the Duchess de Duras,
+Léontine Fay, and Lady Stuart de Rothesay, they got on, and made out the
+time until Purgatory ceased and Paradise opened.
+
+For Paradise it was, although there were there assembled some thirty or
+forty persons not less dull than the majority of our dull race, and in
+those little tactics that make society less burdensome perhaps even less
+accomplished. But a sunbeam will make even the cloudiest day break into
+smiles; a bounding fawn will banish monotony even from a wilderness; and
+a glass of claret, or perchance some stronger grape, will convert even
+the platitude of a goblet of water into a pleasing beverage, and so May
+Dacre moved among her guests, shedding light, life, and pleasure.
+
+She was not one who, shrouded in herself, leaves it to chance or fate
+to amuse the beings whom she has herself assembled within her halls.
+Nonchalance is the _métier_ of your modern hostess; and so long as
+the house be not on fire, or the furniture not kicked, you may be
+even ignorant who is the priestess of the hospitable fane in which you
+worship.
+
+They are right; men shrink from a fussy woman. And few can aspire to
+regulate the destinies of their species, even in so slight a point as an
+hour’s amusement, without rare powers. There is no greater sin than to
+be _trop prononcée_. A want of tact is worse than a want of virtue.
+Some women, it is said, work on pretty well against the tide without the
+last: I never knew one who did not sink who ever dared to sail without
+the first.
+
+Loud when they should be low, quoting the wrong person, talking on
+the wrong subject, teasing with notice, excruciating with attentions,
+disturbing a tête-à-tête in order to make up a dance; wasting eloquence
+in persuading a man to participate in amusement whose reputation depends
+on his social sullenness; exacting homage with a restless eye, and
+not permitting the least worthy knot to be untwined without their
+divinityships’ interference; patronising the meek, anticipating the
+slow, intoxicated with compliment, plastering with praise, that you in
+return may gild with flattery; in short, energetic without elegance,
+active without grace, and loquacious without wit; mistaking bustle
+for style, raillery for badinage, and noise for gaiety, these are the
+characters who mar the very career they think they are creating, and who
+exercise a fatal influence on the destinies of all those who have the
+misfortune to be connected with them.
+
+Not one of these was she, the lady of our tale. There was a quiet
+dignity lurking even under her easiest words and actions which made you
+feel her notice a compliment: there was a fascination in her calm smile
+and in her sunlit eye which made her invitation to amusement itself
+a pleasure. If you refused, you were not pressed, but left to that
+isolation which you appeared to admire; if you assented, you were
+rewarded with a word which made you feel how sweet was such society!
+Her invention never flagged, her gaiety never ceased; yet both were
+spontaneous, and often were unobserved. All felt amused, and all were
+unconsciously her agents. Her word and her example seemed, each instant,
+to call forth from her companions new accomplishments, new graces, new
+sources of joy and of delight. All were surprised that they were so
+agreeable.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+     _Love’s Young Dream_
+
+MORNING came, and the great majority of the gentlemen rose early as
+Aurora. The chase is the favourite pastime of man and boy; yet some
+preferred plundering their host’s preserves, by which means their
+slumbers were not so brief and their breakfast less disturbed. The
+_battue_, however, in time, called forth its band, and then one by one,
+or two by two, or sometimes even three, leaning on each other’s arms
+and smiling in each other’s faces, the ladies dropped into the
+breakfast-room at Castle Dacre. There, until two o’clock, a lounging
+meal might always be obtained, but generally by twelve the coast was
+clear; for our party were a natural race of beings, and would have
+blushed if flaming noon had caught them napping in their easy couches.
+Our bright bird, May Dacre, too, rose from her bower, full of the memory
+of the sweetest dreams, and fresh as lilies ere they kiss the sun.
+
+She bends before her ivory crucifix, and gazes on her blessed mother’s
+face, where the sweet Florentine had tinged with light a countenance
+
+     Too fair for worship, too divine for love!
+
+And innocence has prayed for fresh support, and young devotion told her
+holy beads. She rises with an eye of mellowed light, and her soft cheek
+is tinted with the flush that comes from prayer. Guard over her, ye
+angels! wheresoe’er and whatsoe’er ye are! For she shall be your meet
+companion in an after-day. Then love your gentle friend, this sinless
+child of clay!
+
+The morning passed as mornings ever pass where twenty women, for the
+most part pretty, are met together. Some read, some drew, some worked,
+all talked. Some wandered in the library, and wondered why such great
+books were written. One sketched a favourite hero in the picture
+gallery, a Dacre, who had saved the State or Church, had fought at
+Cressy, or flourished at Windsor: another picked a flower out of the
+conservatory, and painted its powdered petals. Here, a purse, half-made,
+promised, when finished quite, to make some hero happy. Then there was
+chat about the latest fashions, caps and bonnets, _séduisantes_, and
+sleeves. As the day grew’ old, some rode, some walked, some drove. A
+pony-chair was Lady Faulconcourt’s delight, whose arm was roundly turned
+and graced the whip; while, on the other hand, Lady St. Jerome rather
+loved to try the paces of an ambling nag, because her figure was of the
+sublime; and she looked not unlike an Amazonian queen, particularly when
+Lord Mildmay was her Theseus.
+
+He was the most consummate, polished gentleman that ever issued from the
+court of France. He did his friend Dacre the justice to suppose that he
+was a victim to his barbarous guests; but for the rest of the galloping
+crew, who rode and shot all day, and in the evening fell asleep just
+when they were wanted, he shrugged his shoulders, and he thanked his
+stars! In short, Lord Mildmay was the ladies’ man; and in their morning
+dearth of beaux, to adopt their unanimous expression, ‘quite a host!’
+
+Then there was archery for those who could draw a bow or point an
+arrow; and we are yet to learn the sight that is more dangerous for your
+bachelor to witness, or the ceremony which more perfectly develops all
+that the sex would wish us to remark, than this ‘old English’ custom.
+
+With all these resources, all was, of course, free and easy as the air.
+Your appearance was your own act. If you liked, you might have remained,
+like a monk or nun, in your cell till dinner-time, but no later. Privacy
+and freedom are granted you in the morning, that you may not exhaust
+your powers of pleasing before night, and that you may reserve for those
+favoured hours all the new ideas that you have collected in the course
+of your morning adventures.
+
+But where was he, the hero of our tale? Fencing? Craning? Hitting?
+Missing? Is he over, or is he under? Has he killed, or is he killed? for
+the last is but the chance of war, and pheasants have the pleasure
+of sometimes seeing as gay birds as themselves with plumage quite as
+shattered. But there is no danger of the noble countenance of the Duke
+of St. James bearing to-day any evidence of the exploits of himself or
+his companions. His Grace was in one of his sublime fits, and did not
+rise. Luigi consoled himself for the bore of this protracted attendance
+by diddling the page-in-waiting at dominos.
+
+The Duke of St. James was in one of his sublime fits. He had commenced
+by thinking of May Dacre, and he ended by thinking of himself. He was
+under that delicious and dreamy excitement which we experience when the
+image of a lovely and beloved object begins to mix itself up with our
+own intense self-love. She was the heroine rather of an indefinite
+reverie than of definite romance. Instead of his own image alone playing
+about his fancy, her beautiful face and springing figure intruded their
+exquisite presence. He no longer mused merely on his own voice and wit:
+he called up her tones of thrilling power; he imagined her in all the
+triumph of her gay repartee. In his mind’s eye, he clearly watched all
+the graces of her existence. She moved, she gazed, she smiled. Now he
+was alone, and walking with her in some rich wood, sequestered,
+warm, solemn, dim, feeding on the music of her voice, and gazing with
+intenseness on the wakening passion of her devoted eye. Now they rode
+together, scudded over champaign, galloped down hills, scampered through
+valleys, all life, and gaiety, and vivacity, and spirit. Now they were
+in courts and crowds; and he led her with pride to the proudest kings.
+He covered her with jewels; but the world thought her brighter than his
+gems. Now they met in the most unexpected and improbable manner: now
+they parted with a tenderness which subdued their souls even more than
+rapture. Now he saved her life: now she blessed his existence. Now his
+reverie was too vague and misty to define its subject. It was a stream
+of passion, joy, sweet voices, tender tones, exulting hopes, beaming
+faces, chaste embraces, immortal transports!
+
+It was three o’clock, and for the twentieth time our hero made an effort
+to recall himself to the realities of life. How cold, how tame, how
+lifeless, how imperfect, how inconsecutive, did everything appear! This
+is the curse of reverie. But they who revel in its pleasures must bear
+its pains, and are content. Yet it wears out the brain, and unfits us
+for social life. They who indulge in it most are the slaves of solitude.
+They wander in a wilderness, and people it with their voices. They sit
+by the side of running waters, with an eye more glassy than the stream.
+The sight of a human being scares them more than a wild beast does a
+traveller; the conduct of life, when thrust upon their notice, seems
+only a tissue of adventures without point; and, compared with the
+creatures of their imagination, human nature seems to send forth only
+abortions.
+
+‘I must up,’ said the young Duke; ‘and this creature on whom I have
+lived for the last eight hours, who has, in herself, been to me the
+universe, this constant companion, this cherished friend, whose voice
+was passion and whose look was love, will meet me with all the formality
+of a young lady, all the coldness of a person who has never even thought
+of me since she saw me last. Damnable delusion! To-morrow I will get up
+and hunt.’
+
+He called Luigi, and a shower-bath assisted him in taking a more healthy
+view of affairs. Yet his faithful fancy recurred to her again. He must
+indulge it a little. He left off dressing and flung himself in a chair.
+
+‘And yet,’ he continued, ‘when I think of it again, there surely can
+be no reason that this should not turn into a romance of real life. I
+perceived that she was a little piqued when we first met at Don-caster.
+Very natural! Very flattering! I should have been piqued. Certainly,
+I behaved decidedly ill. But how, in the name of Heaven, was I to know
+that she was the brightest little being that ever breathed! Well, I am
+here now! She has got her wish. And I think an evident alteration has
+already taken place. But she must not melt too quickly. She will not;
+she will do nothing but what is exquisitely proper. How I do love this
+child! I dote upon her very image. It is the very thing that I have
+always been wanting. The women call me inconstant. I have never been
+constant. But they will not listen to us without we feign feelings, and
+then they upbraid us for not being influenced by them. I have sighed, I
+have sought, I have wept, for what I now have found. What would she give
+to know what is passing in my mind! By Heavens! there is no blood in
+England that has a better chance of being a Duchess!’
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+     _Le Roi S’Amuse_
+
+A CANTER is the cure for every evil, and brings the mind back to itself
+sooner than all the lessons of Chrysippus and Crantor. It is the only
+process that at the same time calms the feelings and elevates the
+spirits, banishes blue devils and raises one to the society of ‘angels
+ever bright and fair.’ It clears the mind; it cheers the heart. It is
+the best preparation for all enterprises, for it puts a man in good
+humour both with the world and himself; and, whether you are going to
+make a speech or scribble a scene, whether you are about to conquer the
+world or yourself, order your horse. As you bound along, your wit will
+brighten and your eloquence blaze, your courage grow more adamantine,
+and your generous feelings burn with a livelier flame. And when the
+exercise is over the excitement does not cease, as when it grows from
+music, for your blood is up, and the brilliancy of your eye is fed by
+your bubbling pulses. Then, my young friend, take my advice: rush into
+the world, and triumph will grow out of your quick life, like Victory
+bounding from the palm of Jove!
+
+Our Duke ordered his horses, and as he rattled along recovered from the
+enervating effects of his soft reverie. On his way home he fell in with
+Mr. Dacre and the two Baronets, returning on their hackneys from a hard
+fought field.
+
+‘Gay sport?’ asked his Grace.
+
+‘A capital run. I think the last forty minutes the most splitting thing
+we have had for a long time!’ answered Sir Chetwode. ‘I only hope Jack
+Wilson will take care of poor Fanny. I did not half like leaving her.
+Your Grace does not join us?’
+
+‘I mean to do so; but I am, unfortunately, a late riser.’
+
+‘Hem!’ said Sir Tichborne. The monosyllable meant much.
+
+‘I have a horse which I think will suit your Grace,’ said Mr. Dacre,
+‘and to which, in fact, you are entitled, for it bears the name of your
+house. You have ridden Hauteville, Sir Tichborne?’
+
+‘Yes; fine animal!’
+
+‘I shall certainly try his powers,’ said the Duke. ‘When is your next
+field-day?’
+
+‘Thursday,’ said Sir Tichborne; ‘but we shall be too early for you, I am
+afraid,’ with a gruff smile.
+
+‘Oh, no!’ said the young Duke, who saw his man; ‘I assure you I have
+been up to-day nearly two hours. Let us get on.’
+
+The first person that his Grace’s eye met, when he entered the room in
+which they assembled before dinner, was Mrs. Dallington Vere.
+
+Dinner was a favourite moment with the Duke of St. James during this
+visit at Castle Dacre, since it was the only time in the day that,
+thanks to his rank, which he now doubly valued, he could enjoy a
+tête-à-tête with its blooming mistress.
+
+‘I am going to hunt,’ said the Duke, ‘and I am to ride Hauteville. I
+hope you will set me an example on Thursday, and that I shall establish
+my character with Sir Tichborne.’
+
+‘I am to lead on that day a bold band of archers. I have already too
+much neglected my practising, and I fear that my chance of the silver
+arrow is slight.’
+
+‘I have betted upon you with everybody,’ said the Duke of St. James.
+
+‘Remember Doncaster! I am afraid that May Dacre will again be the
+occasion of your losing your money.’
+
+‘But now I am on the right side. Together we must conquer.’
+
+‘I have a presentiment that our union will not be a fortunate one.’
+
+‘Then I am ruined,’ said his Grace with rather a serious tone.
+
+‘I hope you have not really staked anything upon such nonsense?’ said
+Miss Dacre.
+
+‘I have staked everything,’ said his Grace.
+
+‘Talking of stakes,’ said Lord St. Jerome, who pricked up his ears at
+a congenial subject, ‘do you know what they are going to do about that
+affair of Anderson’s?’
+
+‘What does he say for himself?’ asked Sir Chetwode.
+
+‘He says that he had no intention of embezzling the money, but that, as
+he took it for granted the point could never be decided, he thought it
+was against the usury laws to allow money to lie idle.’
+
+‘That fellow has always got an answer,’ said Sir Tichborne. ‘I hate men
+who have always got an answer. There is no talking common sense with
+them.’
+
+The Duke made his escape to-day, and, emboldened by his illustrious
+example, Charles Faulcon, Lord St. Jerome, and some other heroes
+followed, to the great disgust of Sir Chetwode and Sir Tichborne.
+
+As the evening glided on conversation naturally fell upon the amusements
+of society.
+
+‘I am sure we are tired of dancing every night,’ said Miss Dacre. ‘I
+wonder if we could introduce any novelty. What think you, Bertha? You
+can always suggest.’
+
+‘You remember the _tableaux vivants_?’ said Mrs. Dallington Vere.
+
+‘Beautiful! but too elaborate a business, I fear, for us. We want
+something more impromptu. The _tableaux_ are nothing without brilliant
+and accurate costume, and to obtain that we must work at least for a
+week, and then, after all, in all probability, a failure. _Ils sont trop
+recherchés_,’ she said, lowering her voice to Mrs. Dallington, ‘_pour
+nous ici_. They must spring out of a society used to such exhibitions.’
+
+‘I have a costume dress here,’ said the Duke of
+
+St. James.
+
+‘And I have a uniform,’ said Lord Mildmay.
+
+‘And then,’ said Mrs. Dallington, ‘there are cashmeres, and scarfs, and
+jewels to be collected. I see, however, you think it impossible.’
+
+‘I fear so. However, we will think of it. In the meantime, what shall we
+do now? Suppose we act a fairy tale?’
+
+‘None of the girls can act,’ said Mrs. Dallington, with a look of kind
+pity.
+
+‘Let us teach them. That itself will be an amusement. Suppose we act
+Cinderella? There is the music of Cendrillon, and you can compose, when
+necessary, as you go on. Clara Howard!’ said May Dacre, ‘come here,
+love! We want you to be Cinderella in a little play.’
+
+‘I act! oh! dear May! How can you laugh at me so! I cannot act.’
+
+‘You will not have to speak. Only just move about as I direct you while
+Bertha plays music.’
+
+‘Oh! dear May, I cannot, indeed! I never did act. Ask Eugenia!’
+
+‘Eugenia! If you are afraid, I am sure she will faint. I asked you
+because I thought you were just the person for it.’
+
+‘But only think,’ said poor Clara, with an imploring voice, ‘to act,
+May! Why, acting is the most difficult thing in the world. Acting is
+quite a dreadful thing. I know many ladies who will not act.’
+
+‘But it is not acting, Clara. Well! I will be Cinderella, and you shall
+be one of the sisters.’
+
+‘No, dear May!’
+
+‘Well, then, the Fairy?’ ‘No, dear, dear, dear May!’
+
+‘Well, Duke of St. James, what am I to do with this rebellious troop?’
+
+‘Let me be Cinderella!’
+
+‘It is astonishing,’ said Miss Dacre, ‘the difficulty which you
+encounter in England, if you try to make people the least amusing or
+vary the regular dull routine, which announces dancing as the beautiful
+of diversions and cards as the sublime.’
+
+‘We are barbarians,’ said the Duke. ‘We were not,’ said May Dacre. ‘What
+are _tableaux_, or acted charades, or romances, to masques, which were
+the splendid and various amusement of our ancestors. Last Christmas we
+performed “Comus” here with great effect; but then we had Arundel, and
+he is an admirable actor.’
+
+‘Curse Arundel!’ thought the Duke. ‘I had forgotten him.’
+
+‘I do not wonder,’ said Mrs. Dallington Vere, ‘at people objecting to
+act regular plays, for, independently of the objections, not that
+I think anything of them myself, which are urged against “private
+theatricals,” the fact is, to get up a play is a tremendous business,
+and one or two is your bound. But masques, where there is so little
+to learn by rote, a great consideration, where music and song are so
+exquisitely introduced, where there is such an admirable opportunity
+for brilliant costume, and where the scene may be beautiful without
+change--such an important point--I cannot help wondering that this
+national diversion is not revived.’
+
+‘Suppose we were to act a romance without the costume?’ said the Duke.
+‘Let us consider it a rehearsal. And perhaps the Misses Howard will have
+no objection to sing?’
+
+‘It is difficult to find a suitable romance,’ said Miss Dacre. ‘All our
+modern English ones are too full of fine poetry. We tried once an old
+ballad, but it was too long. Last Christmas we got up a good many, and
+Arundel, Isabella, and myself used to scribble some nonsense for the
+occasion. But I am afraid they are all either burnt or taken away. I
+will look in the music-case.’
+
+She went to the music-case with the Duke and Mrs. Dallington.
+
+‘No,’ she continued; ‘not one, not a single one. But what are these?’
+She looked at some lines written in pencil in a music-book. ‘Oh! here is
+something; too slight, but it will do. You see,’ she continued, reading
+it to the Duke, ‘by the introduction of the same line in every verse,
+describing the same action, a back-scene is, as it were, created, and
+the story, if you can call it such, proceeds in front. Really, I think,
+we might make something of this.’
+
+Mr. Dacre and some others were at whist. The two Baronets were together,
+talking over the morning’s sport. Ecarté covered a flirtation between
+Lord Mildmay and Lady St. Jerome. Miss Dacre assembled her whole troop;
+and, like a manager with a new play, read in the midst of them the
+ballad, and gave them directions for their conduct. A japan screen was
+unfolded at the end of the room. Two couches indicated the limits of
+the stage. Then taking her guitar, she sang with a sweet voice and arch
+simplicity these simpler lines:--
+
+     I.
+
+     Childe Dacre stands in his father’s hall,
+     While all the rest are dancing;
+     Childe Dacre gazes on the wall,
+     While brightest eyes are glancing.
+     Then prythee tell me, gentles gay!
+     What makes our Childe so dull to-day?
+
+Each verse was repeated.
+
+In the background they danced a cotillon.
+
+In the front, the Duke of St. James, as Childe Dacre, leant against the
+wall, with arms folded and eyes fixed; in short, in an attitude which
+commanded great applause.
+
+     II.
+
+     I cannot tell, unless it be,
+     While all the rest are dancing,
+     The Lady Alice, on the sea,
+     With brightest eyes is glancing,
+     Or muses on the twilight hour
+     Will bring Childe Dacre to her bower.
+
+Mrs. Dallington Vere advances as the Lady Alice. Her walk is abrupt, her
+look anxious and distracted; she seems to be listening for some signal.
+She falls into a musing attitude, motionless and graceful as a statue.
+Clara Howard alike marvels at her genius and her courage.
+
+     III.
+
+     Childe Dacre hears the curfew chime,
+     While all the rest are dancing;
+     Unless I find a fitting rhyme,
+     Oh! here ends my romancing!
+     But see! her lover’s at her feet!
+     Oh! words of joy! oh! meeting sweet!
+
+The Duke advances, chivalric passion in his every gesture. The Lady
+Alice rushes to his arms with that look of trembling transport which
+tells the tale of stolen love. They fall into a group which would have
+made the fortune of an Annual.
+
+     IV.
+
+     Then let us hope, when next I sing,
+     And all the rest are dancing,
+     Our Childe a gentle bride may bring,
+     All other joys enhancing.
+     Then we will bless the twilight hour
+     That call’d him to a lady’s bower.
+
+The Duke led Mrs. Dallington to the dancers with courtly grace. There
+was great applause, but the spirit of fun and one-and-twenty inspired
+him, and he led off a gallop. In fact, it was an elegant romp. The
+two Baronets started from their slumbers, and Lord Mildmay called for
+Mademoiselle Dacre. The call was echoed. Miss Dacre yielded to the
+public voice, and acted to the life the gratified and condescending air
+of a first-rate performer. Lord Mildmay called for Madame Dallington.
+Miss Dacre led on her companion as Sontag would Malibran. There was no
+wreath at hand, but the Duke of St. James robbed his coat of its rose,
+and offered it on his knee to Mademoiselle, who presented it with
+Parisian feeling to her rival. The scene was as superb as anything at
+the _Académie_.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+     _An Impromptu Excursion_
+
+‘WE CERTAINLY must have a masque,’ said the young Duke, as he threw
+himself into his chair, satisfied with his performance.
+
+‘You must open Hauteville with one,’ said Mrs. Dallington.
+
+‘A capital idea; but we will practise at Dacre first.’
+
+‘When is Hauteville to be finished?’ asked Mrs. Dallington. ‘I shall
+really complain if we are to be kept out of it much longer. I believe I
+am the only person in the Riding who has not been there.’
+
+‘I have been there,’ said the Duke, ‘and am afraid I must go again; for
+Sir Carte has just come down for a few days, and I promised to meet him.
+It is a sad bore. I wish it were finished.’
+
+‘Take me with you,’ said Mrs. Dallington; ‘take us all, and let us make
+a party.’
+
+‘An admirable idea,’ exclaimed the young Duke, with a brightening
+countenance. ‘What admirable ideas you have, Mrs. Dallington! This is,
+indeed, turning business into pleasure! What says our hostess?’
+
+‘I will join you.’
+
+‘To-morrow, then?’ said the Duke.
+
+‘To-morrow! You are rapid!’
+
+‘Never postpone, never prepare: that is your own rule. To-morrow,
+to-morrow, all must go.’
+
+‘Papa, will you go to-morrow to Hauteville?’
+
+‘Are you serious?’
+
+‘Yes,’ said Miss Dacre: ‘we never postpone; we never prepare.’
+
+‘But do not you think a day, at least, had better intervene?’ urged Mr.
+Dacre; ‘we shall be unexpected.’
+
+‘I vote for to-morrow,’ said the Duke.
+
+‘To-morrow!’ was the universal exclamation. Tomorrow was carried.
+
+‘I will write to Blanche at once,’ said the Duke.
+
+Mrs. Dallington Vere ran for the writing materials, and his Grace
+indicted the following pithy note:--
+
+
+‘Half-past Ten, Castle Dacre.
+
+‘Dear Sir Carte,
+
+‘Our party here intend to honour Hauteville with a visit to-morrow, and
+anticipate the pleasure of viewing the improvements, with yourself for
+their cicerone. Let Rawdon know immediately of this. They tell me here
+that the sun rises about six. As we shall not be with you till noon, I
+have no doubt your united energies will be able to make all requisite
+preparations. We may be thirty or forty. Believe me, dear Sir Carte,
+
+‘Your faithful servant,
+
+‘St. James.
+
+‘Carlstein bears this, which you will receive in an hour. Let me have a
+line by return.’
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+     _The Charms of Hauteville_
+
+IT WAS a morning all dew and sunshine, soft yet bright, just fit for a
+hawking party, for dames of high degree, feathered cavaliers, ambling
+palfreys, and tinkling bells. Our friends rose early, and assembled
+punctually. All went, and all went on horseback; but they sent before
+some carriages for the return, in case the ladies should be wearied
+with excessive pleasure. The cavalcade, for it was no less, broke into
+parties which were often out of sight of each other. The Duke and
+Lord St. Jerome, Clara Howard and Charles Faulcon, Miss Dacre and Mrs.
+Dallington, formed one, and, as they flattered themselves, not the least
+brilliant. They were all in high spirits, and his Grace lectured on
+riding-habits with erudite enthusiasm.
+
+Their road lay through a country wild and woody, where crag and copse
+beautifully intermixed with patches of rich cultivation. Halfway, they
+passed Rosemount, a fanciful pavilion where the Dukes of St. James
+sometimes sought that elegant simplicity which was not afforded by
+all the various charms of their magnificent Hauteville. At length they
+arrived at the park-gate of the castle, which might itself have passed
+for a tolerable mansion. It was ancient and embattled, flanked by a
+couple of sturdy towers, and gave a noble promise of the baronial
+pile which it announced. The park was a petty principality; and its
+apparently illimitable extent, its rich variety of surface, its ancient
+woods and numerous deer, attracted the attention and the admiration even
+of those who had been born in such magical enclosures.
+
+Away they cantered over the turf, each moment with their blood more
+sparkling. A turn in the road, and Hauteville, with its donjon keep and
+lordly flag, and many-windowed line of long perspective, its towers, and
+turrets, and terraces, bathed with the soft autumnal sun, met their glad
+sight.
+
+‘Your Majesty is welcome to my poor castle!’ said the young Duke, bowing
+with head uncovered to Miss Dacre.
+
+‘Nay, we are at the best but captive princesses about to be immured in
+that fearful keep; and this is the way you mock us!’
+
+‘I am content that you shall be my prisoner.’
+
+‘A struggle for freedom!’ said Miss Dacre, looking back to Mrs.
+Dallington, and she galloped towards the castle.
+
+Lord Mildmay and Lady St. Jerome cantered up, and the rest soon
+assembled. Sir Carte came forward, all smiles, with a clerk of the
+works bearing a portfolio of plans. A crowd of servants, for the Duke
+maintained an establishment at Hauteville, advanced, and the fair
+equestrians were dismounted. They shook their habits and their curls,
+vowed that riding was your only exercise, and that dust in the earthly
+economy was a blunder. And then they entered the castle.
+
+Room after room, gallery after gallery; you know the rest. Shall we
+describe the silk hangings and the reverend tapestry, the agate tables
+and the tall screens, the china and the armour, the state beds and the
+curious cabinets, and the family pictures mixed up so quaintly with
+Italian and Flemish art? But we pass from meek Madonnas and seraphic
+saints, from gleaming Claudes and Guidos soft as Eve, from Rubens’s
+satyrs and Albano’s boys, and even from those gay and natural medleys,
+paintings that cheer the heart, where fruit and flower, with their
+brilliant bloom, call to a feast the butterfly and bee; we pass from
+these to square-headed ancestors by Holbein, all black velvet and gold
+chains; cavaliers, by Vandyke, all lace and spurs, with pointed beards,
+that did more execution even than their pointed swords; patriots and
+generals, by Kneller, in Blenheim wigs and Steen-kirk cravats, all
+robes and armour; scarlet judges that supported ship-money, and purple
+bishops, who had not been sent to the Tower. Here was a wit who had
+sipped his coffee at Button’s, and there some mad Alcibiades duke who
+had exhausted life ere he had finished youth, and yet might be consoled
+for all his flashing follies could he witness the bright eyes that
+lingered on his countenance, while they glanced over all the patriotism
+and all the piety, all the illustrious courage and all the historic
+craft, which, when living, it was daily told him that he had shamed. Ye
+dames with dewy eyes that Lely drew! have we forgotten you? No! by that
+sleepy loveliness that reminds us that night belongs to beauty, ye were
+made for memory! And oh! our grandmothers, that we now look upon as
+girls, breathing in Reynolds’s playful canvas, let us also pay our
+homage to your grace!
+
+The chapel, where you might trace art from the richly Gothic tomb,
+designed by some neighbouring abbot, to the last effort of Flaxman;
+the riding-house, where, brightly framed, looked down upon you with a
+courtly smile the first and gartered duke, who had been Master of the
+Horse, were alike visited, and alike admired. They mounted the summit
+of the round tower, and looked around upon the broad county, which they
+were proud to call their own. Amid innumerable seats, where blazed the
+hearths of the best blood of England, they recognised, with delight, the
+dome of Dacre and the woods of Dallington. They walked along a terrace
+not unworthy of the promenade of a court; they visited the flower
+gardens, where the peculiar style of every nation was in turn imitated;
+they loitered in the vast conservatories, which were themselves
+a palace; they wandered in the wilderness, where the invention of
+consummate art presented them with the ideal of nature. In this poetic
+solitude, where all was green, and still, and sweet, or where the only
+sound was falling water or fluttering birds, the young Duke recurred to
+the feelings which, during the last momentous week, had so mastered his
+nature, and he longed to wind his arm round the beautiful being without
+whom this enchanting domain was a dreary waste.
+
+They assembled in a green retreat, where the energetic Sir Carte had
+erected a marquée, and where a collation greeted the eyes of those
+who were well prepared for it. Rawdon had also done his duty, and the
+guests, who were aware of the sudden manner in which the whole affair
+had arisen, wondered at the magic which had produced a result worthy of
+a week’s preparation. But it is a great thing to be a young Duke. The
+pasties, and the venison, and the game, the pines, and the peaches, and
+the grapes, the cakes, and the confectionery, and the ices, which proved
+that the still-room at Hauteville was not an empty name, were all most
+popular. But the wines, they were marvellous! And as the finest cellars
+in the country had been ransacked for excellence and variety, it is not
+wonderful that their produce obtained a panegyric. There was hock of a
+century old, which made all stare, though we, for our part, cannot see,
+or rather taste, the beauty of this antiquity. Wine, like woman, in
+our opinion, should not be too old, so we raise our altar to the infant
+Bacchus; but this is not the creed of the million, nor was it the
+persuasion of Sir Chetwode Chetwode or of Sir Tichborne Tichborne, good
+judges both. The Johannisberger quite converted them. They no longer
+disliked the young Duke. They thought him a fool, to be sure, but at the
+same time a good-natured one. In the meantime, all were interested, and
+Carlstein with his key bugle, from out a neighbouring brake, afforded
+the only luxury that was wanting.
+
+It is six o’clock, carriages are ordered, and horses are harnessed.
+Back, back to Dacre! But not at the lively rate at which they had left
+that lordly hall this morning. They are all alike inclined to move
+slowly; they are silent, yet serene and satisfied; they ponder upon the
+reminiscences of a delightful morning, and also of a delightful meal.
+Perhaps they are a little weary; perhaps they wish to gaze upon the
+sunset.
+
+It is eight o’clock, and they enter the park gates. Dinner is
+universally voted a bore, even by the Baronets. Coffee covers the
+retreat of many a wearied bird to her evening bower. The rest lounge on
+a couch or sofa, or chew the cud of memory on an ottoman. It was a day
+of pleasure which had been pleasant. That was certain: but that was
+past. Who is to be Duchess of St. James? Answer this. May Dacre, or
+Bertha Vere, or Clara Howard? Lady St. Jerome, is it to be a daughter
+of thy house? Lady Faulconcourt, art thou to be hailed as the unrivalled
+mother?’ Tis mystery all, as must always be the future of this world. We
+muse, we plan, we hope, but naught is certain but that which is naught;
+for, a question answered, a doubt satisfied, an end attained; what are
+they but fit companions for clothes out of fashion, cracked china, and
+broken fans?
+
+Our hero was neither wearied nor sleepy, for his mind was too full of
+exciting fancies to think of the interests of his body. As all were
+withdrawing, he threw his cloak about him and walked on the terrace.
+It was a night soft as the rhyme that sighs from Rogers’ shell, and
+brilliant as a phrase just turned by Moore. The thousand stars smiled
+from their blue pavilions, and the moon shed the mild light that makes a
+lover muse. Fragrance came in airy waves from trees rich with the golden
+orange, and from out the woods there ever and anon arose a sound, deep
+and yet hushed, and mystical, and soft. It could not be the wind!
+
+His heart was full, his hopes were sweet, his fate pledged on a die. And
+in this shrine, where all was like his love, immaculate and beautiful,
+he vowed a faith which had not been returned. Such is the madness of
+love! Such is the magic of beauty!
+
+Music rose upon the air. Some huntsmen were practising their horns. The
+triumphant strain elevated his high hopes, the tender tone accorded with
+his emotions. He paced up and down the terrace in excited reverie, fed
+by the music. In imagination she was with him: she spoke, she smiled,
+she loved. He gazed upon her beaming countenance: his soul thrilled with
+tones which, only she could utter. He pressed her to his throbbing and
+tumultuous breast!
+
+The music stopped. He fell from his seventh heaven. He felt all the
+exhaustion of his prolonged reverie. All was flat, dull, unpromising.
+The moon seemed dim, the stars were surely fading, the perfume of the
+trees was faint, the wind of the woods was a howling demon. Exhausted,
+dispirited, ay! almost desperate, with a darkened soul and staggering
+pace, he regained his chamber.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+     _Pride Has a Fall_
+
+THERE is nothing more strange, but nothing more certain, than the
+different influence which the seasons of night and day exercise upon the
+moods of our minds. Him whom the moon sends to bed with a head full of
+misty meaning the sun-will summon in the morning with a brain clear and
+lucid as his beam. Twilight makes us pensive; Aurora is the goddess of
+activity. Despair curses at midnight; Hope blesses at noon.
+
+And the bright beams of Phoebus--why should this good old name be
+forgotten?--called up our Duke rather later than a monk at matins, in
+a less sublime disposition than that in which he had paced among the
+orange-trees of Dacre. His passion remained, but his poetry was gone. He
+was all confidence, and gaiety, and love, and panted for the moment when
+he could place his mother’s coronet on the only head that was worthy to
+share the proud fortunes of the house of Hauteville.
+
+‘Luigi, I will rise. What is going on to-day?’ ‘The gentlemen are all
+out, your Grace.’
+
+‘And the ladies?’
+
+‘Are going to the Archery Ground, your Grace.’
+
+‘Ah! she will be there, Luigi?’
+
+‘Yes, your Grace.’
+
+‘My robe, Luigi.’
+
+‘Yes, your Grace.’
+
+‘I forgot what I was going to say. Luigi!’
+
+‘Yes, your Grace.’
+
+‘Luigi, Luigi, Luigi,’ hummed the Duke, perfectly unconscious, and
+beating time with his brush. His valet stared, but more when his lord,
+with eyes fixed on the ground, fell into a soliloquy, not a word of
+which, most provokingly, was audible, except to my reader.
+
+‘How beautiful she looked yesterday upon the keep when she tried to
+find Dacre! I never saw such eyes in my life! I must speak to Lawrence
+immediately. I think I must have her face painted in four positions,
+like that picture of Lady Alice Gordon by Sir Joshua. Her full face
+is sublime; and yet there is a piquancy in the profile, which I am not
+sure--and yet again, when her countenance is a little bent towards you,
+and her neck gently turned, I think that is, after all--but then
+when her eyes meet yours, full! oh! yes! yes! yes! That first look at
+Doncaster! It is impressed upon my brain like self-consciousness. I
+never can forget it. But then her smile! When she sang on Tuesday
+night! By Heavens!’ he exclaimed aloud, ‘life with such a creature is
+immortality!’
+
+About one o’clock the Duke descended into empty chambers. Not a soul
+was to be seen. The birds had flown. He determined to go to the Archery
+Ground. He opened the door of the music-room.
+
+He found Miss Dacre alone at a table, writing. She looked up, and his
+heart yielded as her eye met his.
+
+‘You do not join the nymphs?’ asked the Duke.
+
+‘I have lent my bow,’ she said, ‘to an able substitute.’
+
+She resumed her task, which he perceived was copying music. He advanced,
+he seated himself at the table, and began playing with a pen. He gazed
+upon her, his soul thrilled with unwonted sensations, his frame shook
+with emotions which, for a moment, deprived him even of speech. At
+length he spoke in a low and tremulous tone:--
+
+‘I fear I am disturbing you, Miss Dacre?’
+
+‘By no means,’ she said, with a courteous air; and then, remembering she
+was a hostess, ‘Is there anything that you require?’
+
+‘Much; more than I can hope. O Miss Dacre! suffer me to tell you how
+much I admire, how much I love you!’
+
+She started, she stared at him with distended eyes, and her small mouth
+was open like a ring.
+
+‘My Lord!’
+
+‘Yes!’ he continued in a rapid and impassioned tone. ‘I at length
+find an opportunity of giving way to feelings which it has been long
+difficult for me to control. O beautiful being! tell me, tell me that I
+am blessed!’
+
+‘My Lord! I--I am most honoured; pardon me if I say, most surprised.’
+
+‘Yes! from the first moment that your ineffable loveliness rose on
+my vision my mind has fed upon your image. Our acquaintance has only
+realised, of your character, all that my imagination had preconceived,
+Such unrivalled beauty, such unspeakable grace, could only have been
+the companions of that exquisite taste and that charming delicacy which,
+even to witness, has added great felicity to my existence. Oh! tell
+me--tell me that they shall be for me something better than a transient
+spectacle. Condescend to share the fortune and the fate of one who only
+esteems his lot in life because it enables him to offer you a station
+not utterly unworthy of your transcendent excellence!’
+
+‘I have permitted your Grace to proceed too far. For your--for my own
+sake, I should sooner have interfered, but, in truth, I was so astounded
+at your unexpected address that I have but just succeeded in recalling
+my scattered senses. Let me again express to you my acknowledgments for
+an honour which I feel is great; but permit me to regret that for your
+offer of your hand and fortune these acknowledgments are all I can
+return.’
+
+‘Miss Dacre! am I then to wake to the misery of being rejected?’
+
+‘A little week ago, Duke of St. James, we were strangers. It would be
+hard if it were in the power of either of us now to deliver the other to
+misery.’
+
+‘You are offended, then, at the presumption which, on so slight an
+acquaintance, has aspired to your hand. It is indeed a high possession.
+I thought only of you, not of myself. Your perfections require no time
+for recognition. Perhaps my imperfections require time for indulgence.
+Let me then hope!’
+
+‘You have misconceived my meaning, and I regret that a foolish phrase
+should occasion you the trouble of fresh solicitude, and me the pain of
+renewed refusal. In a word, it is not in my power to accept your hand.’
+
+He rose from the table, and stifled the groan which struggled in his
+throat. He paced up and down the room with an agitated step and a
+convulsed brow, which marked the contest of his passions. But he was
+not desperate. His heart was full of high resolves and mighty meanings,
+indefinite but great, He felt like some conqueror, who, marking the
+battle going against him, proud in his infinite resources and invincible
+power, cannot credit the madness of a defeat. And the lady, she leant
+her head upon her delicate arm, and screened her countenance from his
+scrutiny.
+
+He advanced.
+
+‘Miss Dacre! pardon this prolonged intrusion; forgive this renewed
+discourse. But let me only hope that a more favoured rival is the cause
+of my despair, and I will thank you----’
+
+‘My Lord Duke,’ she said, looking up with a faint blush, but with a
+flashing eye, and in an audible and even energetic tone, ‘the question
+you ask is neither fair nor manly; but, as you choose to press me, I
+will say that it requires no recollection of a third person to make me
+decline the honour which you intended me.’
+
+‘Miss Dacre! you speak in anger, almost in bitterness. Believe me,’ he
+added, rather with an air of pique, ‘had I imagined from your conduct
+towards me that I was an object of dislike, I would have spared you this
+inconvenience and myself this humiliation.’
+
+‘At Castle Dacre, my conduct to all its inmates is the same. The Duke
+of St. James, indeed, hath both hereditary and personal claims to be
+considered here as something better than a mere inmate; but your Grace
+has elected to dissolve all connection with our house, and I am not
+desirous of assisting you in again forming any.’
+
+‘Harsh words, Miss Dacre!’
+
+‘Harsher truth, my Lord Duke,’ said Miss Dacre, rising from her seat,
+and twisting a pen with agitated energy. ‘You have prolonged this
+interview, not I. Let it end, for I am not skilful in veiling my mind;
+and I should regret, here at least, to express what I have hitherto
+succeeded in concealing.’
+
+‘It cannot end thus,’ said his Grace: ‘let me, at any rate, know the
+worst. You have, if not too much kindness, at least too much candour, to
+part sol’ ‘I am at a loss to understand,’ said Miss Dacre, ‘what other
+object our conversation can have for your Grace than to ascertain my
+feelings, which I have already declared more than once, upon a point
+which you have already more than once urged. If I have not been
+sufficiently explicit or sufficiently clear, let me tell you, sir, that
+nothing but the request of a parent whom I adore would have induced me
+even to speak to the person who had dared to treat him with contempt.’
+‘Miss Dacre!’
+
+‘You are moved, or you affect to be moved. ‘Tis well: if a word from a
+stranger can thus affect you, you may be better able to comprehend the
+feelings of that person whose affections you have so long outraged; your
+equal in blood, Duke of St. James, your superior in all other respects.’
+
+‘Beautiful being!’ said his Grace, advancing, falling on his knee, and
+seizing her hand. ‘Pardon, pardon, pardon! Like your admirable sire,
+forgive; cast into oblivion all remembrance of my fatal youth. Is not
+your anger, is not this moment, a bitter, an utter expiation for all
+my folly, all my thoughtless, all my inexperienced folly; for it was
+no worse? On my knees, and in the face of Heaven, let me pray you to be
+mine. I have staked my happiness upon this venture. In your power is my
+fate. On you it depends whether I shall discharge my duty to society,
+to the country to which I owe so much, or whether I shall move in it
+without an aim, an object, or a hope. Think, think only of the sympathy
+of our dispositions; the similarity of our tastes. Think, think only of
+the felicity that might be ours. Think of the universal good we might
+achieve! Is there anything that human reason could require that we could
+not command? any object which human mind could imagine that we could not
+obtain? And, as for myself, I swear that I will be the creature of your
+will. Nay, nay! oaths are mockery, vows are idle! Is it possible to
+share existence with you, beloved girl! without watching for your every
+wish, without--’
+
+‘My Lord Duke, this must end. You do not recommend yourself to me by
+this rhapsody. What do you know of me, that you should feel all this? I
+may be different from what you expected; that is all. Another week, and
+another woman may command a similar effusion. I do not believe you to
+be insincere. There would be more hope for you if you were. You act
+from impulse, and not from principle. This is your best excuse for your
+conduct to my father. It is one that I accept, but which will certainly
+ever prevent me from becoming your wife. Farewell!’ ‘Nay, nay! let us
+not part in enmity!’ ‘Enmity and friendship are strong words; words
+that are much abused. There is another, which must describe our feelings
+towards the majority of mankind, and mine towards you. Substitute for
+enmity indifference.’
+
+She quitted the room: he remained there for some minutes, leaning on the
+mantelpiece, and then rushed into the park. He hurried for some distance
+with the rapid and uncertain step which betokens a tumultuous and
+disordered mind. At length he found himself among the ruins of Dacre
+Abbey. The silence and solemnity of the scene made him conscious, by the
+contrast, of his own agitated existence; the desolation of the beautiful
+ruin accorded with his own crushed and beautiful hopes. He sat himself
+at the feet of the clustered columns, and, covering his face with his
+hands, he wept.
+
+They were the first tears that he had shed since childhood, and they
+were agony. Men weep but once, but then their tears are blood. We think
+almost their hearts must crack a little, so heartless are they ever
+after. Enough of this.
+
+It is bitter to leave our fathers hearth for the first time; bitter is
+the eve of our return, when a thousand fears rise in our haunted souls.
+Bitter are hope deferred, and self-reproach, and power unrecognised.
+Bitter is poverty; bitterer still is debt. It is bitter to be neglected;
+it is more bitter to be misunderstood. It is bitter to lose an only
+child. It is bitter to look upon the land which once was ours. Bitter is
+a sister’s woe, a brother’s scrape; bitter a mother’s tear, and bitterer
+still a father’s curse. Bitter are a briefless bag, a curate’s bread, a
+diploma that brings no fee. Bitter is half-pay!
+
+It is bitter to muse on vanished youth; it is bitter to lose an
+election or a suit. Bitter are rage suppressed, vengeance unwreaked, and
+prize-money kept back. Bitter are a failing crop, a glutted market, and
+a shattering spec. Bitter are rents in arrear and tithes in kind.
+Bitter are salaries reduced and perquisites destroyed. Bitter is a tax,
+particularly if misapplied; a rate, particularly if embezzled. Bitter is
+a trade too full, and bitterer still a trade that has worn out. Bitter
+is a bore!
+
+It is bitter to lose one’s hair or teeth. It is bitter to find our
+annual charge exceed our income. It is bitter to hear of others’ fame
+when we are boys. It is bitter to resign the seals we fain would keep.
+It is bitter to hear the winds blow when we have ships at sea, or
+friends. Bitter are a broken friendship and a dying love. Bitter a woman
+scorned, a man betrayed!
+
+Bitter is the secret woe which none can share. Bitter are a brutal
+husband and a faithless wife, a silly daughter and a sulky son. Bitter
+are a losing card, a losing horse. Bitter the public hiss, the private
+sneer. Bitter are old age without respect, manhood without wealth, youth
+without fame. Bitter is the east wind’s blast; bitter a stepdame’s kiss.
+It is bitter to mark the woe which we cannot relieve. It is bitter to
+die in a foreign land.
+
+But bitterer far than this, than these, than all, is waking from our
+first delusion! For then we first feel the nothingness of self; that
+hell of sanguine spirits. All is dreary, blank, and cold. The sun of
+hope sets without a ray, and the dim night of dark despair shadows only
+phantoms. The spirits that guard round us in our pride have gone. Fancy,
+weeping, flies. Imagination droops her glittering pinions and sinks into
+the earth. Courage has no heart, and love seems a traitor. A busy demon
+whispers in our ear that all is vain and worthless, and we among the
+vainest of a worthless crew!
+
+And so our young friend here now depreciated as much as he had before
+exaggerated his powers. There seemed not on the earth’s face a more
+forlorn, a more feeble, a less estimable wretch than himself, but just
+now a hero. O! what a fool, what a miserable, contemptible fool was he!
+With what a light tongue and lighter heart had he spoken of this woman
+who despised, who spurned him! His face blushed, ay! burnt, at
+the remembrance of his reveries and his fond monologues! the very
+recollection made him shudder with disgust. He looked up to see if any
+demon were jeering him among the ruins.
+
+His heart was so crushed that hope could not find even one desolate
+chamber to smile in. His courage was so cowed that, far from indulging
+in the distant romance to which, under these circumstances, we sometimes
+fly, he only wondered at the absolute insanity which, for a moment, had
+permitted him to aspire to her possession. ‘Sympathy of dispositions!
+Similarity of tastes, forsooth! Why, we are different existences! Nature
+could never have made us for the same world or with the same clay! O
+consummate being! why, why did we meet? Why, why are my eyes at
+length unsealed? Why, why do I at length feel conscious of my utter
+worthlessness? O God! I am miserable!’ He arose and hastened to the
+house. He gave orders to Luigi and his people to follow him to Rosemount
+with all practicable speed, and having left a note for his host with the
+usual excuse, he mounted his horse, and in half an hour’s time, with a
+countenance like a stormy sea, was galloping through the park gates of
+Dacre.
+
+
+
+
+BOOK III.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+     _‘If She Be Not Fair For Me.’_
+
+THE day after the arrival of the Duke of St. James at Cleve Park,
+his host, Sir Lucius Grafton, received the following note from Mrs.
+Dallington Vere:
+
+
+‘Castle Dacre,-------, 182--.
+
+‘My dear Baronet,
+
+‘Your pigeon has flown, otherwise I should have tied this under his
+wing, for I take it for granted he is trained too dexterously to alight
+anywhere but at Cleve.
+
+‘I confess that in this affair your penetration has exceeded mine.
+I hope throughout it will serve you as well. I kept my promise, and
+arrived here only a few hours after him. The prejudice which I had long
+observed in the little Dacre against your protégé was too marked
+to render any interference on my part at once necessary, nor did I
+anticipate even beginning to give her good advice for a month to come.
+Heaven knows what a month of his conduct might have done! A month
+achieves such wonders! And, to do him justice, he was most agreeable;
+but our young gentleman grew impetuous, and so the day before yesterday
+he vanished, and in the most extraordinary manner! Sudden departure,
+unexpected business, letter and servants both left behind; Monsieur
+grave, and a little astonished; and the demoiselle thoughtful at the
+least, but not curious. Very suspicious this last circumstance! A flash
+crossed my mind, but I could gain nothing, even with my most dexterous
+wiles, from the little Dacre, who is a most unmanageable heroine.
+However, with the good assistance of a person who in a French tragedy
+would figure as my confidante, and who is the sister of your Lachen,
+something was learnt from Monsieur le valet, to say nothing of the page.
+All agree; a countenance pale as death, orders given in a low voice
+of suppressed passion and sundry oaths. I hear he sulked the night at
+Rosemount.
+
+‘Now, my good Lucy, listen to me. Lose no time about the great object.
+If possible, let this autumn be distinguished. You have an idea that our
+friend is a very manageable sort of personage; in phrase less courteous,
+is sufficiently weak for all reasonable purposes. I am not quite so
+clear about this. He is at present very young, and his character is
+not formed; but there is a something about him which makes me half fear
+that, if you permit his knowledge of life to increase too much, you may
+quite fear having neglected my admonitions. At present his passions are
+high. Use his blood while it is hot, and remember that if you count on
+his rashness you may, as nearly in the present instance, yourself rue
+it. In a word, despatch. The deed that is done, you know--
+
+‘My kindest remembrances to dear Lady Afy, and tell her how much
+I regret I cannot avail myself of her most friendly invitation.
+Considering, as I know, she hates me, I really do feel flattered.
+
+‘You cannot conceive what Vandals I am at present among! Nothing but my
+sincere regard for you, my much-valued friend, would induce me to stay
+here a moment. I have received from the countenance of the Dacres all
+the benefit which a marked connection with so respectable and so moral
+a family confers, and I am tired to death. But it is a well-devised plan
+to have a reserve in the battles of society. You understand me; and I
+am led to believe that it has had the best effect, and silenced even the
+loudest. “Confound their politics!” as dear little Squib says, from whom
+I had the other day the funniest letter, which I have half a mind to
+send you, only you figure in it so much!
+
+‘Burlington is at Brighton, and all my friends, except yourself. I
+have a few barbarians to receive at Dallington, and then I shall be off
+there. Join us as quickly as you can. Do you know, I think that it would
+be an excellent _locale_ for the _scena_. We might drive them over to
+Dieppe: only do not put off your visit too long, or else there will be
+no steamers.
+
+‘The Duke of Shropshire has had a fit, but rallied. He vows he was only
+picking up a letter, or tying his shoestring, or something of that kind;
+but Ruthven says he dined off _boudins à la Sefton_, and that, after a
+certain age, you know--
+
+‘Lord Darrell is with Annesley and Co. I understand, most friendly
+towards me, which is pleasant; and Charles, who is my firm ally, takes
+care to confirm the kind feeling. I am glad about this.
+
+‘Felix Crawlegh, or Crawl_ey_, as some say, has had an affair with Tommy
+Seymour, at Grant’s. Felix was grand about porter, or something, which
+he never drank, and all that. Tommy, Who knew nothing about the brewing
+father, asked him, very innocently, why malt liquors had so degenerated.
+Conceive the agony, particularly as Lady Selina is said to have no
+violent aversion to quartering her arms with a mash-tub, argent.
+
+‘The Macaronis are most hospitable this year; and the Marquess says that
+the only reason that they kept in before was because he was determined
+to see whether economy was practicable. He finds it is not; so now
+expense is no object.
+
+‘Augustus Henley is about to become a senator! What do you think of
+this? He says he has tried everything for an honest livelihood, and even
+once began a novel, but could not get on; which, Squib says, is odd,
+because there is a receipt going about for that operation which saves
+all trouble:
+
+‘“Take a pair of pistols and a pack of cards, a cookery-book and a
+set of new quadrilles; mix them up with half an intrigue and a whole
+marriage, and divide them into three equal portions.” Now, as Augustus
+has both fought and gamed, dined and danced, I suppose it was the
+morality which posed him, or perhaps the marriage.
+
+‘They say there is something about Lady Flutter, but, I should think,
+all talk. Most probably a report set about by her Ladyship. Lord Flame
+has been blackballed, that is certain. But there is no more news, except
+that the Wiltshires are going to the Continent: we know why; and that
+the Spankers are making more dash than ever: God knows how! Adieu!
+
+‘B. D. V.’
+
+
+The letter ended; all things end at last. A she-correspondent for our
+money; provided always that she does not _cross_.
+
+Our Duke--in spite of his disgrace, he still is ours, and yours too, I
+hope, gentlest reader--our Duke found himself at Cleve Park again, in a
+different circle from the one to which he had been chiefly accustomed.
+The sporting world received him with open arms. With some of these
+worthies, as owner of Sanspareil, he had become slightly acquainted.
+But what is half a morning at Tattersall’s, or half a week at Doncaster,
+compared with a meeting at Newmarket? There your congenial spirits
+congregate. Freemasons every man of them! No uninitiated wretch there
+dares to disturb, with his profane presence, the hallowed mysteries.
+There the race is not a peg to hang a few days of dissipation on, but
+a sacred ceremony, to the celebration of which all men and all
+circumstances tend and bend. No balls, no concerts, no public
+breakfasts, no bands from Litolf, no singers from Welsh, no pineapples
+from Gunter, are there called for by thoughtless thousands, who have
+met, not from any affection for the turfs delights or their neighbour’s
+cash, but to sport their splendid liveries and to disport their showy
+selves.
+
+The house was full of men, whose talk was full of bets. The women were
+not as bad, but they were not plentiful. Some lords and signors were
+there without their dames. Lord Bloomerly, for instance, alone, or
+rather with his eldest son, Lord Bloom, just of age, and already a
+knowing hand. His father introduced him to all his friends with that
+smiling air of self-content which men assume when they introduce a
+youth who may show the world what they were at his years; so the Earl
+presented the young Viscount as a lover presents his miniature to his
+mistress. Lady Afy shone in unapproached perfection. A dull Marchioness,
+a _gauche_ Viscountess, and some other dames, who did not look like the
+chorus of this Diana, acted as capital foils, and permitted her to meet
+her cavalier under what are called the most favourable auspices.
+
+They dined, and discussed the agricultural interest in all its exhausted
+ramifications. Wheat was sold over again, even at a higher price;
+poachers were recalled to life, or from beyond seas, to be re-killed or
+re-transported. The poor-laws were a very rich topic, and the poor lands
+a very ruinous one. But all this was merely the light conversation, just
+to vary, in an agreeable mode, which all could understand, the regular
+material of discourse, and that was of stakes and stallions, pedigrees
+and plates.
+
+Our party rose early, for their pleasure was their business. Here were
+no lounging dandies and no exclusive belles, who kept their bowers until
+hunger, which also drives down wolves from the Pyrenees, brought them
+from their mystical chambers to luncheon and to life. In short, an
+air of interest, a serious and a thoughtful look, pervaded every
+countenance. Fashion was kicked to the devil, and they were all too much
+in earnest to have any time for affectation. Breakfast was over, and
+it was a regular meal at which all attended, and they hurried to
+the course. It seems, when the party arrive, that they are the only
+spectators. A party or two come on to keep them company. A club
+discharges a crowd of gentlemen, a stable a crowd of grooms. At length
+a sprinkling of human beings is collected, but all is wondrous still and
+wondrous cold. The only thing that gives sign of life is Lord Breedall’s
+movable stand; and the only intimation that fire is still an element is
+the sailing breath of a stray cigar.
+
+‘This, then, is Newmarket!’ exclaimed the young Duke. ‘If it required
+five-and-twenty thousand pounds to make Doncaster amusing, a plum, at
+least, will go in rendering Newmarket endurable.’
+
+But the young Duke was wrong. There was a fine race, and the
+connoisseurs got enthusiastic. Sir Lucius Grafton was the winner. The
+Duke sympathised with his friend’s success.
+
+He began galloping about the course, and his blood warmed. He paid a
+visit to Sanspareil. He heard his steed was still a favourite for a
+coming race. He backed his steed, and Sanspareil won. He began to find
+Newmarket not so disagreeable. In a word, our friend was in an entirely
+new scene, which was exactly the thing he required. He was interested,
+and forgot, or rather forcibly expelled from his mind, his late
+overwhelming adventure. He grew popular with the set. His courteous
+manners, his affable address, his gay humour, and the facility with
+which he adopted their tone and temper, joined with his rank and wealth,
+subdued the most rugged and the coldest hearts. Even the jockeys were
+civil to him, and welcomed him with a sweet smile and gracious nod,
+instead of the sour grin and malicious wink with which those characters
+generally greet a stranger; those mysterious characters who, in their
+influence over their superiors, and their total want of sympathy with
+their species, are our only match for the oriental eunuch.
+
+He grew, we say, popular with the set. They were glad to see among them
+a young nobleman of spirit. He became a member of the Jockey Club, and
+talked of taking a place in the neighbourhood. All recommended the
+step, and assured him of their readiness to dine with him as often as
+he pleased. He was a universal favourite; and even Chuck Farthing,
+the gentleman jockey, with a cock-eye and a knowing shake of his head,
+squeaked out, in a sporting treble, one of his monstrous fudges about
+the Prince in days of yore, and swore that, like his Royal Highness, the
+young Duke made the Market all alive.
+
+The heart of our hero was never insensible to flattery. He could not
+refrain from comparing his present with his recent situation. The
+constant consideration of all around him, the affectionate cordiality of
+Sir Lucius, and the unobtrusive devotion of Lady Afy, melted his soul.
+These agreeable circumstances graciously whispered to him each hour that
+he could scarcely be the desolate and despicable personage which lately,
+in a moment of madness, he had fancied himself. He began to indulge the
+satisfactory idea, that a certain person, however unparalleled in form
+and mind, had perhaps acted with a little precipitation. Then his eyes
+met those of Lady Aphrodite; and, full of these feelings, he exchanged a
+look which reminded him of their first meeting; though now, mellowed by
+gratitude, and regard, and esteem, it was perhaps even more delightful.
+He was loved, and he was loved by an exquisite being, who was the object
+of universal admiration. What could he desire more? Nothing but the
+wilfulness of youth could have induced him for a moment to contemplate
+breaking chains which had only been formed to secure his felicity. He
+determined to bid farewell for ever to the impetuosity of youth. He
+had not been three days under the roof of Cleve before he felt that his
+happiness depended upon its fairest inmate. You see, then, that absence
+is not always fatal to love!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+     _Fresh Entanglements_
+
+HIS Grace completed his stud, and became one of the most distinguished
+votaries of the turf. Sir Lucius was the inspiring divinity upon this
+occasion. Our hero, like all young men, and particularly young nobles,
+did everything in extremes; and extensive arrangements were made by
+himself and his friend for the ensuing campaign. Sir Lucius was to reap
+half the profit, and to undertake the whole management. The Duke was to
+produce the capital and to pocket the whole glory. Thus rolled on some
+weeks, at the end of which our hero began to get a little tired. He
+had long ago recovered all his self-complacency, and if the form of May
+Dacre ever flitted before his vision for an instant, he clouded it
+over directly by the apparition of a bet, or thrust it away with that
+desperate recklessness with which we expel an ungracious thought. The
+Duke sighed for a little novelty. Christmas was at hand. He began to
+think that a regular country Christmas must be a sad bore. Lady Afy,
+too, was rather _exigeante_. It destroys one’s nerves to be amiable
+every day to the same human being. She was the best creature in the
+world; but Cambridgeshire was not a pleasant county. He was most
+attached; but there was not another agreeable woman in the house. He
+would not hurt her feelings for the world; but his own were suffering
+desperately. He had no idea that he ever should get so entangled.
+Brighton, they say, is a pleasant place.
+
+To Brighton he went; and although the Graftons were to follow him in
+a fortnight, still even these fourteen days were a holiday. It is
+extraordinary how hourly, and how violently, change the feelings of an
+inexperienced young man.
+
+Sir Lucius, however, was disappointed in his Brighton trip. Ten days
+after the departure of the young Duke the county member died. Sir Lucius
+had been long maturing his pretensions to the vacant representation. He
+was strongly supported; for he was a personal favourite, and his
+family had claims; but he was violently opposed; for a _novus homo_ was
+ambitious, and the Baronet was poor. Sir Lucius was a man of violent
+passions, and all feelings and considerations immediately merged in
+his paramount ambition. His wife, too, at this moment, was an important
+personage. She was generally popular; she was beautiful, highly
+connected, and highly considered. Her canvassing was a great object. She
+canvassed with earnestness and with success; for since her consolatory
+friendship with the Duke of St. James her character had greatly changed,
+and she was now as desirous of conciliating her husband and the opinion
+of society as she was before disdainful of the one and fearless of the
+other. Sir Lucius and Lady Aphrodite Grafton were indeed on the best
+possible terms, and the whole county admired his conjugal attentions and
+her wifelike affections.
+
+The Duke, who had no influence in this part of the world, and who was
+not at all desirous of quitting Brighton, compensated for his absence at
+this critical moment by a friendly letter and the offer of his purse.
+By this good aid, his wife’s attractions, and his own talents, Sir Lucy
+succeeded, and by the time Parliament had assembled he was returned
+member for his native county.
+
+In the meantime, his friend had been spending his time at Brighton in a
+far less agitated manner, but, in its way, not less successful; for he
+was amused, and therefore gained his object as much as the Baronet. The
+Duke liked Brighton much. Without the bore of an establishment, he found
+himself among many agreeable friends, living in an unostentatious and
+impromptu, though refined and luxurious, style. One day a new face,
+another day a new dish, another day a new dance, successively interested
+his feelings, particularly if the face rode, which they all do; the
+dish was at Sir George Sauceville’s, and the dance at the Duke of
+Burlington’s. So time flew on, between a canter to Rottindean, the
+flavours of a Perigord, and the blunders of the mazurka.
+
+But February arrived, and this agreeable life must end. The philosophy
+of society is so practical that it is not allowed, even to a young Duke,
+absolutely to trifle away existence. Duties will arise, in spite of our
+best endeavours; and his Grace had to roll up to town, to dine with the
+Premier, and to move the Address.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+     _A New Star Rises_
+
+ANOTHER season had arrived, another of those magical periods of which
+one had already witnessed his unparalleled triumphs, and from which
+he had derived such exquisite delight. To his surprise, he viewed its
+arrival without emotion; if with any feeling, with disgust.
+
+He had quaffed the cup too eagerly. The draught had been delicious; but
+time also proved that it had been satiating. Was it possible for his
+vanity to be more completely gratified than it had been? Was it possible
+for victories to be more numerous and more unquestioned during the
+coming campaign than during the last? Had not his life, then, been one
+long triumph? Who had not offered their admiration? Who had not paid
+homage to his all-acknowledged empire? Yet, even this career, however
+dazzling, had not been pursued, even this success, however brilliant,
+had not been attained, without some effort and some weariness, also some
+exhaustion. Often, as he now remembered, had his head ached; more than
+once, as now occurred to him, had his heart faltered. Even his first
+season had not passed over without his feeling lone in the crowded
+saloon, or starting at the supernatural finger in the banqueting-hall.
+Yet then he was the creature of excitement, who pursued an end which
+was as indefinite as it seemed to be splendid. All had now happened that
+could happen. He drooped. He required the impulse which we derive from
+an object unattained.
+
+Yet, had he exhausted life at two-and-twenty? This must not be. His
+feelings must be more philosophically accounted for. He began to suspect
+that he had lived too much for the world and too little for himself;
+that he had sacrificed his ease to the applause of thousands, and
+mistaken excitement for enjoyment. His memory dwelt with satisfaction on
+the hours which had so agreeably glided away at Brighton, in the choice
+society of a few intimates. He determined entirely to remodel the system
+of his life; and with the sanguine impetuosity which characterised him,
+he, at the same moment, felt that he had at length discovered the road
+to happiness, and determined to pursue it without the loss of a precious
+moment.
+
+The Duke of St. James was seen less in the world, and he appeared but
+seldom at the various entertainments which he had once so adorned. Yet
+he did not resign his exalted position in the world of fashion; but,
+on the contrary, adopted a course of conduct which even increased
+his consideration. He received the world not less frequently or less
+splendidly than heretofore; and his magnificent mansion, early in the
+season, was opened to the favoured crowd. Yet in that mansion, which had
+been acquired with such energy and at such cost, its lord was almost as
+strange, and certainly not as pleased, an inmate as the guests, who felt
+their presence in his chambers a confirmation, or a creation, of their
+claims to the world’s homage. The Alhambra was finished, and there
+the Duke of St. James entirely resided; but its regal splendour was
+concealed from the prying eye of public curiosity with a proud reserve,
+a studied secrecy, and stately haughtiness becoming a caliph. A small
+band of initiated friends alone had the occasional entrée, and the
+mysterious air which they provokingly assumed whenever they were
+cross-examined on the internal arrangements of this mystical structure,
+only increased the number and the wildness of the incidents which
+daily were afloat respecting the fantastic profusion and scientific
+dissipation of the youthful sultan and his envied viziers.
+
+The town, ever since the season commenced, had been in feverish
+expectation of the arrival of a new singer, whose fame had heralded her
+presence in all the courts of Christendom. Whether she were an Italian
+or a German, a Gaul or a Greek, was equally unknown. An air of mystery
+environed the most celebrated creature in Europe. There were odd
+whispers of her parentage. Every potentate was in turn entitled to the
+gratitude of mankind for the creation of this marvel. Now it was an
+emperor, now a king. A grand duke then put in his claim, and then an
+archduke. To-day she was married, tomorrow she was single. To-day her
+husband was a prince incog., to-morrow a drum-major well known. Even
+her name was a mystery; and she was known and worshipped throughout the
+whole civilised world by the mere title of ‘_The Bird of Paradise!_’
+
+About a month before Easter telegraphs announced her arrival. The
+Admiralty yacht was too late. She determined to make her first
+appearance at the opera: and not only the young Duke, but even a
+far more exalted personage, was disappointed in the sublime idea of
+anticipating the public opinion by a private concert. She was to appear
+for the first time on Tuesday; the House of Commons adjourned.
+
+The curtain is drawn up, and the house is crowded. Everybody is there
+who is anybody. Protocoli, looking as full of fate as if the French were
+again on the Danube; Macaroni, as full of himself as if no other being
+were engrossing universal attention. The Premier appears far more
+anxious than he does at Council, and the Duke of Burlington arranges his
+fanlike screen with an agitation which, for a moment, makes him forget
+his unrivalled nonchalance. Even Lady Bloomerly is in suspense, and
+even Charles Annesley’s heart beats. But ah! (or rather, bah!) the
+enthusiasm of Lady de Courcy! Even the young Guardsman, who paid her
+Ladyship for her ivory franks by his idle presence, even he must have
+felt, callous as those young Guardsmen are.
+
+Will that bore of a tenor ever finish that provoking aria, that we have
+heard so often? How drawlingly he drags on his dull, deafening--
+
+_Êccola!_
+
+Have you seen the primal dew ere the sun has lipped the pearl? Have you
+seen a summer fly, with tinted wings of shifting light, glance in the
+liquid noontide air? Have you marked a shooting star, or watched a young
+gazelle at play? Then you have seen nothing fresher, nothing brighter,
+nothing wilder, nothing lighter, than the girl who stands before you!
+She was infinitely small, fair, and bright. Her black hair was braided
+in Madonnas over a brow like ivory; a deep pure pink spot gave lustre
+to each cheek. Her features were delicate beyond a dream! her nose quite
+straight, with a nostril which would have made you crazy, if you had not
+already been struck with idiocy by gazing on her mouth. She a singer!
+Impossible! She cannot speak. And, now we look again, she must sing with
+her eyes, they are so large and lustrous!
+
+The Bird of Paradise curtsied as if she shrunk under the overwhelming
+greeting, and crossed her breast with arms that gleamed like moonbeams
+and hands that glittered like stars. This gave time to the _cognoscenti_
+to remark her costume, which was ravishing, and to try to see her
+feet; but they were too small. At last Lord Squib announced that he
+had discovered them by a new glass, and described them as a couple of
+diamond-claws most exquisitely finished.
+
+She moved her head with a faint smile, as if she distrusted her powers
+and feared the assembly would be disappointed, and then she shot forth
+a note which thrilled through every heart and nearly cracked the
+chandelier. Even Lady Fitz-pompey said ‘Brava!’ As she proceeded the
+audience grew quite frantic. It was agreed on all hands that miracles
+had recommenced. Each air was sung only to call forth fresh exclamations
+of ‘Miracolo!’ and encores were as unmerciful as an usurper.
+
+Amid all this rapture the young Duke was not silent. His box was on the
+stage; and ever and anon the syren shot a glance which seemed to tell
+him that he was marked out amid this brilliant multitude. Each round of
+applause, each roar of ravished senses, only added a more fearful action
+to the wild purposes which began to flit about his Grace’s mind. His
+imagination was touched. His old passion to be distinguished returned
+in full force. This creature was strange, mysterious, celebrated. Her
+beauty, her accomplishments, were as singular and as rare as her destiny
+and her fame. His reverie absolutely raged; it was only disturbed by her
+repeated notice and his returned acknowledgments. He arose in a state
+of mad excitation, once more the slave or the victim of his intoxicated
+vanity. He hurried behind the scenes. He congratulated her on her
+success, her genius, and her beauty; and, to be brief, within a week of
+her arrival in our metropolis, the Bird of Paradise was fairly caged in
+the Alhambra.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+     _The Bird is Caged_
+
+HITHERTO the Duke of St. James had been a celebrated personage, but his
+fame had been confined to the two thousand Brahmins who constitute the
+world. His patronage of the Signora extended his celebrity in a manner
+which he had not anticipated; and he became also the hero of the ten, or
+twelve, or fifteen millions of pariahs for whose existence philosophers
+have hitherto failed to adduce a satisfactory cause.
+
+The Duke of St. James was now, in the comprehensive sense of the phrase,
+a public character. Some choice spirits took the hint from the public
+feeling, and determined to dine on the public curiosity. A Sunday
+journal was immediately established. Of this epic our Duke was the hero.
+His manners, his sayings, his adventures, regularly regaled, on each
+holy day, the Protestant population of this Protestant empire, who in
+France or Italy, or even Germany, faint at the sight of a peasantry
+testifying their gratitude for a day of rest by a dance or a tune.
+‘Sketches of the Alhambra,’ ‘_Soupers_ in the Regent’s Park,’ ‘The Court
+of the Caliph,’ ‘The Bird Cage,’ &c, &c, &c, were duly announced and
+duly devoured. This journal, being solely devoted to the illustration
+of the life of a single and a private individual, was appropriately
+entitled ‘The Universe.’ Its contributors were eminently successful.
+Their pure inventions and impure details were accepted as delicate
+truth; and their ferocious familiarity with persons with whom they were
+totally unacquainted demonstrated at the same time their knowledge both
+of the forms and the personages of polite society.
+
+At the first announcement of this hebdomadal his Grace was a little
+annoyed, and ‘Noctes Hautevillienses’ made him fear treason; but when
+he had read a number, he entirely acquitted any person of a breach of
+confidence. On the whole he was amused. A variety of ladies in time were
+introduced, with many of whom the Duke had scarcely interchanged a bow;
+but the respectable editor was not up to Lady Afy.
+
+If his Grace, however, were soon reconciled to this not very agreeable
+notoriety, and consoled himself under the activity of his libellers
+by the conviction that their prolusions did not even amount to a
+caricature, he was less easily satisfied with another performance which
+speedily advanced its claims to public notice.
+
+There is an unavoidable reaction in all human affairs. The Duke of
+St. James had been so successfully attacked that it became worth while
+successfully to defend him, and another Sunday paper appeared, the
+object of which was to maintain the silver side of the shield. Here
+everything was _couleur de rose_. One week the Duke saved a poor man
+from the Serpentine; another a poor woman from starvation; now an orphan
+was grateful; and now Miss Zouch, impelled by her necessity and his
+reputation, addressed him a column and a half, quite heart-rending.
+Parents with nine children; nine children without parents; clergymen
+most improperly unbeneficed; officers most wickedly reduced; widows of
+younger sons of quality sacrificed to the Colonies; sisters of literary
+men sacrificed to national works, which required his patronage to
+appear; daughters who had known better days, but somehow or other
+had not been so well acquainted with their parents; all advanced with
+multiplied petitions, and that hackneyed, heartless air of misery which
+denotes the mumper. His Grace was infinitely annoyed, and scarcely
+compensated for the inconvenience by the prettiest little creature in
+the world, who one day forced herself into his presence to solicit the
+honour of dedicating to him her poems.
+
+He had enough on his hands, so he wrote her a cheque and, with a
+courtesy which must have made Sappho quite desperate, put her out of the
+room.
+
+We forgot to say that the name of the new journal was ‘The New World.’
+The new world is not quite so big as the universe, but then it is as
+large as all the other quarters of the globe together. The worst of this
+business was, ‘The Universe’ protested that the Duke of St. James, like
+a second Canning, had called this ‘New World’ into existence, which was
+too bad, because, in truth, he deprecated its discovery scarcely less
+than the Venetians.
+
+Having thus managed, in the course of a few weeks, to achieve the
+reputation of an unrivalled roué, our hero one night betook himself to
+Almack’s, a place where his visits, this season, were both shorter and
+less frequent.
+
+Many an anxious mother gazed upon him, as he passed, with an eye which
+longed to pierce futurity; many an agitated maiden looked exquisitely
+unembarrassed, while her fluttering memory feasted on the sweet thought
+that, at any rate, another had not captured this unrivalled prize.
+Perhaps she might be the Anson to fall upon this galleon. It was worth a
+long cruise, and even a chance of shipwreck.
+
+He danced with Lady Aphrodite, because, since the affair of the Signora,
+he was most punctilious in his attentions to her, particularly in
+public. That affair, of course, she passed over in silence, though it
+was bitter. She, however, had had sufficient experience of man to feel
+that remonstrance is a last resource, and usually an ineffectual one. It
+was something that her rival--not that her ladyship dignified the Bird
+by that title--it was something that she was not her equal, that she was
+not one with whom she could be put in painful and constant collision.
+She tried to consider it a freak, to believe only half she heard, and
+to indulge the fancy that it was a toy which would soon tire. As for
+Sir Lucius, he saw nothing in this adventure, or indeed in the Alhambra
+system at all, which militated against his ulterior views. No one more
+constantly officiated at the ducal orgies than himself, both because he
+was devoted to self-gratification, and because he liked ever to have
+his protégé in sight. He studiously prevented any other individual from
+becoming the Petronius of the circle. His deep experience also taught
+him that, with a person of the young Duke’s temper, the mode of life
+which he was now leading was exactly the one which not only would
+insure, but even hurry, the catastrophe his faithful friend so eagerly
+desired. His pleasures, as Sir Lucius knew, would soon pall; for he
+easily perceived that the Duke was not heartless enough for a roué. When
+thorough satiety is felt, young men are in the cue for desperate deeds.
+Looking upon happiness as a dream, or a prize which, in life’s lottery,
+they have missed; worn, hipped, dissatisfied, and desperate, they often
+hurry on a result which they disapprove, merely to close a miserable
+career, or to brave the society with which they cannot sympathise.
+
+The Duke, however, was not yet sated. As after a feast, when we have
+despatched a quantity of wine, there sometimes, as it were, arises a
+second appetite, unnatural to be sure, but very keen; so, in a career of
+dissipation, when our passion for pleasure appears to be exhausted, the
+fatal fancy of man, like a wearied hare, will take a new turn, throw off
+the hell-hounds of ennui, and course again with renewed vigour.
+
+And to-night the Duke of St. James was, as he had been for some weeks,
+all life, and fire, and excitement; and his eye was even now wandering
+round the room in quest of some consummate spirit whom he might summon
+to his Saracenic Paradise.
+
+A consummate spirit his eye lighted on. There stood May Dacre. He gasped
+for breath. He turned pale. It was only for a moment, and his emotion
+was unperceived. There she stood, beautiful as when she first glanced
+before him; there she stood, with all her imperial graces; and all
+surrounding splendour seemed to fade away before her dazzling presence,
+like mournful spirits of a lower world before a radiant creature of the
+sky.
+
+She was speaking with her sunlight smile to a young man whose appearance
+attracted his notice. He was dressed entirely in black, rather short,
+but slenderly made; sallow, but clear, with long black curls and a
+Murillo face, and looked altogether like a young Jesuit or a Venetian
+official by Giorgone or Titian. His countenance was reserved and his
+manner not easy: yet, on the whole, his face indicated intellect and his
+figure blood. The features haunted the Duke’s memory. He had met this
+person before. There are some countenances which when once seen can
+never be forgotten, and the young man owned one of these. The Duke
+recalled him to his memory with a pang.
+
+Our hero--let him still be ours, for he is rather desolate, and he
+requires the backing of his friends--our hero behaved pretty well. He
+seized the first favourable opportunity to catch Miss Dacre’s eye, and
+was grateful for her bow. Emboldened, he accosted her, and asked after
+Mr. Dacre. She was courteous, but unembarrassed. Her calmness, however,
+piqued him sufficiently to allow him to rally. He was tolerably easy,
+and talked of calling. Their conversation lasted only for a few minutes,
+and was fortunately terminated without his withdrawal, which would have
+been awkward. The young man whom we have noticed came up to claim her
+hand.
+
+‘Arundel Dacre, or my eyes deceive me?’ said the young Duke. ‘I always
+consider an old Etonian a friend, and therefore I address you without
+ceremony.’
+
+The young man accepted, but not with readiness, the offered hand. He
+blushed and spoke, but in a hesitating and husky voice. Then he cleared
+his throat, and spoke again, but not much more to the purpose. Then he
+looked to his partner, whose eyes were on the ground, and rose as he
+endeavoured to catch them. For a moment he was silent again; then he
+bowed slightly to Miss Dacre and solemnly to the Duke, and then he
+carried off his cousin.
+
+‘Poor Dacre!’ said the Duke; ‘he always had the worst manner in the
+world. Not in the least changed.’
+
+His Grace wandered into the tea-room. A knot of dandies were in deep
+converse. He heard his own name and that of the Duke of Burlington; then
+came ‘Doncaster beauty.’ ‘Don’t you know?’ ‘Oh! yes.’ ‘All quite mad,’
+&c, &c, &c. As he passed he was invited in different ways to join the
+coterie of his admirers, but he declined the honour, and passed them
+with that icy hauteur which he could assume, and which, judiciously
+used, contributed not a little to his popularity.
+
+He could not conquer his depression; and, although it was scarcely
+past midnight, he determined to disappear. Fortunately his carriage was
+waiting. He was at a loss what to do with himself. He dreaded even to be
+alone. The Signora was at a private concert, and she was the last
+person whom, at this moment, he cared to see. His low spirits rapidly
+increased. He got terribly nervous, and felt miserable. At last he drove
+to White’s.
+
+The House had just broken up, and the political members had just
+entered, and in clusters, some standing and some yawning, some
+stretching their arms and some stretching their legs, presented symptoms
+of an escape from boredom. Among others, round the fire, was a young man
+dressed in a rough great coat all cords and sables, with his hat bent
+aside, a shawl tied round his neck with boldness, and a huge oaken staff
+clenched in his left hand. With the other he held the ‘Courier,’ and
+reviewed with a critical eye the report of the speech which he had made
+that afternoon. This was Lord Darrell.
+
+We have always considered the talents of younger brothers as an
+unanswerable argument in favour of a Providence. Lord Darrell was the
+younger son of the Earl of Darleyford, and had been educated for a
+diplomatist. A report some two years ago had been very current that
+his elder brother, then Lord Darrell, was, against the consent of his
+family, about to be favoured with the hand of Mrs. Dallington Vere.
+Certain it is he was a devoted admirer of that lady. Of that lady,
+however, a less favoured rival chose one day to say that which staggered
+the romance of the impassioned youth. In a moment of rashness, impelled
+by sacred feelings, it is reported, at least, for the whole is a
+mystery, he communicated what he had heard with horror to the mistress
+of his destinies. Whatever took place, certain it is Lord Darrell
+challenged the indecorous speaker, and was shot through the heart. The
+affair made a great sensation, and the Darleyfords and their connections
+said bitter things of Mrs. Dallington, and talked much of rash youth and
+subtle women of discreeter years, and passions shamefully inflamed and
+purposes wickedly egged on. We say nothing of all this; nor will we
+dwell upon it. Mrs. Dallington Vere assuredly was no slight sufferer.
+But she conquered the cabal that was formed against her, for the dandies
+were her friends, and gallantly supported her through a trial under
+which some women would have sunk. As it was, at the end of the season
+she did travel, but all is now forgotten; and Hill Street, Berkeley
+Square, again contains, at the moment of our story, its brightest
+ornament.
+
+The present Lord Darrell gave up all idea of being an ambassador, but he
+was clever; and though he hurried to gratify a taste for pleasure
+which before had been too much mortified, he could not relinquish the
+ambitious prospects with which he had, during the greater part of his
+life, consoled himself for his cadetship. He piqued himself upon being
+at the same time a dandy and a statesman. He spoke in the House, and not
+without effect. He was one of those who make themselves masters of great
+questions; that is to say, who read a great many reviews and newspapers,
+and are full of others’ thoughts without ever having thought themselves.
+He particularly prided himself upon having made his way into the
+Alhambra set. He was the only man of business among them. The Duke
+liked him, for it is agreeable to be courted by those who are themselves
+considered.
+
+Lord Darrell was a favourite with women. They like a little intellect.
+He talked fluently on all subjects. He was what is called ‘a talented
+young man.’ Then he had mind, and soul, and all that. The miracles of
+creation have long agreed that body without soul will not do; and even
+a coxcomb in these days must be original, or he is a bore. No longer is
+such a character the mere creation of his tailor and his perfumer. Lord
+Darrell was an avowed admirer of Lady Caroline St. Maurice, and a great
+favourite with her parents, who both considered him an oracle on
+the subjects which respectively interested them. You might dine at
+Fitz-pompey House and hear his name quoted at both ends of the table; by
+the host upon the state of Europe, and by the hostess upon the state of
+the season. Had it not been for the young Duke, nothing would have
+given Lady Fitz-pompey greater pleasure than to have received him as
+a son-in-law; but, as it was, he was only kept in store for the second
+string to Cupid’s bow.
+
+Lord Darrell had just quitted the House in a costume which, though
+rough, was not less studied than the finished and elaborate toilet
+which, in the course of an hour, he will exhibit in the enchanted halls
+of Almack’s. There he will figure to the last, the most active and the
+most remarked; and though after these continued exertions he will not
+gain his couch perhaps till seven, our Lord of the Treasury, for he
+is one, will resume his official duties at an earlier hour than any
+functionary in the kingdom.
+
+Yet our friend is a little annoyed now. What is the matter? He dilates
+to his uncle, Lord Seymour Temple, a greyheaded placeman, on the
+profligacy of the press. What is this? The Virgilian line our orator
+introduced so felicitously is omitted. He panegyrizes the ‘Mirror of
+Parliament,’ where, he has no doubt, the missing verse will appear. The
+quotation was new, ‘Timeo Danaos.’
+
+Lord Seymour Temple begins a long story about Fox and General
+Fitzpatrick. This is a signal for a general retreat; and the bore, as
+Sir Boyle Roche would say, like the last rose of summer, remains talking
+to himself.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+     _His Grace’s Rival_
+
+ARUNDEL DACRE was the only child of Mr. Dacre’s only and deceased
+brother, and the heir to the whole of the Dacre property. His father,
+a man of violent passions, had married early in life, against the
+approbation of his family, and had revolted from the Catholic communion.
+The elder brother, however mortified by this great deed, which passion
+had prompted, and not conscience, had exerted his best offices to
+mollify their exasperated father, and to reconcile the sire to the son.
+But he had exerted them ineffectually; and, as is not unusual, found,
+after much harrowing anxiety and deep suffering, that he was not even
+recompensed for his exertions and his sympathy by the gratitude of his
+brother. The younger Dacre was not one of those minds whose rashness and
+impetuosity are counterbalanced, or rather compensated, by a generous
+candour and an amiable remorse. He was headstrong, but he was obstinate:
+he was ardent, but he was sullen: he was unwary, but he was suspicious.
+Everyone who opposed him was his enemy: all who combined for his
+preservation were conspirators. His father, whose feelings he had
+outraged and never attempted to soothe, was a tyrant; his brother, who
+was devoted to his interests, was a traitor.
+
+These were his living and his dying thoughts. While he existed, he was
+one of those men who, because they have been imprudent, think themselves
+unfortunate, and mistake their diseased mind for an implacable destiny.
+When he died, his deathbed was consoled by the reflection that his
+persecutors might at last feel some compunction; and he quitted the
+world without a pang, because he flattered himself that his departure
+would cost them one.
+
+His father, who died before him, had left him no fortune, and even had
+not provided for his wife or child. His brother made another ineffectual
+attempt to accomplish a reconciliation; but his proffers of love and
+fortune were alike scorned and himself insulted, and Arundel Dacre
+seemed to gloat on the idea that he was an outcast and a beggar.
+
+Yet even this strange being had his warm feelings. He adored his wife,
+particularly because his father had disowned her. He had a friend whom
+he idolised, and who, treating his occasional conduct as a species
+of insanity, had never deserted him. This friend had been his college
+companion, and, in the odd chapter of circumstances, had become a
+powerful political character. Dacre was a man of talent, and his friend
+took care that he should have an opportunity of displaying it. He was
+brought into Parliament, and animated by the desire, as he thought, of
+triumphing over his family, he exerted himself with success. But his
+infernal temper spoiled all. His active quarrels and his noisy brawls
+were even more endurable than his sullen suspicions, his dark hints, and
+his silent hate. He was always offended and always offending. Such a
+man could never succeed as a politician, a character who, of all others,
+must learn to endure, to forget, and to forgive. He was soon universally
+shunned; but his first friend was faithful, though bitterly tried, and
+Dacre retired from public life on a pension.
+
+His wife had died, and during the latter years of his life almost his
+only companion was his son. He concentrated on this being all that
+ardent affection which, had he diffused among his fellow-creatures,
+might have ensured his happiness and his prosperity. Yet even sometimes
+he would look in his child’s face with an anxious air, as if he read
+incubating treason, and then press him to his bosom with unusual
+fervour, as if he would stifle the idea, which alone was madness.
+
+This child was educated in an hereditary hate of the Dacre family. His
+uncle was daily painted as a tyrant, whom he classed in his young mind
+with Phalaris or Dionysius. There was nothing that he felt keener than
+his father’s wrongs, and nothing which he believed more certain than his
+uncle’s wickedness. He arrived at his thirteenth year when his father
+died, and he was to be consigned to the care of that uncle.
+
+Arundel Dacre had left his son as a legacy to his friend; but that
+friend was a man of the world; and when the elder brother not only
+expressed his willingness to maintain the orphan, but even his desire to
+educate and adopt him as his son, he cheerfully resigned all his claims
+to the forlorn boy, and felt that, by consigning him to his uncle, he
+had most religiously discharged the trust of his confiding friend.
+
+The nephew arrived at Castle Dacre with a heart equally divided between
+misery and hatred. It seemed to him that a fate more forlorn than
+his had seldom been awarded to mortal. Although he found his uncle
+diametrically opposite to all that his misled imagination had painted
+him, although he was treated with a kindness and indulgence which tried
+to compensate for their too long estranged affections, Arundel Dacre
+could never conquer the impressions of his boyhood; and had it not been
+for his cousin, May, a creature of whom he had not heard, and of whom no
+distorted image had therefore haunted his disturbed imagination; had it
+not been for this beautiful girl, who greeted him with affection which
+warmed and won his heart, so morbid were his feelings, that he would
+in all probability have pined away under the roof which he should have
+looked upon as his own.
+
+His departure for Eton was a relief. As he grew up, although his
+knowledge of life and man had long taught him the fallacy of his early
+feelings, and although he now yielded a tear of pity, rather than of
+indignation, to the adored manes of his father, his peculiar temper and
+his first education never allowed him entirely to emancipate himself
+from his hereditary feelings. His character was combined of many and
+even of contrary qualities.
+
+His talents were great, but his want of confidence made them more
+doubtful to himself than to the world; yet, at times, in his solitary
+musings, he perhaps even exaggerated his powers. He was proud, and yet
+worldly. He never forgot that he was a Dacre; but he desired to be the
+architect of his own fortune; and his very love of independence made
+him, at an early period, meditate on the means of managing mankind. He
+was reserved and cold, for his imagination required much; yet he panted
+for a confidant and was one of those youths with whom friendship is a
+passion. To conclude, he was a Protestant among Catholics; and although
+this circumstance, inasmuch as it assisted him in the views which he
+had early indulged, was not an ungracious one, he felt that, till he
+was distinguished, it had lessened his consideration, since he could
+not count upon the sympathy of hereditary connections and ancient party.
+Altogether, he was one who, with the consciousness of ancient blood, the
+certainty of future fortune, fine talents, great accomplishments, and
+not slight personal advantages, was unhappy. Yet, although not of a
+sanguine temper, and occasionally delivered to the darkest spleen, his
+intense ambition sustained him, and he lived on the hope, and sometimes
+on the conviction, that a bright era would, some day, console him for
+the bitterness of his past and present life.
+
+At school and at college he equally distinguished himself, and was
+everywhere respected and often regarded; yet he had never found that
+friend on whom his fancy had often busied itself, and which one whose
+alternations of feeling were so violent peremptorily required. His
+uncle and himself viewed each other with mutual respect and regard, but
+confidence did not exist between them. Mr. Dacre, in spite of his long
+and constant efforts, despaired of raising in the breast of his nephew
+the flame of filial love; and had it not been for his daughter, who was
+the only person in the world to whom Arundel ever opened his mind, and
+who could, consequently, throw some light upon his wants and wishes,
+it would not have been in his power to evince to his nephew that this
+disappointment had not affected his uncle’s feelings in his favour.
+
+When his education was completed, Mr. Dacre had wished him to take up
+his residence in Yorkshire, and, in every sense, to act as his son, as
+he was his successor. But Arundel declined this proposition. He obtained
+from his father’s old political connection the appointment of _attaché_
+to a foreign embassy, and he remained on the Continent, with the
+exception of a yearly visit to Yorkshire, three or four years. But his
+views were not in the diplomatic line, and this appointment only served
+as a political school until he could enter Parliament. May Dacre had
+wormed from him his secret, and worked with energy in his cause. An
+opportunity appeared to offer itself, and, under the patronage of a
+Catholic nobleman, he was to appear as a candidate for an open borough.
+It was on this business that he had returned to England.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+     _Birds of a Feather_
+
+WE WILL go and make a morning call. The garish light of day, that never
+suits a chamber, was broken by a muslin veil, which sent its softened
+twilight through a room of moderate dimensions but of princely
+decoration, and which opened into a conservatory. The choice saloon was
+hung with rose-coloured silk, which diffused a delicate tint over the
+inlaid and costly cabinets. It was crowded with tables covered with
+_bijouterie_. Apparently, however, a road had been cut through the
+furniture, by which you might wind your way up to the divinity of the
+temple. A ravishing perfume, which was ever changing, wandered through
+the apartment. Now a violet breeze made you poetical; now a rosy gale
+called you to love. And ever and anon the strange but thrilling breath
+of some rare exotic summoned you, like an angel, to opening Eden. All
+was still and sweet, save that a fountain made you, as it were, more
+conscious of silence; save that the song of birds made you, as it were,
+more sensible of sweetness.
+
+Upon a couch, her small head resting upon an arm covered with bracelets,
+which blazed like a Sol-dan’s treasure, reclined Mrs. Dallington Vere.
+
+She is in thought. Is her abstracted eye fixed in admiration upon that
+twinkling foot which, clothed in its Russian slipper, looks like a
+serpent’s tongue, small, red, and pointed; or does a more serious
+feeling than self-admiration inspire this musing? Ah! a cloud courses
+over that pellucid brow. Tis gone, but it frowned like the harbinger of
+a storm. Again! A small but blood-red blush rises into that clear cheek.
+It was momentary, but its deep colour indicated that it came from the
+heart. Her eye lights up with a wild and glittering fire, but the flash
+vanishes into darkness, and gloom follows the unnatural light. She
+clasps her hands; she rises from an uneasy seat, though supported by a
+thousand pillows, and she paces the conservatory.
+
+A guest is announced. It is Sir Lucius Grafton.
+
+He salutes her with that studied courtesy which shows they are only
+friends, but which, when maintained between intimate acquaintance,
+sometimes makes wicked people suspect that they once perhaps were more.
+She resumes her seat, and he throws himself into an easy chair which is
+opposite.
+
+‘Your note I this moment received, Bertha, and I am here. You perceive
+that my fidelity is as remarkable as ever.’
+
+‘We had a gay meeting last night.’
+
+‘Very much so. So Lady Araminta has at last shown mercy.’
+
+‘I cannot believe it.’
+
+‘I have just had a note from Challoner, preliminary, I suppose, to
+my trusteeship. You are not the only person who holds my talents for
+business in high esteem.’
+
+‘But Ballingford; what will he say?’
+
+‘That is his affair; and as he never, to my knowledge, spoke to the
+purpose, his remarks now, I suppose, are not fated to be much more
+apropos.’
+
+‘Yet he can say things. We all know----’
+
+‘Yes, yes, we all know; but nobody believes. That is the motto of the
+present day; and the only way to neutralise scandal, and to counteract
+publicity.’
+
+Mrs. Dallington was silent, and looked uneasy; and her friend perceiving
+that, although she had sent to him so urgent a billet, she did not
+communicate, expressed a little surprise.
+
+‘But you wish to see me, Bertha?’
+
+‘I do very much, and to speak to you. For these many days I have
+intended it; but I do not know how it is, I have postponed and postponed
+our interview. I begin to believe,’ she added, looking up with a faint
+smile, ‘I am half afraid to speak.’
+
+‘Good God!’ said the Baronet, really alarmed, ‘you are in no trouble?’
+
+‘Oh, no! make yourself easy. Trouble, trouble! No, no! I am not exactly
+in trouble. I am not in debt; I am not in a scrape; but--but--but I am
+in something--something worse, perhaps: I am in love.’
+
+The Baronet looked puzzled. He did not for a moment suspect himself to
+be the hero; yet, although their mutual confidence was illimitable, he
+did not exactly see why, in the present instance, there had been
+such urgency to impart an event not altogether either unnatural or
+miraculous.
+
+‘In love!’ said Sir Lucius; ‘a very proper situation for the prettiest
+woman in London. Everybody is in love with you; and I heartily rejoice
+that some one of our favoured sex is about to avenge our sufferings.’
+
+‘_Point de moquerie_, Lucy! I am miserable.’
+
+‘Dear little pigeon, what is the matter?’
+
+‘Ah, me!’
+
+‘Speak,-speak,’ said he, in a gay tone; ‘you were not made for sighs,
+but smiles. Begin----’
+
+‘Well, then, the young Duke----’
+
+‘The deuce!’ said Sir Lucius, alarmed.
+
+‘Oh! no! make yourself easy,’ said Mrs. Dallington, smiling; ‘no
+counterplot, I assure you, although really you do not deserve to
+succeed.’
+
+‘Then who is it?’ eagerly asked Sir Lucius.
+
+‘You will not let me speak. The young Duke----’
+
+‘Damn the Duke!’
+
+‘How impatient you are, Lucy! I must begin with the beginning. Well, the
+young Duke has something to do with it.’
+
+‘Pray be explicit.’
+
+‘In a word, then,’ said Mrs. Dallington, in a low voice, but with an
+expression of earnestness which Sir Lucius had never before remarked, ‘I
+am in love, desperately in love, with one whom hitherto, in accordance
+with your wishes, I have been driving into the arms of another.
+Our views, our interests are opposite; but I wish to act fairly, if
+possible; I wish to reconcile them; and it is for this purpose that I
+have summoned you this morning.’
+
+‘Arundel Dacre!’ said Sir Lucius, quietly, and he rapped his cane on his
+boot. The blood-red spot again rose in his companion’s cheek.
+
+There was silence for a moment. Sir Lucius would not disturb it, and
+Mrs. Dallington again spoke.
+
+‘St. James and the little Dacre have again met. You have my secret. I do
+not ask your good services with Arundel, which I might at another time;
+but you cannot expect me to work against myself. Depend, then, no longer
+on my influence with May Dacre; for to be explicit, as we have always
+been, most heartily should I rejoice to see her a duchess.’
+
+‘The point, Bertha,’ said Sir Lucius, very quietly, ‘is not that I can
+no longer count upon you as an ally; but I must, I perceive, reckon you
+an opponent.’
+
+‘Cannot we prevent this?’ asked Mrs. Dallington with energy.
+
+‘I see no alternative,’ said Sir Lucius, shaking his head with great
+unconcern. ‘Time will prove who will have to congratulate the other.’
+
+‘My friend,’ said Mrs. Dallington, with briskness and decision, ‘no
+affectation between us. Drop this assumed unconcern. You know, you know
+well, that no incident could occur to you at this moment more mortifying
+than the one I have communicated, which deranges your plans, and
+probably may destroy your views. You cannot misconceive my motives in
+making this not very agreeable communication. I might have pursued my
+object without your knowledge and permission. In a word, I might have
+betrayed you. But with me every consideration has yielded to friendship.
+I cannot forget how often, and how successfully, we have combined. I
+should grieve to see our ancient and glorious alliance annulled. I am
+yet in hopes that we may both obtain our objects through its medium.’
+
+‘I am not aware,’ said Sir Lucius, with more feeling, ‘that I have given
+you any cause to complain of my want of candour. We are in a difficult
+position. I have nothing to suggest, but I am ready to listen. You know
+how ready I am to adopt all your suggestions; and I know how seldom you
+have wanted an expedient.’
+
+‘The little Dacre, then, must not marry her cousin; but we cannot
+flatter ourselves that such a girl will not want to marry some one;
+I have a conviction that this is her decisive season. She must be
+occupied. In a word, Lucy, some one must be found.’
+
+The Baronet started from his chair, and nearly knocked down a table.
+
+‘Confound your tables, Bertha,’ said he, in a pettish tone; ‘I can never
+consult in a room full of tables.’ He walked into the conservatory, and
+she followed him. He seemed plunged in thought. They were again silent.
+Suddenly he seized her hand and led her back to the sofa, on which they
+both sat down.
+
+‘My dear friend,’ he said, in a tone of agitated solemnity. ‘I will
+conceal no longer from you what I have sometimes endeavoured to conceal
+from myself: I love that girl to distraction.’ ‘You!’
+
+‘Yes; to distraction. Ever since we first met her image has haunted me.
+I endeavoured to crush a feeling which promised only to plunge me into
+anxiety, and to distract my attention from my important objects; but
+in vain, in vain. Her unexpected appearance yesterday has revived my
+passion with triple fervour. I have passed a sleepless night, and rise
+with the determination to obtain her.’
+
+‘You know your own power, Lucius, better perhaps than I do, or the
+world. We rank it high; none higher; yet, nevertheless, I look upon this
+declaration as insanity.’
+
+He raised her hand to his lips, and pressed it with delicate warmth, and
+summoned his most insinuating tone. ‘With your aid, Bertha, I should not
+despair!’
+
+‘Lucy, I am your friend; perhaps your best friend: but these Dacres!
+Would it were anyone but a Dacre! No, no, this cannot be.’
+
+‘Bertha, you know me better than the world: I am a roué, and you are
+my friend; but, believe me, I am not quite so vain as to indulge for
+a moment in the idea that May Dacre should be aught to me but what all
+might approve and all might honour. Yes, I intend her for my wife.’
+
+‘Your wife! You are, indeed, premature.’
+
+‘Not quite so premature as you perhaps imagine. Know, then, that the
+great point is on the eve of achievement. Urged by the information which
+Afy thinks she unconsciously obtains from Lachen, and harrowed by the
+idea that I am about to tear her from England, she has appealed to the
+Duke in a manner to which they were both unused. Hitherto her docile
+temper has not permitted her to abuse her empire. Now she exerts
+her power with an energy to which he believed her a stranger. He is
+staggered by his situation. He at the same time repents having so rashly
+engaged the feelings of a woman, and is flattered that he is so loved.
+They have more than once consulted upon the expediency of an elopement.’
+
+‘This is good news.’
+
+‘O! Bertha, you must feel like me before you can estimate it. Yes!’
+he clenched his fist with horrible energy, ‘there is no hell like a
+detested wife!’
+
+They were again silent; but when she thought that his emotion had
+subsided, she again recalled their consideration to the object of their
+interview.
+
+‘You play a bold game, indeed; but it shall not fail from any deficiency
+on my part. But how are we to proceed at present? Who is to interest the
+feelings of the little Dacre at once?’
+
+‘Who but her future husband? What I want you to do is this: we shall
+call; but prepare the house to receive us not only as acquaintances, but
+as desirable intimates. You know what to say. I have an idea that the
+divine creature entertains no very unfavourable opinion of your obedient
+slave; and with her temper I care not for what she will not probably
+hear, the passing opinion of a third person. I stand at present, thanks
+to Afy, very high with the public; and you know, although my life
+has not the least altered, that my indiscretions have now a dash
+of discretion in them; and a reformed rake, as all agree, is the
+personification of morality. Prepare my way with the Dacres, and all
+will go right. And as for this Arundel, I know him not; but you have
+told me enough to make me consider him the most fortunate of men. As for
+love between cousins, I laugh at it. A glance from you will extinguish
+the feeble flame, as a sunbeam does a fire: and for the rest, the world
+does me the honour to believe that, if Lucius Grafton be remarkable for
+one thing more than another, it is for the influence he attains over
+young minds. I will get acquainted with this boy; and, for once, let
+love be unattended by doubt.’
+
+Long was their counsel. The plans we have hinted at were analysed,
+canvassed, weighed, and finally matured. They parted, after a long
+morning, well aware of the difficulties which awaited their fulfilment,
+but also full of hope.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+     _A Dangerous Guide_
+
+SUCH able and congenial spirits as Mrs. Dallington Vere and Sir Lucius
+Grafton prosecuted their plans with the success which they had a
+right to anticipate. Lady Aphrodite, who was proud of her previous
+acquaintance, however slight, with the most distinguished girl
+in London, and eager to improve it, unconsciously assisted their
+operations. Society is so constituted that it requires no little
+talent and no slight energy to repel the intimacy even of those whose
+acquaintance is evidently not desirable; and there are many people in
+this world mixing, apparently, with great spirit and self-esteem in
+its concerns, who really owe their constant appearance and occasional
+influence in circles of consideration to no other qualities than their
+own callous impudence, and the indolence and the irresolution of their
+victims. They, who at the same time have no delicacy and no shame, count
+fearful odds; and, much as is murmured about the false estimation of
+riches, there is little doubt that the parvenus as often owe their
+advancement in society to their perseverance as to their pelf.
+
+When, therefore, your intimacy is courted by those whose intimacy is
+an honour, and that, too, with an art, which conceals its purpose, you
+often find that you have, and are a devoted friend, really before you
+have felt sufficient gratitude for the opera-box which has been so often
+lent, the carriage which has been ever at hand, the brother who has
+received such civilities, or the father who has been requested to accept
+some of the unattainable tokay which he has charmed you by admiring at
+your own table.
+
+The manoeuvres and tactics of society are infinitely more numerous and
+infinitely finer than those of strategy. Woe betide the rash knight
+who dashes into the thick of the polished melée without some slight
+experience of his barb and his lance! Let him look to his arms! He will
+do well not to appear before his helm be plumed with some reputation,
+however slight. He may be very rich, or even very poor. We have seen
+that answer with a Belisarius-like air; and more than one hero without
+an obolus has stumbled upon a fortune merely from his contempt of
+riches. If to fight, or write, or dress be above you, why, then, you can
+ride, or dance, or even skate; but do not think, as many young gentlemen
+are apt to believe, that _talking_ will serve your purpose. That is the
+quicksand of your young beginners. All can talk in a public assembly;
+that is to say, all can give us exhortations which do not move, and
+arguments which do not convince; but to converse in a private assembly
+is a different affair, and rare are the characters who can be endured if
+they exceed a whisper to their neighbours. But though mild and silent,
+be ever ready with the rapier of repartee, and be ever armed with the
+breastplate of good temper. You will infallibly gather laurels if you
+add to these the spear of sarcasm and the shield of nonchalance.
+
+The high style of conversation where eloquence and philosophy emulate
+each other, where principles are profoundly expounded and felicitously
+illustrated, all this has ceased. It ceased in this country with Johnson
+and Burke, and it requires a Johnson and a Burke for its maintenance.
+There is no mediocrity in such discourse, no intermediate character
+between the sage and the bore. The second style, where men, not things,
+are the staple, but where wit, and refinement, and sensibility invest
+even personal details with intellectual interest, does flourish at
+present, as it always must in a highly civilised society. S. is, or
+rather was, a fine specimen of this school, and M. and L. are his worthy
+rivals. This style is indeed, for the moment, very interesting. Then
+comes your conversation man, who, we confess, is our aversion. His talk
+is a thing apart, got up before he enters the company from whose conduct
+it should grow out. He sits in the middle of a large table, and, with a
+brazen voice, bawls out his anecdotes about Sir Thomas or Sir Humphry,
+Lord Blank, or my Lady Blue. He is incessant, yet not interesting; ever
+varying, yet always monotonous. Even if we were amused, we are no more
+grateful for the entertainment than we are to the lamp over the table
+for the light which it universally sheds, and to yield which it was
+obtained on purpose. We are more gratified by the slight conversation
+of one who is often silent, but who speaks from his momentary feelings,
+than by all this hullaballoo. Yet this machine is generally a favourite
+piece of furniture with the hostess. You may catch her eye as he
+recounts some adventure of the morning, which proves that he not only
+belongs to every club, but goes to them, light up with approbation;
+and then, when the ladies withdraw, and the female senate deliver their
+criticism upon the late actors, she will observe, with a gratified
+smile, to her confidante, that the dinner went off well, and that Mr.
+Bellow was very strong to-day.
+
+All this is horrid, and the whole affair is a delusion. A variety of
+people are brought together, who all come as late as possible, and
+retire as soon, merely to show they have other engagements. A dinner is
+prepared for them, which is hurried over, in order that a certain number
+of dishes should be, not tasted, but seen: and provided that there is
+no moment that an absolute silence reigns; provided that, besides the
+bustling of the servants, the clattering of the plates and knives,
+a stray anecdote is told, which, if good, has been heard before, and
+which, if new, is generally flat; provided a certain number of certain
+names of people of consideration are introduced, by which some stranger,
+for whom the party is often secretly given, may learn the scale of
+civilisation of which he this moment forms a part; provided the senators
+do not steal out too soon to the House, and their wives to another
+party, the hostess is congratulated on the success of her entertainment.
+
+And this glare, and heat, and noise, these _congeries_ of individuals
+without sympathy and dishes without flavour; this is society! What an
+effect without a cause! A man must be green indeed to stand this for two
+seasons. One cannot help thinking that one consequence of the increased
+intelligence of the present day will be a great change in the habits of
+our intercourse.
+
+To our tale; we linger. Few who did not know too much of Sir Lucius
+Grafton could refrain from yielding him their regard when he chose to
+challenge it, and with the Dacres he was soon an acknowledged favourite.
+As a new M.P., and hitherto doubtful supporter of the Catholic cause,
+it was grateful to Mr. Dacre’s feelings to find in him an ally, and
+flattering to Mr. Dacre’s judgment when that ally ventured to consult
+him on his friendly operations. With Miss Dacre he was a mild, amiable
+man, who knew the world; thoroughly good, but void of cant, and owner of
+a virtue not less to be depended on because his passions had once been
+strong, and he had once indulged them. His experience of life made him
+value domestic felicity; because he knew that there was no other source
+of happiness which was at once so pure and so permanent. But he was not
+one of those men who consider marriage as an extinguisher of all those
+feelings and accomplishments which throw a lustre on existence; and he
+did not consider himself bound, because he had plighted his faith to
+a beautiful woman, immediately to terminate the very conduct which had
+induced her to join him in the sacred and eternal pledge. His gaiety
+still sparkled, his wit still flashed; still he hastened to be foremost
+among the courteous; and still his high and ready gallantry indicated
+that he was not prepared to yield the fitting ornament of his still
+blooming youth. A thousand unobtrusive and delicate attentions which
+the innocent now received from him without a thought, save of Lady
+Aphrodite’s good fortune; a thousand gay and sentimental axioms, which
+proved not only how agreeable he was, but how enchanting he must have
+been; a thousand little deeds which struggled to shun the light, and
+which palpably demonstrated that the gaiety of his wit, the splendour of
+his accomplishments, and the tenderness of his soul were only equalled
+by his unbounded generosity and unparalleled good temper; all these
+combined had made Sir Lucius Grafton, to many, always a delightful,
+often a dangerous, and sometimes a fatal, companion. He was one of those
+whose candour is deadly. It was when he least endeavoured to conceal his
+character that its hideousness least appeared. He confessed sometimes
+so much, that you yielded that pity which, ere the shrived culprit could
+receive, by some fatal alchemy was changed into passion. His smile was a
+lure, his speech was a spell; but it was when he was silent, and almost
+gloomy, when you caught his serious eye, charged, as it were, with
+emotion, gazing on yours, that if you had a guardian sylph you should
+have invoked its aid; and we pray, if ever you meet the man of whom we
+write, your invocation may not be forgotten, or be, what is more likely,
+too late.
+
+The Dacres, this season, were the subject of general conversation. She
+was the distinguished beauty, and the dandies all agreed that his
+dinner was worthy of his daughter. Lady Fitz-pompey was not behind the
+welcoming crowd. She was too politic a leader not to feel anxious to
+enlist under her colours a recruit who was so calculated to maintain the
+reputation of her forces. Fitz-pompey House must not lose its character
+for assembling the most distinguished, the most agreeable, and the most
+refined, and May Dacre was a divinity who would summon many a crowd to
+her niche in this Pantheon of fashion.
+
+If any difficulty were for a moment anticipated in bringing about this
+arrangement, a fortunate circumstance seemed sufficient to remove it.
+Lord St. Maurice and Arundel Dacre had been acquainted at Vienna, and,
+though the intimacy was slight, it was sweet. St. Maurice had received
+many favours from the _attaché_, and, as he was a man of family and
+reputation, had been happy to greet him on his arrival in London. Before
+the Dacres made their appearance in town for the season Arundel had been
+initiated in the mysteries of Fitz-pompey House, and therefore a desire
+from that mansion to cultivate the good graces of his Yorkshire relation
+seemed not only not forced, but natural. So, the families met, and, to
+the surprise of each other, became even intimate, for May Dacre and Lady
+Caroline soon evinced a mutual regard for each other. Female friendships
+are of rapid growth, and in the present instance, when there was nothing
+on either side which was not lovable, it was quite miraculous, and the
+friendship, particularly on the part of Lady Caroline, shot up in one
+night, like a blooming aloe.
+
+Perhaps there is nothing more lovely than the love of two beautiful
+women, who are not envious of each other’s charms. How delightfully they
+impart to each other the pattern of a cap, or flounce, or frill! how
+charmingly they entrust some slight, slender secret about tinting a
+flower or netting a purse! Now one leans over the other, and guides her
+inexperienced hand, as it moves in the mysteries of some novel work,
+and then the other looks up with an eye beaming with devotion; and
+then again the first leans down a little lower, and gently presses her
+aromatic lips upon her friend’s polished forehead.
+
+These are sights which we quiet men, who, like ‘little Jack Horner,’
+know where to take up a safe position, occasionally enjoy, but which
+your noisy fellows, who think that women never want to be alone--a sad
+mistake--and consequently must be always breaking or stringing a guitar,
+or cutting a pencil, or splitting a crowquill, or overturning the gold
+ink, or scribbling over a pattern, or doing any other of the thousand
+acts of mischief, are debarred from.
+
+Not that these bright flowers often bloomed alone; a blossom not less
+brilliant generally shared with them the same parterre. Mrs. Dallington
+completed the bouquet, and Arundel Dacre was the butterfly, who, she was
+glad to perceive, was seldom absent when her presence added beauty to
+the beautiful. Indeed, she had good reason to feel confidence in her
+attractions. Independently of her charms, which assuredly were great,
+her fortune, which was even greater, possessed, she was well aware,
+no slight allurement to one who ever trembled when he thought of his
+dependence, and often glowed when he mused over his ambition. His
+slight but increasing notice was duly estimated by one who was
+perfectly acquainted with his peculiar temper, and daily perceived how
+disregardful he was of all others, except her and his cousin. But a
+cousin! She felt confidence in the theory of Sir Lucius Grafton.
+
+And the young Duke; have we forgotten him? Sooth to say, he was seldom
+with our heroine or heroines. He had called on Mr. Dacre, and had
+greeted him with marked cordiality, and he had sometimes met him and his
+daughter in society. But although invited, he had hitherto avoided being
+their visitor; and the comparatively secluded life which he now led
+prevented him from seeing them often at other houses. Mr. Dacre, who
+was unaware of what had passed between him and his daughter, thought his
+conduct inexplicable; but his former guardian remembered that it was not
+the first time that his behaviour had been unusual, and it was never the
+disposition of Mr. Dacre to promote explanations.
+
+Our hero felt annoyed at his own weakness. It would have been infinitely
+more worthy of so celebrated, so unrivalled a personage as the Duke of
+St. James not to have given the woman who had rejected him this evidence
+of her power. According to etiquette, he should have called there daily
+and have dined there weekly, and yet never have given the former object
+of his adoration the slightest idea that he cared a breath for her
+presence. According to etiquette, he should never have addressed her but
+in a vein of persiflage, and with a smile which indicated his perfect
+heartease and her bad taste. According to etiquette, he should have
+flirted with every woman in her company, rode with her in the Park,
+walked with her in the Gardens, chatted with her at the opera, and drunk
+wine with her at a water party; and finally, to prove how sincere he
+was in his former estimation of her judgment, have consulted her on the
+presents which he should make to some intimate friend of hers, whom he
+announces as his future bride. This is the way to manage a woman; and
+the result may be conceived. She stares, she starts, she sighs, she
+weeps; feels highly offended at her friend daring to accept him; writes
+a letter of rejection herself to the affianced damsel, which she makes
+him sign, and then presents him with the hand which she always meant to
+be his.
+
+But this was above our hero. The truth is, whenever he thought of May
+Dacre his spirit sank. She had cowed him; and her arrival in London had
+made him as dissatisfied with his present mode of life as he had been
+with his former career. They had met again, and under circumstances
+apparently, to him, the most unfavourable. Although he was hopeless, yet
+he dreaded to think what she might hear of him. Her contempt was bitter;
+her dislike would even be worse. Yet it seemed impossible to retrieve.
+He was plunged deeper than he imagined. Embarrassed, entangled,
+involved, he flew to Lady Afy, half in pique and half in misery. Passion
+had ceased to throw a glittering veil around this idol; but she was
+kind, and pure, and gentle, and devoted. It was consoling to be loved to
+one who was so wretched. It seemed to him that life must ever be a blank
+without the woman who, a few months ago, he had left an encumbrance. The
+recollection of past happiness was balm to one who was so forlorn. He
+shuddered at the thought of losing his only precious possession, and he
+was never more attached to his mistress than when the soul of friendship
+rose from the body of expired love.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+     _An Epicurean Feast_
+
+THE Duke of St. James dines to-day with Mr. Annesley. Men and things
+should be our study; and it is universally acknowledged that a dinner
+is the most important of affairs, and a dandy the most important of
+individuals. If we liked, we could give you a description of the fête
+which should make all your mouths water; but everyone cooks now, and
+ekes out his page by robbing Jarrin and by rifling Ude.
+
+Charles Annesley was never seen to more advantage than when a host. Then
+his superciliousness would, if not vanish, at least subside. He was not
+less calm, but somewhat less cold, like a summer lake. Therefore we will
+have an eye upon his party; because, to dine with dandies should be a
+prominent feature in your career, and must not be omitted in this sketch
+of the ‘Life and Times’ of our young hero. The party was of that
+number which at once secures a variety of conversation and the
+impossibility of two persons speaking at the same time. The guests were
+his Grace, Lord Squib, and Lord Darrell. The repast, like everything
+connected with Mr. Annesley, was refined and exquisite, rather slight
+than solid, and more novel than various. There was no affectation of
+_gourmandise_, the vice of male dinners. Your imagination and your sight
+were not at the same time dazzled and confused by an agglomeration of
+the peculiar luxuries of every clime and every season. As you mused over
+a warm and sunny flavour of a brown soup, your host did not dilate upon
+the milder and moonlight beauties of a white one. A gentle dallying with
+a whiting, that chicken of the ocean, was not a signal for a panegyric
+of the darker attraction of a _matelotte à la royale_. The disappearance
+of the first course did not herald a catalogue of discordant dainties.
+You were not recommended to neglect the _croquettes_ because the
+_boudins_ might claim attention; and while you were crowning your
+important labours with a quail you were not reminded that the _pâté de
+Troyes_, unlike the less reasonable human race, would feel offended if
+it were not cut. Then the wines were few. Some sherry, with a pedigree
+like an Arabian, heightened the flavour of the dish, not interfered with
+it; as a toady keeps up the conversation which he does not distract. A
+goblet of Graffenburg, with a bouquet like woman’s breath, made you,
+as you remembered some liquid which it had been your fate to fall
+upon, suppose that German wines, like German barons, required some
+discrimination, and that hock, like other titles, was not always the
+sign of the high nobility of its owner. A glass of claret was the third
+grace. But, if we had been there, we should have devoted ourselves
+to one of the sparkling sisters; for one wine, like one woman, is
+sufficient to interest one’s feelings for four-and-twenty hours.
+Fickleness we abhor.
+
+‘I observed you riding to-day with the gentle Leonora, St. James,’ said
+Mr. Annesley.
+
+‘No! her sister.’
+
+‘Indeed! Those girls are uncommonly alike. The fact is, now, that
+neither face nor figure depends upon nature.’
+
+‘No,’ said Lord Squib; ‘all that the artists of the present day want is
+a model. Let a family provide one handsome sister, and the hideousness
+of the others will not prevent them, under good management, from being
+mistaken, by the best judges, for the beauty, six times in the same
+hour.’
+
+‘You are trying, I suppose, to account for your unfortunate error at
+Cleverley’s, on Monday, Squib?’ said Lord Darrell, laughing.
+
+‘Pooh! all nonsense.’
+
+‘What was it?’ said Mr. Annesley.
+
+‘Not a word true,’ said Lord Squib, stifling curiosity.
+
+‘I believe it,’ said the Duke, without having heard a syllable. ‘Come,
+Darrell, out with it!’
+
+‘It really is nothing very particular, only it is whispered that Squib
+said something to Lady Clever-ley which made her ring the bell, and
+that he excused himself to his Lordship by protesting that, from their
+similarity of dress and manner and strong family likeness, he had
+mistaken the Countess for her sister.’
+
+_Omnes_. ‘Well done, Squib! And were you introduced to the right
+person?’
+
+‘Why,’ said his Lordship, ‘fortunately I contrived to fall out about the
+settlements, and so I escaped.’
+
+‘So the chaste Diana is to be the new patroness?’ said Lord Darrell.
+
+‘So I understand,’ rejoined Mr. Annesley. ‘This is the age of unexpected
+appointments.’
+
+‘_On dit_ that when it was notified to the party most interested, there
+was a rider to the bill, excluding my Lord’s relations.’
+
+‘Ha, ha, ha,’ faintly laughed Mr. Annesley. ‘What have they been doing
+so remarkable?’
+
+‘Nothing,’ said Lord Squib. ‘That is just their fault. They have
+every recommendation; but when any member of that family is in a room,
+everybody feels so exceedingly sleepy that they all sink to the ground.
+That is the reason that there are so many ottomans at Heavyside House.’
+
+‘Is it true,’ asked the Duke, ‘that his Grace really has a flapper?’
+
+‘Unquestionably,’ said Lord Squib. ‘The other day I was announced,
+and his attendant was absent. He had left his instrument on a sofa. I
+immediately took it up, and touched my Lord upon his hump. I never knew
+him more entertaining. He really was quite lively.’
+
+‘But Diana is a favourite goddess of mine,’ said Annesley; ‘taste that
+hock.’
+
+‘Superb! Where did you get it?’
+
+‘A present from poor Raffenburg.’
+
+‘Ah! where is he now?’
+
+‘At Paris, I believe.’
+
+‘Paris! and where is she?’
+
+‘I liked Raffenburg,’ said Lord Squib; ‘he always reminded me of a
+country innkeeper who supplies you with pipes and tobacco gratis,
+provided that you will dine with him.’
+
+‘He had unrivalled meerschaums,’ said Mr. Annesley, ‘and he was most
+liberal. There are two. You know I never use them, but they are handsome
+furniture.’
+
+‘Those Dalmaines are fine girls,’ said the Duke of St. James.
+
+‘Very pretty creatures! Do you know, Duke,’ said Annesley, ‘I think the
+youngest one something like Miss Dacre.’
+
+‘Indeed! I cannot say the resemblance struck me.’
+
+‘I see old mother Dalmaine dresses her as much like the Doncaster belle
+as she possibly can.’
+
+‘Yes, and spoils her,’ said Lord Squib; ‘but old mother Dalmaine, with
+all her fuss, was ever a bad cook, and overdid everything.’
+
+‘Young Dalmaine, they say,’ observed Lord Darrell, ‘is in a sort of a
+scrape.’
+
+‘Ah! what?’
+
+‘Oh! some confusion at head-quarters. A great tallow-chandler’s son got
+into the regiment, and committed some heresy at mess.’
+
+‘I do not know the brother,’ said the Duke.
+
+‘You are fortunate, then. He is unendurable. To give you an idea of him,
+suppose you met him here (which you never will), he would write to you
+the next day, “My dear St. James.”’
+
+‘My tailor presented me his best compliments, the other morning,’ said
+the Duke.
+
+‘The world is growing familiar,’ said Mr. Annesley.
+
+‘There must be some remedy,’ said Lord Darrell.
+
+‘Yes!’ said Lord Squib, with indignation. ‘Tradesmen now-a-days console
+themselves for not getting their bills paid by asking their customers to
+dinner.’
+
+‘It is shocking,’ said Mr. Annesley, with a forlorn air. ‘Do you know,
+I never enter society now without taking as many preliminary precautions
+as if the plague raged in all our chambers. In vain have I hitherto
+prided myself on my existence being unknown to the million. I never now
+stand still in a street, lest my portrait be caught for a lithograph;
+I never venture to a strange dinner, lest I should stumble upon a
+fashionable novelist; and even with all this vigilance, and all this
+denial, I have an intimate friend whom I cannot cut, and who, they say,
+writes for the Court Journal.’
+
+‘But why cannot you cut him?’ asked Lord Darrell.
+
+‘He is my brother; and, you know, I pride myself upon my domestic
+feelings.’
+
+‘Yes!’ said Lord Squib, ‘to judge from what the world says, one would
+think, Annesley, you were a Brummel!’
+
+‘Squib, not even in jest couple my name with one whom I will not call a
+savage, merely because he is unfortunate.’
+
+‘What did you think of little Eugenie, Annesley, last night?’ asked the
+Duke.
+
+‘Well, very well, indeed; something like Brocard’s worst.’
+
+‘I was a little disappointed in her début, and much interested in her
+success. She was rather a favourite of mine in Paris, so I invited her
+to the Alhambra yesterday, with Claudius Piggott and some more. I had
+half a mind to pull you in, but I know you do not much admire Piggott.’
+
+‘On the contrary, I have been in Piggott’s company without being much
+offended.’
+
+‘I think Piggott improves,’ said Lord Darrell. ‘It was those waistcoats
+which excited such a prejudice against him when he first came over.’
+
+‘What! a prejudice against Peacock Piggott!’ said Lord Squib; ‘pretty
+Peacock Piggott! Tell it not in Gath, whisper it not in Ascalon; and,
+above all, insinuate it not to Lady de Courcy.’
+
+‘There is not much danger of my insinuating anything to her,’ said Mr.
+Annesley.
+
+‘Your compact, I hope, is religiously observed,’ said the Duke.
+
+‘Yes, very well. There was a slight infraction once, but I sent Charles
+Fitzroy as an ambassador, and war was not declared.’
+
+‘Do you mean,’ asked Lord Squib, ‘when your cabriolet broke down before
+her door, and she sent out to request that you would make yourself quite
+at home?’
+
+‘I mean that fatal day,’ replied Mr. Annesley. ‘I afterwards discovered
+she had bribed my tiger.’
+
+‘Do you know Eugenie’s sister, St. James?’ asked Lord Darrell.
+
+‘Yes: she is very clever; very popular at Paris. But I like Eugenie,
+because she is so good-natured. Her laugh is so hearty.’
+
+‘So it is,’ said Lord Squib. ‘Do you remember that girl at Madrid,
+Annesley, who used to laugh so?’
+
+‘What, Isidora? She is coming over.’
+
+‘But I thought it was high treason to plunder the grandees’ dovecotes?’
+
+‘Why, all our regular official negotiations have failed. She is not
+permitted to treat with a foreign manager; but the new ambassador has
+a secretary, and that secretary has some diplomatic ability, and so
+Isidora is to be smuggled over.’
+
+‘In a red box, I suppose,’ said Lord Squib.
+
+‘I rather admire our Adèle,’ said the Duke of St. James. ‘I really think
+she dances with more _aplomb_ than any of them.’
+
+‘Oh! certainly; she is a favourite of mine.’
+
+‘But I like that wild little Ducis,’ said Lord Squib. ‘She puts me in
+mind of a wild cat.’
+
+‘And Marunia of a Bengal tiger,’ said his Grace.
+
+‘She is a fine woman, though,’ said Lord Darrell.
+
+‘I think your cousin, St. James,’ said Lord Squib, ‘will get into a
+scrape with Marunia. I remember Chetwynd telling me, and he was not apt
+to complain on that score, that he never should have broken up if it had
+not been for her.’
+
+‘But he was an extravagant fellow,’ said Mr. Annesley: ‘he called me in
+at his _bouleversement_ for advice, as I have the reputation of a
+good economist. I do not know how it is, though I see these things
+perpetually happen; but why men, and men of small fortunes, should
+commit such follies, really exceeds my comprehension. Ten thousand
+pounds for trinkets, and nearly as much for old furniture!’
+
+‘Chetwynd kept it up a good many years, though, I think,’ said Lord
+Darrell. ‘I remember going to see his rooms when I first came over. You
+recollect his pearl fountain of Cologne water?’
+
+‘Millecolonnes fitted up his place, I think?’ asked the young Duke; ‘but
+it was before my time.’
+
+‘Oh! yes; little Bijou,’ said Annesley. ‘He has done you justice, Duke.
+I think the Alhambra much the prettiest thing in town.’
+
+‘I was attacked the other day most vigorously by Mrs. Dallington to
+obtain a sight,’ said Lord Squib. ‘I referred her to Lucy Grafton. Do
+you know, St. James, I have half a strange idea that there is a renewal
+in that quarter?’
+
+‘So they say,’ said the Duke; ‘if so, I confess I am surprised.’ But
+they remembered Lord Darrell, and the conversation turned.
+
+‘Those are clever horses of Lincoln Graves,’ said Mr. Annesley.
+
+‘Neat cattle, as Bagshot says,’ observed Lord Squib.
+
+‘Is it true that Bag is going to marry one of the Wrekins?’ asked the
+Duke.
+
+‘Which?’ asked Lord Squib; ‘not Sophy, surely I thought she was to be
+your cousin. I dare say,’ he added, ‘a false report. I suppose, to use
+a Bagshotism, his governor wants it; but I should think Lord Cub would
+not yet be taken in. By-the-bye, he says you have promised to propose
+him at White’s, St. James.’
+
+‘Oppose him, I said,’ rejoined the Duke. ‘Bag really never understands
+English. However, I think it as probable that he will lounge there as on
+the Treasury bench. That was his “governor’s” last shrewd plan.’
+
+‘Darrell,’ said Lord Squib, ‘is there any chance of my being a
+commissioner for anything? It struck me last night that I had never been
+in office.’
+
+‘I do not think, Squib, that you ever will be in office, if even you be
+appointed.’
+
+‘On the contrary, my good fellow, my punctuality should surprise you. I
+should like very much to be a lay lord, because I cannot afford to
+keep a yacht, and theirs, they say, are not sufficiently used, for the
+Admirals think it spooney, and the landlubbers are always sick.’
+
+‘I think myself of having a yacht this summer,’ said the Duke of St.
+James. ‘Be my captain, Squib.’
+
+‘If you be serious I will commence my duties tomorrow.’
+
+‘I am serious. I think it will be amusing. I give you full authority
+to do exactly what you like, provided, in two months’ time, I have the
+crack vessel in the club.’
+
+‘I begin to press. Annesley, your dinner is so good that you shall be
+purser; and Darrell, you are a man of business, you shall be his clerk.
+For the rest, I think St. Maurice may claim a place, and----’
+
+‘Peacock Piggott, by all means,’ said the Duke. ‘A gay sailor is quite
+the thing.’
+
+‘And Charles Fitzroy,’ said Annesley, ‘because I am under obligations to
+him, and promised to have him in my eye.’
+
+‘And Bagshot for a butt,’ said the Duke.
+
+‘And Backbite for a buffoon,’ said Mr. Annesley.
+
+‘And for the rest,’ said the young Duke, ‘the rest of the crew, I vote,
+shall be women. The Dalmaines will just do.’
+
+‘And the little Trevors,’ said Lord Darrell.
+
+‘And Long Harrington,’ said Lord Squib. ‘She is my beauty.’
+
+‘And the young Ducie,’ said Annesley. ‘And Mrs. Dallington of course,
+and Caroline St. Maurice, and Charlotte Bloomerly; really, she was
+dressed most prettily last night; and, above all, the queen bee of the
+hive, May Dacre, eh! St. James? And I have another proposition,’ said
+Annesley, with unusual animation. ‘May Dacre won the St. Leger, and
+ruled the course; and May Dacre shall win the cup, and rule the waves.
+Our yacht shall be christened by the Lady Bird of Yorkshire.’
+
+‘What a delightful thing it would be,’ said the Duke of St. James, ‘if,
+throughout life, we might always choose our crew; cull the beauties, and
+banish the bores.’
+
+‘But that is impossible,’ said Lord Darrell. ‘Every ornament of society
+is counterbalanced by some accompanying blur. I have invariably observed
+that the ugliness of a chaperon is exactly in proportion to the charms
+of her charge; and that if a man be distinguished for his wit, his
+appearance, his style, or any other good quality, he is sure to be
+saddled with some family or connection, who require all his popularity
+to gain them a passport into the crowd.’
+
+‘One might collect an unexceptionable coterie from our present crowd,’
+said Mr. Annesley. ‘It would be curious to assemble all the pet lambs of
+the flock.’
+
+‘Is it impossible?’ asked the Duke.
+
+‘Burlington is the only man who dare try,’ said Lord Darrell.
+
+‘I doubt whether any individual would have sufficient pluck,’ said Lord
+Squib.
+
+‘Yes,’ said the Duke, ‘it must, I think, be a joint-stock company to
+share the glory and the odium. Let us do it!’
+
+There was a start, and a silence, broken by Annesley in a low voice:
+
+‘By Heavens it would be sublime, if practicable; but the difficulty does
+indeed seem insurmountable.’
+
+‘Why, we would not do it,’ said the young Duke, ‘if it were not
+difficult. The first thing is to get a frame for our picture, to hit
+upon some happy pretence for assembling in an impromptu style the young
+and gay. Our purpose must not be too obvious. It must be something
+to which all expect to be asked, and where the presence of all is
+impossible; so that, in fixing upon a particular member of a family,
+we may seem influenced by the wish that no circle should be neglected.
+Then, too, it should be something like a water-party or a fête
+champêtre, where colds abound and fits are always caught, so that a
+consideration for the old and the infirm may authorise us not to invite
+them; then, too----’
+
+_Omnes_. ‘Bravo! bravo! St. James. It shall be! it shall be!’
+
+‘It must be a fête champêtre,’ said Annesley, decidedly, ‘and as far
+from town as possible.’
+
+‘Twickenham is at your service,’ said the Duke.
+
+‘Just the place, and just the distance. The only objection is, that, by
+being yours, it will saddle the enterprise too much upon you. We must
+all bear our share in the uproar, for, trust me, there will be one; but
+there are a thousand ways by which our responsibility may be insisted
+upon. For instance, let us make a list of all our guests, and then let
+one of us act as secretary, and sign the invitations, which shall be
+like tickets. No other name need appear, and the hosts will indicate
+themselves at the place of rendezvous.’
+
+‘My Lords,’ said Lord Squib, ‘I rise to propose the health of Mr.
+Secretary Annesley, and I think if anyone carry the business through, it
+will be he.’
+
+‘I accept the trust. At present be silent as night; for we have much to
+mature, and our success depends upon our secrecy.’
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+     _The Fête of Youth and Beauty_
+
+ARUNDEL DACRE, though little apt to cultivate an acquaintance with
+anyone, called on the young Duke the morning after their meeting. The
+truth is, his imagination was touched by our hero’s appearance. His
+Grace possessed all that accomplished manner of which Arundel painfully
+felt the want, and to which he eagerly yielded his admiration. He
+earnestly desired the Duke’s friendship, but, with his usual _mauvaise
+honte_, their meeting did not advance his wishes. He was as shy
+and constrained as usual, and being really desirous of appearing to
+advantage, and leaving an impression in his favour, his manner was even
+divested of that somewhat imposing coldness which was not altogether
+ineffective. In short, he was rather disagreeable. The Duke was
+courteous, as he usually was, and ever to the Da-cres, but he was not
+cordial. He disliked Arundel Dacre; in a word, he looked upon him as
+his favoured rival. The two young men occasionally met, but did not grow
+more intimate. Studiously polite the young Duke ever was both to him
+and to his lovely cousin, for his pride concealed his pique, and he was
+always afraid lest his manner should betray his mind.
+
+In the meantime Sir Lucius Grafton apparently was running his usual
+course of triumph. It is fortunate that those who will watch and wonder
+about everything are easily satisfied with a reason, and are ever quick
+in detecting a cause; so Mrs. Dallington Vere was the fact that duly
+accounted for the Baronet’s intimacy with the Dacres. All was right
+again between them. It was unusual, to be sure, these _rifacimentos_;
+still she was a charming woman; and it was well known that Lucius had
+spent twenty thousand on the county. Where was that to come from, they
+should like to know, but from old Dallington Vere’s Yorkshire estates,
+which he had so wisely left to his pretty wife by the pink paper
+codicil?
+
+And this lady of so many loves, how felt she? Most agreeably, as all
+dames do who dote upon a passion which they feel convinced will be
+returned, but which still waits for a response. Arundel Dacre would
+yield her a smile from a face more worn by thought than joy; and Arundel
+Dacre, who was wont to muse alone, was now ever ready to join his cousin
+and her friends in the ride or the promenade. Miss Dacre, too, had
+noticed to her a kindly change in her cousin’s conduct to her father. He
+was more cordial to his uncle, sought to pay him deference, and seemed
+more desirous of gaining his good-will. The experienced eye, too, of
+this pretty woman allowed her often to observe that her hero’s presence
+was not particularly occasioned, or particularly inspired, by his
+cousin. In a word, it was to herself that his remarks were addressed,
+his attentions devoted, and often she caught his dark and liquid eye
+fixed upon her beaming and refulgent brow.
+
+Sir Lucius Grafton proceeded with that strange mixture of craft and
+passion which characterised him. Each day his heart yearned more for the
+being on whom his thoughts should never have pondered. Now exulting in
+her increased confidence, she seemed already his victim; now awed by her
+majestic spirit, he despaired even of her being his bride. Now melted
+by her unsophisticated innocence, he cursed even the least unhallowed of
+his purposes; and now enchanted by her consummate loveliness, he forgot
+all but her beauty and his own passion.
+
+Often had he dilated to her, with the skill of an arch deceiver, on the
+blessings of domestic joy; often, in her presence, had his eye sparkled,
+when he watched the infantile graces of some playful children. Then he
+would embrace them with a soft care and gushing fondness, enough to melt
+the heart of any mother whom he was desirous to seduce, and then, with
+a half-murmured sigh, he regretted, in broken accents, that he, too, was
+not a father.
+
+In due time he proceeded even further. Dark hints of domestic infelicity
+broke unintentionally from his ungoverned lips. Miss Dacre stared.
+He quelled the tumult of his thoughts, struggled with his outbreaking
+feelings, and triumphed; yet not without a tear, which forced its way
+down a face not formed for grief, and quivered upon his fair and downy
+cheek. Sir Lucius Grafton was well aware of the magic of his beauty, and
+used his charms to betray, as if he were a woman.
+
+Miss Dacre, whose soul was sympathy, felt in silence for this excellent,
+this injured, this unhappy, this agreeable man. Ill could even her
+practised manner check the current of her mind, or conceal from Lady
+Aphrodite that she possessed her dislike. As for the young Duke, he
+fell into the lowest abyss of her opinions, and was looked upon as alike
+frivolous, heartless, and irreclaimable.
+
+But how are the friends with whom we dined yesterday? Frequent were the
+meetings, deep the consultations, infinite the suggestions, innumerable
+the expedients. In the morning they met and breakfasted with Annesley;
+in the afternoon they met and lunched with Lord Squib; in the evening
+they met and dined with Lord Darrell; and at night they met and supped
+at the Alhambra. Each council only the more convinced them that the
+scheme was feasible, and must be glorious. At last their ideas were
+matured, and Annesley took steps to break a great event to the world,
+who were on the eve of being astonished.
+
+He repaired to Lady Bloomerly. The world sometimes talked of her
+Ladyship and Mr. Annesley; the world were quite wrong, as they often are
+on this subject. Mr. Annesley knew the value of a female friend. By
+Lady Bloomerly’s advice, the plan was entrusted in confidence to about a
+dozen dames equally influential. Then a few of the most considered male
+friends heard a strange report. Lord Darrell dropped a rumour at the
+Treasury; but with his finger on the mouth, and leaving himself out
+of the list, proceeded to give his favourable opinion of the project,
+merely as a disinterested and expected guest. Then the Duke promised
+Peacock Piggott one night at the Alhambra, but swore him to solemn
+secrecy over a vase of sherbet. Then Squib told his tailor, in
+consideration that his bill should not be sent in; and finally, the Bird
+of Paradise betrayed the whole affair to the musical world, who were,
+of course, all agog. Then, when rumour began to wag its hundred tongues,
+the twelve peeresses found themselves bound in honour to step into the
+breach, yielded the plan their decided approbation, and their avowed
+patronage puzzled the grumblers, silenced the weak, and sneered down the
+obstinate.
+
+The invitations began to issue, and the outcry against them burst forth.
+A _fronde_ was formed, but they wanted a De Retz; and many kept back,
+with the hope of being bribed from joining it. The four cavaliers soon
+found themselves at the head of a strong party, and then, like a
+faction who have successfully struggled for toleration, they now openly
+maintained their supremacy. It was too late to cabal. The uninvited
+could only console themselves by a passive sulk or an active sneer;
+but this would not do, and their bilious countenances betrayed their
+chagrin.
+
+The difficulty now was, not to keep the bores away, but to obtain a
+few of the beauties, who hesitated. A chaperon must be found for one;
+another must be added on to a party, like a star to the cluster of a
+constellation. Among those whose presence was most ardently desired, but
+seemed most doubtful, was Miss Dacre. An invitation had been sent to her
+father; but he was out of town, and she did not like to join so peculiar
+a party without him: but it was unanimously agreed that, without her,
+the affair would be a failure; and Charles Annesley was sent, envoy
+extraordinary, to arrange. With the good aid of his friend Mrs.
+Dallington all was at length settled; and fervid prayers that the
+important day might be ushered in by a smiling sun were offered up
+during the next fortnight, at half-past six every morning, by all
+civilised society, who then hurried to their night’s rest.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+     _Sir Lucius Drops the Mask_
+
+THE fête at ‘the Pavilion,’ such was the title of the Twickenham Villa,
+though the subject of universal interest, was anticipated by no one
+with more eager anxiety than by Sir Lucius Grafton; for that day, he
+determined, should decide the fate of the Duke of St. James. He was
+sanguine as to the result, nor without reason. For the last month he
+had, by his dark machinery, played desperately upon the feelings of
+Lady Aphrodite; and more than once had she despatched rapid notes to her
+admirer for counsel and for consolation. The Duke was more skilful in
+soothing her griefs than in devising expedients for their removal. He
+treated the threatened as a distant evil! and wiped away her tears in a
+manner which is almost an encouragement to weep.
+
+At last the eventful morn arrived, and a scorching sun made those exult
+to whom the barge and the awning promised a progress equally calm
+and cool. Woe to the dusty britzska! woe to the molten furnace of the
+crimson cabriolet!
+
+They came, as the stars come out from the heavens, what time the sun
+is in his first repose: now a single hero, brilliant as a planet; now a
+splendid party, clustering like a constellation. Music is on the
+waters and perfume on the land; each moment a barque glides up with its
+cymbals, each moment a cavalcade bright with bouquets!
+
+Ah, gathering of brightness! ah, meeting of lustre! why, why are you to
+be celebrated by one so obscure and dull as I am? Ye Lady Carolines
+and ye Lady Franceses, ye Lady Barbaras and ye Lady Blanches, is it my
+fault?
+
+O, graceful Lord Francis, why, why have you left us; why, why have you
+exchanged your Ionian lyre for an Irish harp? You were not made for
+politics; leave them to clerks. Fly, fly back to pleasure, to frolic,
+and fun! Confess, now, that you sometimes do feel a little queer. We say
+nothing of the difference between May Fair and Donnybrook.
+
+And thou, too, Luttrell, gayest bard that ever threw off a triplet amid
+the clattering of cabs and the chattering of clubs, art thou, too, mute?
+Where, where dost thou linger? Is our Druid among the oaks of Ampthill;
+or, like a truant Etonian, is he lurking among the beeches of Burnham?
+What! has the immortal letter, unlike all other good advice, absolutely
+not been thrown away? or is the jade incorrigible? Whichever be the
+case, you need not be silent. There is yet enough to do, and yet enough
+to instruct. Teach us that wealth is not elegance; that profusion is not
+magnificence; and that splendour is not beauty. Teach us that taste is
+a talisman which can do greater wonders than the millions of the
+loanmonger. Teach us that to vie is not to rival, and to imitate not
+to invent. Teach us that pretension is a bore. Teach us that wit is
+excessively good-natured, and, like champagne, not only sparkles, but
+is sweet. Teach us the vulgarity of malignity. Teach us that envy
+spoils our complexions, and that anxiety destroys our figure. Catch the
+fleeting colours of that sly chameleon, Cant, and show what excessive
+trouble we are ever taking to make ourselves miserable and silly. Teach
+us all this, and Aglaia shall stop a crow in its course and present
+you with a pen, Thalia hold the golden fluid in a Sèvres vase, and
+Euphrosyne support the violet-coloured scroll.
+
+The four hosts greeted the arrivals and assisted the disembarkations,
+like the famous four sons of Aymon.
+
+They were all dressed alike, and their costume excited great attention.
+At first it was to have been very plain, black and white and a single
+rose; but it was settled that simplicity had been overdone, and, like
+a country girl after her first season, had turned into a most affected
+baggage, so they agreed to be regal; and fancy uniforms, worthy of the
+court of Oberon, were the order of the day. We shall not describe them,
+for the description of costume is the most inventive province of our
+historical novelists, and we never like to be unfair, or trench upon
+our neighbour’s lands or rights; but the Alhambra button indicated a
+mystical confederacy, and made the women quite frantic with curiosity.
+
+The guests wandered through the gardens, always various, and now a
+paradise of novelty. There were four brothers, fresh from the wildest
+recesses of the Carpathian Mount, who threw out such woodnotes wild that
+all the artists stared; and it was universally agreed that, had they not
+been French chorus-singers, they would have been quite a miracle. But
+the Lapland sisters were the true prodigy, who danced the Mazurka in
+the national style. There was also a fire-eater; but some said he would
+never set the river in flames, though he had an antidote against all
+poisons! But then our Mithridates always tried its virtues on a stuffed
+poodle, whose bark evinced its vitality. There also was a giant in the
+wildest part of the shrubbery, and a dwarf, on whom the ladies showered
+their sugarplums, and who, in return, offered them tobacco. But it
+was not true that the giant sported stilts, or that the dwarf was a
+sucking-babe. Some people are so suspicious. Then a bell rang, and
+assembled them in the concert-room; and the Bird of Paradise who to-day
+was consigned to the cavaliership of Peacock Piggott, condescended to
+favour them with a new song, which no one had ever heard, and which,
+consequently, made them feel more intensely all the sublimity of
+exclusiveness. Shall we forget the panniers of shoes which Melnotte had
+placed in every quarter of the gardens? We will say nothing of
+Maradan’s cases of caps, because, for this incident, Lord Bagshot is our
+authority.
+
+On a sudden, it seemed that a thousand bugles broke the blue air,
+and they were summoned to a déjeûner in four crimson tents worthy of
+Sardanapalus.
+
+Over each waved the scutcheon of the president. Glittering were the
+glories of the hundred quarterings of the house of Darrell. ‘_Si non è
+vero è ben trovato_,’ was the motto. Lord Darrell’s grandfather had been
+a successful lawyer. Lord Squib’s emblazonry was a satire on its owner.
+‘_Holdfast_’ was the motto of a man who had let loose. Annesley’s
+simple shield spoke of the Conquest; but all paled before the banner of
+the house of Hauteville, for it indicated an alliance with royalty. The
+attendants of each pavilion wore the livery of its lord.
+
+Shall we attempt to describe the delicacy of this banquet, where
+imagination had been racked for novel luxury? Through the centre of each
+table ran a rivulet of rose-water, and gold and silver fish glanced in
+its unrivalled course. The bouquets were exchanged every half-hour, and
+music soft and subdued, but constant and thrilling, wound them up by
+exquisite gradations to that pitch of refined excitement which is so
+strange a union of delicacy and voluptuousness, when the soul, as it
+were, becomes sensual, and the body, as it were, dissolves into spirit.
+And in this choice assembly, where all was youth, and elegance, and
+beauty, was it not right that every sound should be melody, every sight
+a sight of loveliness, and every thought a thought of pleasure?
+
+They arose and re-assembled on the lawn, where they found, to their
+surprise, had arisen in their absence a Dutch Fair. Numerous were the
+booths, innumerable were the contents. The first artists had arranged
+the picture and the costumes; the first artists had made the trinkets
+and the toys. And what a very agreeable fair, where all might suit their
+fancy without the permission of that sulky tyrant, a purse! All were in
+excellent humour, and no false shame prevented them from plundering
+the stalls. The noble proprietors set the example. Annesley offered a
+bouquet of precious stones to Charlotte Bloomerly, and it was accepted,
+and the Duke of St. James showered a sack of whimsical breloques among a
+scrambling crowd of laughing beauties. Among them was Miss Dacre. He had
+not observed her. Their eyes met, and she smiled. It seemed that he had
+never felt happiness before.
+
+Ere the humours of the fair could be exhausted they were summoned to the
+margin of the river, where four painted and gilded galleys, which
+might have sailed down the Cydmus, and each owning its peculiar chief,
+prepared to struggle for pre-eminence in speed. All betted; and the
+Duke, encouraged by the smile, hastened to Miss Dacre to try to win back
+some of his Doncaster losses, but Arundel Dacre had her arm in his,
+and she was evidently delighted with his discourse. His Grace’s blood
+turned, and he walked away.
+
+It was sunset when they returned to the lawn, and then the ball-room
+presented itself; but the twilight was long, and the night was warm;
+there were no hateful dews, no odious mists, and therefore a great
+number danced on the lawn. The fair was illuminated, and all the little
+_marchandes_ and their lusty porters walked about in their costume.
+
+The Duke again rallied his courage, and seeing Arundel Dacre with
+Mrs. Dallington Vere, he absolutely asked Miss Dacre to dance. She was
+engaged. He doubted, and walked into the house disconsolate; yet, if he
+had waited one moment, he would have seen Sir Lucius Grafton rejoin
+her, and lead her to the cotillon that was forming on the turf. The Duke
+sauntered to Lady Aphrodite, but she would not dance; yet she did
+not yield his arm, and proposed a stroll. They wandered away to the
+extremity of the grounds. Fainter and fainter grew the bursts of the
+revellers, yet neither of them spoke much, for both were dull.
+
+[Illustration: page243]
+
+Yet at length her Ladyship did speak, and amply made up for her previous
+silence. All former scenes, to this, were but as the preface to the
+book. All she knew and all she dreaded, all her suspicions, all her
+certainties, all her fears, were poured forth in painful profusion. This
+night was to decide her fate. She threw herself on his mercy, if he had
+forgotten his love. Out dashed all those arguments, all those
+appeals, all those assertions, which they say are usual under these
+circumstances. She was a woman; he was a man. She had staked her
+happiness on this venture; he had a thousand cards to play. Love, and
+first love, with her, as with all women, was everything; he and all men,
+at the worst, had a thousand resources. He might plunge into politics,
+he might game, he might fight, he might ruin himself in innumerable
+ways, but she could only ruin herself in one. Miserable woman! Miserable
+sex! She had given him her all. She knew it was little: would she had
+more! She knew she was unworthy of him: would she were not! She did not
+ask him to sacrifice himself to her: she could not expect it; she did
+not even desire it. Only, she thought he ought to know exactly the state
+of affairs and of consequences, and that certainly if they were parted,
+which assuredly they would be, most decidedly she would droop, and fade,
+and die. She wept, she sobbed; his entreaties alone seemed to prevent
+hysterics.
+
+These scenes are painful at all times, and even the callous, they say,
+have a twinge; but when the actress is really beautiful and pure, as
+this lady was, and the actor young and inexperienced and amiable, as
+this actor was, the consequences are more serious than is usual. The
+Duke of St. James was unhappy, he was discontented, he was dissatisfied
+with himself. He did not love this lady, if love were the passion which
+he entertained for Miss Dacre, but she loved him. He knew that she was
+beautiful, and he was convinced that she was excellent. The world
+is malicious, but the world had agreed that Lady Aphrodite was an
+unblemished pearl: yet this jewel was reserved for him! Intense
+gratitude almost amounted to love. In short, he had no idea at this
+moment that feelings are not in our power. His were captive, even if
+entrapped. It was a great responsibility to desert this creature, the
+only one from whom he had experienced devotion. To conclude: a season
+of extraordinary dissipation, to use no harsher phrase, had somewhat
+exhausted the nervous powers of our hero; his energies were deserting
+him; he had not heart or heartlessness enough to extricate himself from
+this dilemma. It seemed that if this being to whom he was indebted for
+so much joy were miserable, he must be unhappy; that if she died, life
+ought to have, could have, no charms for him. He kissed away her tears,
+he pledged his faith, and Lady Aphrodite Grafton was his betrothed!
+
+She wonderfully recovered. Her deep but silent joy seemed to repay him
+even for this bitter sacrifice. Compared with the late racking of his
+feelings, the present calm, which was merely the result of suspense
+being destroyed, seemed happiness. His conscience whispered approbation,
+and he felt that, for once, he had sacrificed himself to another.
+
+They re-entered the villa, and he took the first opportunity of
+wandering alone to the least frequented parts of the grounds: his mind
+demanded solitude, and his soul required soliloquy.
+
+‘So the game is up! truly a most lame and impotent conclusion! And this,
+then, is the result of all my high fancies and indefinite aspirations!
+Verily, I am a very distinguished hero, and have not abused my
+unrivalled advantages in the least. What! am I bitter on myself? There
+will be enough to sing my praises without myself joining in this chorus
+of congratulation. O! fool! fool! Now I know what folly is. But barely
+fifteen months since I stepped upon these shores, full of hope and full
+of pride; and now I leave them; how? O! my dishonoured fathers! Even my
+posterity, which God grant I may not have, will look on my memory with
+hatred, and on hers with scorn!
+
+‘Well, I suppose we must live for ourselves. We both of us know the
+world; and Heaven can bear witness that we should not be haunted by any
+uneasy hankering after what has brought us such a heartache. If it were
+for love, if it were for--but away! I will not profane her name; if
+it were for her that I was thus sacrificing myself. I could bear it,
+I could welcome it. I can imagine perfect and everlasting bliss in the
+sole society of one single being, but she is not that being. Let me not
+conceal it; let me wrestle with this bitter conviction!
+
+‘And am I, indeed, bound to close my career thus; to throw away all
+hope, all chance of felicity, at my age, for a point of honour? No, no;
+it is not that. After all, I have experienced that with her, and from
+her, which I have with no other woman; and she is so good, so gentle,
+and, all agree, so lovely! How infinitely worse would her situation be
+if deserted, than mine is as her perpetual companion! The very thought
+makes my heart bleed. Yes! amiable, devoted, dearest Afy, I throw aside
+these morbid feelings; you shall never repent having placed your trust
+in me. I will be proud and happy of such a friend, and you shall be mine
+for ever!’
+
+A shriek broke on the air: he started. It was near: he hastened after
+the sound. He entered into a small green glade surrounded by shrubs,
+where had been erected a fanciful hermitage. There he found Sir Lucius
+Grafton on his knees, grasping the hand of the indignant but terrified
+Miss Dacre. The Duke rushed forward; Miss Dacre ran to meet him; Sir
+Lucius rose.
+
+‘This lady, Sir Lucius Grafton, is under my protection,’ said the young
+Duke, with a flashing eye but a calm voice. She clung to his arm; he
+bore her away. The whole was the affair of an instant.
+
+The Duke and his companion proceeded in silence. She tried to hasten,
+but he felt her limbs shake upon his arm. He stopped: no one, not even
+a servant, was near. He could not leave her for an instant. There she
+stood trembling, her head bent down, and one hand clasping the other,
+which rested on his arm. Terrible was her struggle, but she would not
+faint, and at length succeeded in repressing her emotions. They were yet
+a considerable way from the house. She motioned with her left hand
+to advance; but still she did not speak. On they walked, though more
+slowly, for she was exhausted, and occasionally stopped for breath or
+strength.
+
+At length she said, in a faint voice, ‘I cannot join the party. I must
+go home directly. How can it be done?’
+
+‘Your companions?’ said the Duke.
+
+‘Are of course engaged, or not to be found; but surely somebody I know
+is departing. Manage it: say I am ill.’
+
+‘O, Miss Dacre! if you knew the agony of my mind!’
+
+‘Do not speak; for Heaven’s sake, do not speak!’
+
+He turned off from the lawn, and approached by a small circuit the gate
+of the ground. Suddenly he perceived a carriage on the point of going
+off. It was the Duchess of Shropshire’s.
+
+‘There is the Duchess of Shropshire! You know her; but not a minute is
+to be lost. There is such a noise, they will not hear. Are you afraid to
+stop here one instant by yourself? I shall not be out of sight, and not
+away a second. I run very quick.’
+
+‘No, no, I am not afraid. Go, go!’
+
+Away rushed the Duke of St. James as if his life were on his speed. He
+stopped the carriage, spoke, and was back in an instant.
+
+‘Lean, lean on me with all your strength. I have told everything
+necessary to Lady Shropshire. Nobody will speak a word, because they
+believe you have a terrible headache. I will say everything necessary
+to Mrs. Dallington and your cousin. Do not give yourself a moment’s
+uneasiness. And, oh! Miss Dacre! if I might say one word!’
+
+She did not stop him.
+
+‘If,’ continued he, ‘it be your wish that the outrage of to-night should
+be known only to myself and him, I pledge my word it shall be so; though
+willingly, if I were authorised, I would act a different part in this
+affair.’
+
+‘It is my wish.’ She spoke in a low voice, with her eyes still upon the
+ground. ‘And I thank you for this, and for all.’
+
+They had now joined the Shropshires; but it was now discovered Miss
+Dacre had no shawl: and sundry other articles were wanting, to the
+evident dismay of the Ladies Wrekin. They offered theirs, but their
+visitor refused, and would not allow the Duke to fetch her own. Off they
+drove; but when they had proceeded above half a mile, a continued shout
+on the road, which the fat coachman for a long time would not hear,
+stopped them, and up came the Duke of St. James, covered with dust, and
+panting like a racer, with Miss Dacre’s shawl.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+     _Grim Preparations_
+
+SO MUCH time was occupied by this adventure of the shawl, and by making
+requisite explanations to Mrs. Dallington Vere, that almost the whole of
+the guests had retired, when the Duke found himself again in the saloon.
+His brother-hosts, too, were off with various parties, to which they had
+attached themselves. He found the Fitz-pompeys and a few still lingering
+for their carriages, and Arundel Dacre and his fair admirer. His Grace
+had promised to return with Lady Afy, and was devising some scheme
+by which he might free himself from this, now not very suitable,
+engagement, when she claimed his arm. She was leaning on it, and talking
+to Lady Fitz-pompey, when Sir Lucius approached, and, with his usual
+tone, put a note into the Duke’s hand, saying at the same time, ‘This
+appears to belong to you. I shall go to town with Piggott;’ and then he
+walked away.
+
+With the wife leaning on his arm, the young Duke had the pleasure of
+reading the following lines, written with the pencil of the husband:--
+
+‘After what has just occurred, only one more meeting can take place
+between us, and the sooner that takes place the better for all parties.
+This is no time for etiquette. I shall be in Kensington Gardens, in the
+grove on the right side of the summer-house, at half-past six to-morrow
+morning, and shall doubtless find you there.’
+
+Sir Lucius was not out of sight when the Duke had finished reading his
+cartel. Making some confused excuse to Lady Afy, which was not expected,
+he ran after the Baronet, and soon reached him.
+
+‘Grafton, I shall be punctual: but there is one point on which I wish to
+speak to you at once. The cause of this meeting may be kept, I hope, a
+secret?’
+
+‘So far as I am concerned, an inviolable one,’ bowed the Baronet,
+stiffly; and they parted.
+
+The Duke returned satisfied, for Sir Lucius Grafton ever observed his
+word, to say nothing of the great interest which he surely had this time
+in maintaining his pledge.
+
+Our hero thought that he never should reach London. The journey seemed
+a day; and the effort to amuse Lady Afy, and to prevent her from
+suspecting, by his conduct, that anything had occurred, was most
+painful. Silent, however, he at last became; but her mind, too, was
+engaged, and she supposed that her admirer was quiet only because, like
+herself, he was happy. At length they reached her house, but he excused
+himself from entering, and drove on immediately to Annesley. He was at
+Lady Bloomerly’s. Lord Darrell had not returned, and his servant did not
+expect him. Lord Squib was never to be found.
+
+The Duke put on a great coat over his uniform and drove to White’s; it
+was really a wilderness. Never had he seen fewer men there in his life,
+and there were none of his set. The only young-looking man was old
+Colonel Carlisle, who, with his skilfully enamelled cheek, flowing
+auburn locks, shining teeth, and tinted whiskers, might have been
+mistaken for gay twenty-seven, instead of grey seventy-two; but the
+Colonel had the gout, to say nothing of any other objections.
+
+The Duke took up the ‘Courier’ and read three or four advertisements
+of quack medicines, but nobody entered. It was nearly midnight: he
+got nervous. Somebody came in; Lord Hounslow for his rubber. Even his
+favoured child, Bagshot, would be better than nobody. The Duke protested
+that the next acquaintance who entered should be his second, old or
+young. His vow had scarcely been registered when Arundel Dacre came in
+alone. He was the last man to whom the Duke wished to address himself,
+but Fate seemed to have decided it, and the Duke walked up to him.
+
+‘Mr. Dacre, I am about to ask of you a favour to which I have no claim.’
+
+Mr. Dacre looked a little confused, and murmured his willingness to do
+anything.
+
+‘To be explicit, I am engaged in an affair of honour of an urgent
+nature. Will you be my friend?’
+
+‘Willingly.’ He spoke with more ease. ‘May I ask the name of the other
+party, the--the cause of the meeting?’
+
+‘The other party is Sir Lucius Grafton.’
+
+‘Hum!’ said Arundel Dacre, as if he were no longer curious about the
+cause. ‘When do you meet?’
+
+‘At half-past six, in Kensington Gardens, to-morrow; I believe I should
+say this morning.’
+
+‘Your Grace must be wearied,’ said Arundel, with unusual ease and
+animation. ‘Now, follow my advice. Go home at once and get some rest.
+Give yourself no trouble about preparations; leave everything to me.
+I will call upon you at half-past five precisely, with a chaise and
+post-horses, which will divert suspicion. Now, good night!’
+
+‘But really, your rest must be considered; and then all this trouble!’
+
+‘Oh! I have been in the habit of sitting up all night. Do not think of
+me; nor am I quite inexperienced in these matters, in too many of which
+I have unfortunately been engaged in Germany.’
+
+The young men shook hands, and the Duke hastened home. Fortunately the
+Bird of Paradise was at her own establishment in Baker Street, a bureau
+where her secretary, in her behalf, transacted business with the various
+courts of Europe and the numerous cities of Great Britain. Here many a
+negotiation was carried on for opera engagements at Vienna, or Paris,
+or Berlin, or St. Petersburg. Here many a diplomatic correspondence
+conducted the fate of the musical festivals of York, or Norwich, or
+Exeter.
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+An Affair of Honour.
+
+LET us return to Sir Lucius Grafton. He is as mad as any man must be
+who feels that the imprudence of a moment has dashed the ground all the
+plans, and all the hopes, and all the great results, over which he had
+so often pondered. The great day from which he had expected so much had
+passed, nor was it possible for four-and-twenty hours more completely
+to have reversed all his feelings and all his prospects. Miss Dacre had
+shared the innocent but unusual and excessive gaiety which had properly
+become a scene of festivity at once so agreeable, so various, and so
+novel. Sir Lucius Grafton had not been insensible to the excitement. On
+the contrary his impetuous passions seemed to recall the former and
+more fervent days of his career, and his voluptuous mind dangerously
+sympathised with the beautiful and luxurious scene. He was elated, too,
+with the thought that his freedom would perhaps be sealed this evening,
+and still more by his almost constant attendance on his fascinating
+companion. As the particular friend of the Dacre family, and as the
+secret ally of Mrs. Dallington Vere, he in some manner contrived always
+to be at Miss Dacre’s side. With the laughing but insidious pretence
+that he was now almost too grave and staid a personage for such scenes,
+he conversed with few others, and humourously maintaining that his
+‘dancing days were over,’ danced with none but her. Even when her
+attention was engaged by a third person, he lingered about, and with
+his consummate knowledge of the world, easy wit, and constant resources,
+generally succeeded in not only sliding into the conversation, but
+engrossing it. Arundel Dacre, too, although that young gentleman had not
+departed from his usual coldness in favour of Sir Lucius Grafton, the
+Baronet would most provokingly consider as his particular friend; never
+seemed to be conscious that his reserved companion was most punctilious
+in his address to him; but on the contrary, called him in return
+‘Dacre,’ and sometimes ‘Arundel.’ In vain young Dacre struggled to
+maintain his position. His manner was no match for that of Sir Lucius
+Grafton. Annoyed with himself, he felt confused, and often quitted his
+cousin that he might be free of his friend. Thus Sir Lucius Grafton
+contrived never to permit Miss Dacre to be alone with Arundel, and to
+her he was so courteous, so agreeable, and so useful, that his absence
+seemed always a blank, or a period in which something ever went wrong.
+
+The triumphant day rolled on, and each moment Sir Lucius felt more
+sanguine and more excited. We will not dwell upon the advancing
+confidence of his desperate mind. Hope expanded into certainty,
+certainty burst into impatience. In a desperate moment he breathed his
+passion.
+
+May Dacre was the last girl to feel at a loss in such a situation. No
+one would have rung him out of a saloon with an air of more contemptuous
+majesty. But the shock, the solitary strangeness of the scene, the
+fear, for the first time, that none were near, and perhaps, also, her
+exhausted energy, frightened her, and she shrieked. One only had heard
+that shriek, yet that one was legion. Sooner might the whole world know
+the worst than this person suspect the least. Sir Lucius was left silent
+with rage, mad with passion, desperate with hate.
+
+He gasped for breath. Now his brow burnt, now the cold dew ran off his
+countenance in streams. He clenched his fist, he stamped with agony, he
+found at length his voice, and he blasphemed to the unconscious woods.
+
+His quick brain flew to the results like lightning. The Duke had escaped
+from his mesh; his madness had done more to win this boy Miss Dacre’s
+heart than an age of courtship. He had lost the idol of his passion; he
+was fixed for ever with the creature of his hate. He loathed the idea.
+He tottered into the hermitage, and buried his face in his hands.
+
+Something must be done. Some monstrous act of energy must repair this
+fatal blunder. He appealed to the mind which had never deserted him. The
+oracle was mute. Yet vengeance might even slightly redeem the bitterness
+of despair. This fellow should die; and his girl, for already he hated
+Miss Dacre, should not triumph in her minion. He tore a leaf from his
+tablets, and wrote the lines we have already read.
+
+The young Duke reached home. You expect, of course, that he sat up all
+night making his will and answering letters. By no means. The first
+object that caught his eye was an enormous ottoman. He threw himself
+upon it without undressing, and without speaking a word to Luigi, and
+in a moment was fast asleep. He was fairly exhausted. Luigi stared, and
+called Spiridion to consult. They agreed that they dare not go to bed,
+and must not leave their lord; so they played écarté, till at last they
+quarrelled and fought with the candles over the table. But even this did
+not wake their unreasonable master; so Spiridion threw down a few chairs
+by accident; but all in vain. At half-past five there was a knocking at
+the gate, and they hurried away.
+
+Arundel Dacre entered with them, woke the Duke, and praised him for his
+punctuality. His Grace thought that he had only dozed a few minutes; but
+time pressed; five minutes arranged his toilet, and they were first on
+the field.
+
+In a moment Sir Lucius and Mr. Piggott appeared. Arundel Dacre, on the
+way, had anxiously enquired as to the probability of reconciliation, but
+was told at once it was impossible, so now he measured the ground and
+loaded the pistols with a calmness which was admirable. They fired at
+once; the Duke in the air, and the Baronet in his friend’s side. When
+Sir Lucius saw his Grace fall his hate vanished. He ran up with real
+anxiety and unfeigned anguish.
+
+‘Have I hit you? by h-ll!’
+
+His Grace was magnanimous, but the case was urgent. A surgeon gave a
+favourable report, and extracted the ball on the spot. The Duke was
+carried back to his chaise, and in an hour was in the state bed, not of
+the Alhambra, but of his neglected mansion.
+
+Arundel Dacre retired when he had seen his friend home, but gave urgent
+commands that he should be kept quiet. No sooner was the second out
+of sight than the principal ordered the room to be cleared, with the
+exception of Spiridion, and then, rising in his bed, wrote this note,
+which the page was secretly to deliver.
+
+‘----House, ----, 182-.
+
+‘Dear Miss Dacre,
+
+‘A very unimportant but somewhat disagreeable incident has occurred.
+I have been obliged to meet Sir Lucius Grafton, and our meeting has
+fortunately terminated without any serious consequences. Yet I wish that
+you should hear of this first from me, lest you might imagine that I had
+not redeemed my pledge of last night, and that I had placed for a moment
+my own feelings in competition with yours. This is not the case, and
+never shall be, dear Miss Dacre, with one whose greatest pride is to
+subscribe himself
+
+‘Your most obedient and faithful servant,
+
+‘St. James.’
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+     _A Mind Distraught_
+
+THE world talked of nothing but the duel between the Duke of St. James
+and Sir Lucius Grafton.
+
+It was a thunderbolt; and the phenomenon was accounted for by every
+cause but the right one. Yet even those who most confidently solved the
+riddle were the most eagerly employed in investigating its true meaning.
+The seconds were of course applied to. Arundel Dacre was proverbially
+unpumpable; but Peacock Piggott, whose communicative temper was an
+adage, how came he on a sudden so diplomatic? Not a syllable oozed from
+a mouth which was ever open; not a hint from a countenance which never
+could conceal its mind. He was not even mysterious, but really looked
+just as astonished and was just as curious as themselves. Fine times
+these for ‘The Universe’ and ‘The New World!’ All came out about Lady
+Afy; and they made up for their long and previous ignorance, or, as they
+now boldly blustered, their long and considerate forbearance. Sheets
+given away gratis, edition on Saturday night for the country, and
+woodcuts of the Pavilion fête: the when, the how, and the wherefore.
+A. The summer-house, and Lady Aphrodite meeting the young Duke. B.
+The hedge behind which Sir Lucius Grafton was concealed. C. Kensington
+Gardens, and a cloudy morning; and so on. Cruikshank did wonders.
+
+But let us endeavour to ascertain the feelings of the principal agents
+in this odd affair. Sir Lucius now was cool, and, the mischief being
+done, took a calm review of the late mad hours. As was his custom, he
+began to enquire whether any good could be elicited from all this
+evil. He owed his late adversary sundry moneys, which he had never
+contemplated the possibility of repaying to the person who had eloped
+with his wife. Had he shot his creditor the account would equally have
+been cleared; and this consideration, although it did not prompt, had
+not dissuaded, the late desperate deed. As it was, he now appeared still
+to enjoy the possession both of his wife and his debts, and had lost
+his friend. Bad generalship, Sir Lucy! Reconciliation was out of the
+question. The Duke’s position was a good one. Strongly entrenched with a
+flesh wound, he had all the sympathy of society on his side; and, after
+having been confined for a few weeks, he could go to Paris for a few
+months, and then return, as if the Graftons had never crossed his eye,
+rid of a troublesome mistress and a troublesome friend. His position was
+certainly a good one; but Sir Lucius was astute, and he determined to
+turn this Shumla of his Grace. The quarrel must have been about her
+Ladyship. Who could assign any other cause for it? And the Duke must now
+be weak with loss of blood and anxiety, and totally unable to resist
+any appeal, particularly a personal one, to his feelings. He determined,
+therefore, to drive Lady Afy into his Grace’s arms. If he could only get
+her into the house for an hour, the business would be settled.
+
+These cunning plans were, however, nearly being crossed by a very simple
+incident. Annoyed at finding that her feelings could be consulted only
+by sacrificing those of another woman, Miss Dacre, quite confident that,
+as Lady Aphrodite was innocent in the present instance, she must be
+immaculate, told everything to her father, and, stifling her tears,
+begged him to make all public; but Mr. Dacre, after due consideration,
+enjoined silence.
+
+In the meantime the young Duke was not in so calm a mood as Sir Lucius.
+Rapidly the late extraordinary events dashed through his mind, and
+already those feelings which had prompted his soliloquy in the garden
+were no longer his. All forms, all images, all ideas, all memory, melted
+into Miss Dacre. He felt that he loved her with a perfect love: that she
+was to him what no other woman had been, even in the factitious delirium
+of early passion. A thought of her seemed to bring an entirely novel
+train of feelings, impressions, wishes, hopes. The world with her must
+be a totally different system, and his existence in her society a new
+and another life. Her very purity refined the passion which raged even
+in his exhausted mind. Gleams of virtue, morning streaks of duty, broke
+upon the horizon of his hitherto clouded soul; an obscure suspicion
+of the utter worthlessness of his life whispered in his hollow ear;
+he darkly felt that happiness was too philosophical a system to be the
+result or the reward of impulse, however unbounded, and that principle
+alone could create and could support that bliss which is our being’s end
+and aim.
+
+But when he turned to himself, he viewed his situation with horror,
+and yielded almost to despair. What, what could she think of the impure
+libertine who dared to adore her? If ever time could bleach his own soul
+and conciliate hers, what, what was to become of Aphrodite? Was his new
+career to commence by a new crime? Was he to desert this creature of his
+affections, and break a heart which beat only for him? It seemed that
+the only compensation he could offer for a life which had achieved
+no good would be to establish the felicity of the only being whose
+happiness seemed in his power. Yet what a prospect! If before he had
+trembled, now----
+
+But his harrowed mind and exhausted body no longer allowed him even
+anxiety. Weak, yet excited, his senses fled; and when Arundel Dacre
+returned in the evening he found his friend delirious. He sat by his bed
+for hours. Suddenly the Duke speaks. Arundel Dacre rises: he leans over
+the sufferer’s couch.
+
+Ah! why turns the face of the listener so pale, and why gleam those eyes
+with terrible fire? The perspiration courses down his clear but sallow
+cheek: he throws his dark and clustering curls aside, and passes his
+hand over his damp brow, as if to ask whether he, too, had lost his
+senses from this fray.
+
+The Duke is agitated. He waves his arm in the air, and calls out in a
+tone of defiance and of hate. His voice sinks: it seems that he breathes
+a milder language, and speaks to some softer being. There is no sound,
+save the long-drawn breath of one on whose countenance is stamped
+infinite amazement. Arundel Dacre walks the room disturbed; often he
+pauses, plunged in deep thought. ‘Tis an hour past midnight, and he
+quits the bedside of the young Duke.
+
+He pauses at the threshold, and seems to respire even the noisome air
+of the metropolis as if it were Eden. As he proceeds down Hill Street he
+stops, and gazes for a moment on the opposite house. What passes in
+his mind we know not. Perhaps he is reminded that in that mansion dwell
+beauty, wealth, and influence, and that all might be his. Perhaps love
+prompts that gaze, perhaps ambition. Is it passion, or is it power? or
+does one struggle with the other?
+
+As he gazes the door opens, but without servants; and a man, deeply
+shrouded in his cloak, comes out. It was night, and the individual
+was disguised; but there are eyes which can pierce at all seasons and
+through all concealments, and Arundel Dacre marked with astonishment Sir
+Lucius Grafton.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+     _Reconciliation_
+
+WHEN it was understood that the Duke of St. James had been delirious,
+public feeling reached what is called its height; that is to say, the
+curiosity and the ignorance of the world were about equal. Everybody was
+indignant, not so much because the young Duke had been shot, but because
+they did not know why. If the sympathy of the women could have consoled
+him, our hero might have been reconciled to his fate. Among these, no
+one appeared more anxious as to the result, and more ignorant as to
+the cause, than Mrs. Dallington Vere. Arundel Dacre called on her the
+morning ensuing his midnight observation, but understood that she had
+not seen Sir Lucius Grafton, who, they said, had quitted London, which
+she thought probable. Nevertheless Arundel thought proper to walk down
+Hill Street at the same hour, and, if not at the same minute, yet in due
+course of time, he discovered the absent man.
+
+In two or three days the young Duke was declared out of immediate
+danger, though his attendants must say he remained exceedingly restless,
+and by no means in a satisfactory state; yet, with their aid, they had
+a right to hope the best. At any rate, if he were to go off, his friends
+would have the satisfaction of remembering that all had been done
+that could be; so saying, Dr. X. took his fee, and Surgeons Y. and Z.
+prevented his conduct from being singular.
+
+Now began the operations on the Grafton side. A letter from Lady
+Aphrodite full of distraction. She was fairly mystified. What could
+have induced Lucy suddenly to act so, puzzled her, as well it might. Her
+despair, and yet her confidence in his Grace, seemed equally great. Some
+talk there was of going off to Cleve at once. Her husband, on the whole,
+maintained a rigid silence and studied coolness. Yet he had talked of
+Vienna and Florence, and even murmured something about public disgrace
+and public ridicule. In short, the poor lady was fairly worn out, and
+wished to terminate her harassing career at once by cutting the Gordian
+knot. In a word, she proposed coming on to her admirer and, as she
+supposed, her victim, and having the satisfaction of giving him his
+cooling draughts and arranging his bandages.
+
+If the meeting between the young Duke and Sir Lucius Grafton had been
+occasioned by any other cause than the real one, it is difficult to say
+what might have been the fate of this proposition. Our own opinion is,
+that this work would have been only in one volume; for the requisite
+morality would have made out the present one; but, as it was, the
+image of Miss Dacre hovered above our hero as his guardian genius. He
+despaired of ever obtaining her; but yet he determined not wilfully to
+crush all hope. Some great effort must be made to right his position.
+Lady Aphrodite must not be deserted: the very thought increased his
+fever. He wrote, to gain time; but another billet, in immediate answer,
+only painted increased terrors, and described the growing urgency of her
+persecuted situation. He was driven into a corner, but even a stag at
+bay is awful: what, then, must be a young Duke, the most noble animal in
+existence?
+
+Ill as he was, he wrote these lines, not to Lady Aphrodite, but to her
+husband:--
+
+
+‘My Dear Grafton,
+
+‘You will be surprised at hearing from me. Is it necessary for me to
+assure you that my interference on a late occasion was accidental? And
+can you, for a moment, maintain that, under the circumstances, I could
+have acted in a different manner? I regret the whole business; but most
+I regret that we were placed in collision.
+
+‘I am ready to cast all memory of it into oblivion; and, as I
+unintentionally offended, I indulge the hope that, in this conduct, you
+will bear me company.
+
+‘Surely, men like us are not to be dissuaded from following our
+inclinations by any fear of the opinion of the world. The whole affair
+is, at present, a mystery; and I think, with our united fancies,
+some explanation may be hit upon which will render the mystery quite
+impenetrable, while it professes to offer a satisfactory solution.
+
+‘I do not know whether this letter expresses my meaning, for my mind is
+somewhat agitated and my head not very clear; but, if you be inclined
+to understand it in the right spirit, it is sufficiently lucid. At any
+rate, my dear Grafton, I have once more the pleasure of subscribing
+myself, faithfully yours,
+
+‘St. James.’
+
+
+This letter was marked ‘Immediate,’ consigned to the custody of Luigi,
+with positive orders to deliver it personally to Sir Lucius; and, if not
+at home, to follow till he found him.
+
+He was not at home, and he was found at----‘s Clubhouse. Sullen,
+dissatisfied with himself, doubtful as to the result of his fresh
+manouvres, and brooding over his infernal debts, Sir Lucius had stepped
+into----, and passed the whole morning playing desperately with Lord
+Hounslow and Baron de Berghem. Never had he experienced such a smashing
+morning. He had long far exceeded his resources, and was proceeding with
+a vague idea that he should find money somehow or other, when this note
+was put into his hand, as it seemed to him by Providence. The signature
+of Semiramis could not have imparted more exquisite delight to a
+collector of autographs. Were his long views, his complicated objects,
+and doubtful results to be put in competition a moment with so decided,
+so simple, and so certain a benefit? certainly not, by a gamester. He
+rose from the table, and with strange elation wrote these lines:--
+
+
+‘My Dearest Friend,
+
+‘You forgive me, but can I forgive myself? I am plunged in overwhelming
+grief. Shall I come on? Your mad but devoted friend,
+
+‘Lucius Grafton.
+
+‘The Duke of St. James.’
+
+
+They met the same day. After a long consultation, it was settled that
+Peacock Piggott should be entrusted, in confidence, with the secret
+of the affair: merely a drunken squabble, ‘growing out’ of the Bird of
+Paradise. Wine, jealousy, an artful woman, and headstrong youth will
+account for anything; they accounted for the present affair. The story
+was believed, because the world were always puzzled at Lady Aphrodite
+being the cause. The Baronet proceeded with promptitude to make the
+version pass current: he indicted ‘The Universe’ and ‘The New World;’
+he prosecuted the caricaturists; and was seen everywhere with his wife.
+‘The Universe’ and ‘The New World’ revenged themselves on the Signora;
+and then she indicted them. They could not now even libel an opera
+singer with impunity; where was the boasted liberty of the press?
+
+In the meantime the young Duke, once more easy in his mind, wonderfully
+recovered; and on the eighth day after the Ball of Beauty he returned to
+the Pavilion, which had now resumed its usual calm character, for fresh
+air and soothing quiet.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+     _Arundel’s Warning_
+
+IN THE morning of the young Duke’s departure for Twickenham, as Miss
+Dacre and Lady Caroline St. Maurice were sitting together at the house
+of the former, and moralising over the last night’s ball, Mr. Arundel
+Dacre was announced.
+
+‘You have just arrived in time to offer your congratulations, Arundel,
+on an agreeable event,’ said Miss Dacre. ‘Lord St. Maurice is about to
+lead to the hymeneal altar----’
+
+‘Lady Sophy Wrekin; I know it.’
+
+‘How extremely diplomatic! The _attaché_ in your very air. I thought,
+of course, I was to surprise you; but future ambassadors have such
+extraordinary sources of information.’
+
+‘Mine is a simple one. The Duchess, imagining, I suppose, that my
+attentions were directed to the wrong lady, warned me some weeks past.
+However, my congratulations shall be duly paid. Lady Caroline St.
+Maurice, allow me to express----’
+
+‘All that you ought to feel,’ said Miss Dacre. ‘But men at the present
+day pride themselves on insensibility.’
+
+‘Do you think I am insensible, Lady Caroline?’ asked Arundel.
+
+‘I must protest against unfair questions,’ said her Ladyship.
+
+‘But it is not unfair. You are a person who have now seen me more than
+once, and therefore, according to May, you ought to have a perfect
+knowledge of my character. Moreover, you do not share the prejudices of
+my family. I ask you, then, do you think I am so heartless as May would
+insinuate?’
+
+‘Does she insinuate so much?’
+
+‘Does she not call me insensible, because I am not in raptures that your
+brother is about to marry a young lady, who, for aught she knows, may be
+the object of my secret adoration?’
+
+‘Arundel, you are perverse,’ said Miss Dacre.
+
+‘No, May; I am logical.’
+
+‘I have always heard that logic is much worse than wilfulness,’ said
+Lady Caroline.
+
+‘But Arundel always was both,’ said Miss Dacre. ‘He is not only
+unreasonable, but he will always prove that he is right. Here is your
+purse, sir!’ she added with a smile, presenting him with the result of
+her week’s labour.
+
+‘This is the way she always bribes me, Lady Caroline. Do you approve of
+this corruption?’
+
+‘I must confess, I have a slight though secret kindness for a little
+bribery. Mamma is now on her way to Mortimer’s, on a corrupt embassy.
+The _nouvelle mariée_, you know, must be reconciled to her change of lot
+by quite a new set of playthings. I can give you no idea of the necklace
+that our magnificent cousin, in spite of his wound, has sent Sophy.’
+
+‘But then, such a cousin!’ said Miss Dacre. ‘A young Duke, like the
+young lady in the fairy tale, should scarcely ever speak without
+producing brilliants.’
+
+‘Sophy is highly sensible of the attention. As she amusingly observed,
+except himself marrying her, he could scarcely do more. I hear the
+carriage. Adieu, love! Good morning, Mr. Dacre.’
+
+‘Allow me to see you to your carriage. I am to dine at Fitz-pompey House
+to-day, I believe.’
+
+Arundel Dacre returned to his cousin, and, seating himself at the table,
+took up a book, and began reading it the wrong side upwards; then he
+threw down a ball of silk, then he cracked a knitting-needle, and then
+with a husky sort of voice and a half blush, and altogether an air of
+infinite confusion, he said, ‘This has been an odd affair, May, of the
+Duke of St. James and Sir Lucius Grafton?’
+
+‘A very distressing affair, Arundel.’
+
+‘How singular that I should have been his second, May?’
+
+‘Could he have found anyone more fit for that office, Arundel?’
+
+‘I think he might. I must say this: that, had I known at the time the
+cause of the fray, I should have refused to accompany him.’
+
+She was silent, and he resumed:
+
+‘An opera singer, at the best! Sir Lucius Grafton showed more
+discrimination. Peacock Piggott was just the character for his place,
+and I think my principal, too, might have found a more congenial spirit.
+What do you think, May?’
+
+‘Really, Arundel, this is a subject of which I know nothing.’
+
+‘Indeed! Well, it is odd, May; but do you know I have a queer suspicion
+that you know more about it than anybody else.’
+
+‘I! Arundel?’ she exclaimed, with marked confusion.
+
+‘Yes, you, May,’ he repeated with firmness, and looked her in the face
+with a glance which would read her soul. ‘Ay! I am sure you do.’
+
+‘Who says so?’
+
+‘Oh! do not fear that you have been betrayed. No one says it; but I know
+it. We future ambassadors, you know, have such extraordinary sources of
+information.’
+
+‘You jest, Arundel, on a grave subject.’
+
+‘Grave! yes, it is grave, May Dacre. It is grave that there should
+be secrets between us; it is grave that our house should have been
+insulted; it is grave that you, of all others, should have been
+outraged; but oh! it is much more grave, it is bitter, that any other
+arm than this should have avenged the wrong.’ He rose from his chair,
+he paced the room in agitation, and gnashed his teeth with a vindictive
+expression that he tried not to suppress.
+
+‘O! my cousin, my dear, dear cousin! spare me!’ She hid her face in her
+hands, yet she continued speaking in a broken voice: ‘I did it for
+the best. It was to suppress strife, to prevent bloodshed. I knew your
+temper, and I feared for your life; yet I told my father; I told him
+all: and it was by his advice that I have maintained throughout the
+silence which I, perhaps too hastily, at first adopted.’
+
+‘My own dear May! spare me! I cannot mark a tear from you without a
+pang. How I came to know this you wonder. It was the delirium of that
+person who should not have played so proud a part in this affair, and
+who is yet our friend; it was his delirium that betrayed all. In the
+madness of his excited brain he reacted the frightful scene, declared
+the outrage, and again avenged it. Yet, believe me, I am not tempted by
+any petty feeling of showing I am not ignorant of what is considered
+a secret to declare all this. I know, I feel your silence was for the
+best; that it was prompted by sweet and holy feelings for my sake.
+Believe me, my dear cousin, if anything could increase the infinite
+affection with which I love you, it would be the consciousness that at
+all times, whenever my image crosses your mind, it is to muse for my
+benefit, or to extenuate my errors.
+
+‘Dear May, you, who know me better than the world, know well my heart is
+not a mass of ice; and you, who are ever so ready to find a good reason
+even for my most wilful conduct, and an excuse for my most irrational,
+will easily credit that, in interfering in an affair in which you
+are concerned, I am not influenced by an unworthy, an officious, or a
+meddling spirit. No, dear May! it is because I think it better for you
+that we should speak upon this subject that I have ventured to treat
+upon it. Perhaps I broke it in a crude, but, credit me, not in an
+unkind, spirit. I am well conscious I have a somewhat ungracious manner;
+but you, who have pardoned it so often, will excuse it now. To be brief,
+it is of your companion to that accursed fête that I would speak.’
+
+‘Mrs. Dallington?’
+
+‘Surely she. Avoid her, May. I do not like that woman. You know I seldom
+speak at hazard; if I do not speak more distinctly now, it is because I
+will never magnify suspicions into certainties, which we must do even if
+we mention them. But I suspect, greatly suspect. An open rupture would
+be disagreeable, would be unwarrantable, would be impolitic. The season
+draws to a close. Quit town somewhat earlier than usual, and, in the
+meantime, receive her, if necessary; but, if possible, never alone. You
+have many friends; and, if no other, Lady Caroline St. Maurice is worthy
+of your society.’
+
+He bent down his head and kissed her forehead: she pressed his faithful
+hand.
+
+‘And now, dear May, let me speak of a less important object, of myself.
+I find this borough a mere delusion. Every day new difficulties arise;
+and every day my chance seems weaker. I am wasting precious time for one
+who should be in action. I think, then, of returning to Vienna, and at
+once. I have some chance of being appointed Secretary of Embassy, and
+I then shall have achieved what was the great object of my life,
+independence.’
+
+‘This is always a sorrowful subject to me, Arundel. You have cherished
+such strange, do not be offended if I say such erroneous, ideas on the
+subject of what you call independence, that I feel that upon it we
+can consult neither with profit to you nor satisfaction to myself.
+Independence! Who is independent, if the heir of Dacre bow to anyone?
+Independence! Who can be independent, if the future head of one of
+the first families in this great country, will condescend to be the
+secretary even of a king?’
+
+‘We have often talked of this, May, and perhaps I have carried a morbid
+feeling to some excess; but my paternal blood flows in these veins, and
+it is too late to change. I know not how it is, but I seem misplaced in
+life. My existence is a long blunder.’
+
+‘Too late to change, dearest Arundel! Oh! thank you for those words. Can
+it, can it ever be too late to acknowledge error? Particularly if, by
+that very acknowledgment, we not only secure our own happiness, but that
+of those we love and those who love us?’
+
+‘Dear May! when I talk with you, I talk with my good genius; but I am
+in closer and more constant converse with another mind, and of that I am
+the slave. It is my own. I will not conceal from you, from whom I have
+concealed nothing, that doubts and dark misgivings of the truth and
+wisdom of my past feelings and my past career will ever and anon flit
+across my fancy, and obtrude themselves upon my consciousness. Your
+father--yes! I feel that I have not been to him what nature intended,
+and what he deserved.’
+
+‘O Arundel!’ she said, with streaming eyes, ‘he loves you like a son.
+Yet, yet be one!’
+
+He seated himself on the sofa by her side, and took her small hand and
+bathed it with his kisses.
+
+‘My sweet and faithful friend, my very sister! I am overpowered with
+feelings to which I have hitherto been a stranger. There is a cause for
+all this contest of my passions. It must out. My being has changed. The
+scales have fallen from my sealed eyes, and the fountain of my heart
+o’erflows. Life seems to have a new purpose, and existence a new cause.
+Listen to me, listen; and if you can, May, comfort me!’
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+     _Three Graces_
+
+AT TWICKENHAM the young Duke recovered rapidly. Not altogether
+displeased with his recent conduct, his self-complacency assisted his
+convalescence. Sir Lucius Grafton visited him daily. Regularly, about
+four or five o’clock, he galloped down to the Pavilion with the last _on
+dit_: some gay message from White’s, a _mot_ of Lord Squib, or a trait
+of Charles Annesley. But while he studied to amuse the wearisome hours
+of his imprisoned friend, in the midst of all his gaiety an interesting
+contrition was ever breaking forth, not so much by words as looks. It
+was evident that Sir Lucius, although he dissembled his affliction,
+was seriously affected by the consequence of his rash passion; and his
+amiable victim, whose magnanimous mind was incapable of harbouring an
+inimical feeling, and ever respondent to a soft and generous sentiment,
+felt actually more aggrieved for his unhappy friend than for himself.
+Of Arundel Dacre the Duke had not seen much. That gentleman never
+particularly sympathised with Sir Lucius Grafton, and now he scarcely
+endeavoured to conceal the little pleasure which he received from the
+Baronet’s society. Sir Lucius was the last man not to detect this mood;
+but, as he was confident that the Duke had not betrayed him, he could
+only suppose that Miss Dacre had confided the affair to her family, and
+therefore, under all circumstances, he thought it best to be unconscious
+of any alteration in Arundel Dacre’s intercourse with him. Civil,
+therefore, they were when they met; the Baronet was even courteous; but
+they both mutually avoided each other.
+
+At the end of three weeks the Duke of St. James returned to town in
+perfect condition, and received the congratulations of his friends.
+Mr. Dacre had been of the few who had been permitted to visit him at
+Twickenham. Nothing had then passed between them on the cause of his
+illness; but his Grace could not but observe that the manner of his
+valued friend was more than commonly cordial. And Miss Dacre, with
+her father, was among the first to hail his return to health and the
+metropolis.
+
+The Bird of Paradise, who, since the incident, had been several times in
+hysterics, and had written various notes, of three or four lines each,
+of enquiries and entreaties to join her noble friend, had been kept off
+from Twickenham by the masterly tactics of Lord Squib. She, however,
+would drive to the Duke’s house the day after his arrival in town, and
+was with him when sundry loud knocks, in quick succession, announced an
+approaching levée. He locked her up in his private room, and hastened
+to receive the compliments of his visitors. In the same apartment, among
+many others, he had the pleasure of meeting, for the first time, Lady
+Aphrodite Grafton, Lady Caroline St. Maurice, and Miss Dacre, all women
+whom he had either promised, intended, or offered to marry. A curious
+situation this! And really, when our hero looked upon them once
+more, and viewed them, in delightful rivalry, advancing with their
+congratulations, he was not surprised at the feelings with which they
+had inspired him. Far, far exceeding the _bonhomie_ of Macheath, the
+Duke could not resist remembering that, had it been his fortune to have
+lived in the land in which his historiographer will soon be wandering;
+in short, to have been a pacha instead of a peer, he might have married
+all three.
+
+A prettier fellow and three prettier women had never met since the
+immortal incident of Ida.
+
+It required the thorough breeding of Lady Afy to conceal the anxiety of
+her passion; Miss Dacre’s eyes showered triple sunshine, as she extended
+a hand not too often offered; but Lady Caroline was a cousin, and
+consanguinity, therefore, authorised as well as accounted for the warmth
+of her greeting.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+
+     _A Second Refusal_
+
+A VERY few days after his return the Duke of St. James dined with Mr.
+Dacre. It was the first time that he had dined with him during the
+season. The Fitz-pompeys were there; and, among others, his Grace had
+the pleasure of again meeting a few of his Yorkshire friends.
+
+Once more he found himself at the right hand of Miss Dacre. All
+his career, since his arrival in England, flitted across his mind.
+Doncaster, dear Don-caster, where he had first seen her, teemed only
+with delightful reminiscences to a man whose favourite had bolted. Such
+is the magic of love! Then came Castle Dacre and the orange terrace, and
+their airy romps, and the delightful party to Hauteville; and then Dacre
+Abbey. An involuntary shudder seemed to damp all the ardour of his soul;
+but when he turned and looked upon her beaming face, he could not feel
+miserable.
+
+He thought that he had never been at so agreeable a party in his life:
+yet it was chiefly composed of the very beings whom he daily execrated
+for their powers of boredom. And he himself was not very entertaining.
+He was certainly more silent than loquacious, and found himself often
+gazing with mute admiration on the little mouth, every word breathed
+forth from which seemed inspiration. Yet he was happy. Oh! what
+happiness is his who dotes upon a woman! Few could observe from his
+conduct what was passing in his mind; yet the quivering of his softened
+tones and the mild lustre of his mellowed gaze; his subdued and quiet
+manner; his un-perceived yet infinite attentions; his memory of little
+incidents that all but lovers would have forgotten; the total absence
+of all compliment, and gallantry, and repartee; all these, to a fine
+observer, might have been gentle indications of a strong passion; and
+to her to whom they were addressed sufficiently intimated that no change
+had taken place in his feelings since the warm hour in which he first
+whispered his o’erpowering love.
+
+The ladies retired, and the Duke of St. James fell into a reverie. A
+political discourse of elaborate genius now arose. Lord Fitz-pompey
+got parliamentary. Young Faulcon made his escape, having previously
+whispered to another youth, not unheard by the Duke of St. James, that
+his mother was about to depart, and he was convoy. His Grace, too,
+had heard Lady Fitz-pompey say that she was going early to the opera.
+Shortly afterwards parties evidently retired. But the debate still
+raged. Lord Fitz-pompey had caught a stout Yorkshire squire, and was
+delightedly astounding with official graces his stern opponent. A sudden
+thought occurred to the Duke; he stole out of the room, and gained the
+saloon.
+
+He found it almost empty. With sincere pleasure he bid Lady Balmont, who
+was on the point of departure, farewell, and promised to look in at her
+box. He seated himself by Lady Greville Nugent, and dexterously made her
+follow Lady Balmont’s example. She withdrew with the conviction that
+his Grace would not be a moment behind her. There were only old Mrs.
+Hungerford and her rich daughter remaining. They were in such raptures
+with Miss Dacre’s singing that his Grace was quite in despair; but
+chance favoured him. Even old Mrs. Hungerford this night broke through
+her rule of not going to more than one house, and she drove off to Lady
+de Courcy’s.
+
+They were alone. It is sometimes an awful thing to be alone with those
+we love.
+
+‘Sing that again!’ asked the Duke, imploringly. ‘It is my favourite air;
+it always reminds me of Dacre.’
+
+She sang, she ceased; she sang with beauty, and she ceased with grace;
+but all unnoticed by the tumultuous soul of her adoring guest. His
+thoughts were intent upon a greater object. The opportunity was sweet;
+and yet those boisterous wassailers, they might spoil all.
+
+‘Do you know that this is the first time that I have seen your rooms lit
+up?’ said the Duke.
+
+‘Is it possible! I hope they gain the approbation of so distinguished a
+judge.’
+
+‘I admire them exceedingly. By-the-bye, I see a new cabinet in the
+next room. Swaby told me, the other day, that you were one of his
+lady-patronesses. I wish you would show it me. I am very curious in
+cabinets.’
+
+She rose, and they advanced to the end of another and a longer room.
+
+‘This is a beautiful saloon,’ said the Duke. ‘How long is it?’
+
+‘I really do not know; but I think between forty and fifty feet.’
+
+‘Oh! you must be mistaken. Forty or fifty feet! I am an excellent
+judge of distances. I will try. Forty or fifty feet! Ah! the next room
+included. Let us walk to the end of the next room. Each of my paces
+shall be one foot and a half.’
+
+They had now arrived at the end of the third room.
+
+‘Let me see,’ resumed the Duke; ‘you have a small room to the right. Oh!
+did I not hear that you had made a conservatory? I see, I see it;
+lit up, too! Let us go in. I want to gain some hints about London
+conservatories.’
+
+It was not exactly a conservatory; but a balcony of large dimensions
+had been fitted up on each side with coloured glass, and was open to the
+gardens. It was a rich night of fragrant June. The moon and stars
+were as bright as if they had shone over the terrace of Dacre, and the
+perfume of the flowers reminded him of his favourite orange-trees. The
+mild, cool scene was such a contrast to the hot and noisy chamber they
+had recently quitted, that for a moment they were silent.
+
+‘You are not afraid of this delicious air?’ asked his Grace.
+
+‘Midsummer air,’ said Miss Dacre, ‘must surely be harmless.’
+
+Again there was silence; and Miss Dacre, after having plucked a flower
+and tended a plant, seemed to express an intention of withdrawing.
+Suddenly he spoke, and in a gushing voice of heartfelt words:
+
+‘Miss Dacre, you are too kind, too excellent to be offended, if I dare
+to ask whether anything could induce you to view with more indulgence
+one who sensibly feels how utterly he is unworthy of you.’
+
+‘You are the last person whose feelings I should wish to hurt. Let us
+not revive a conversation to which, I can assure you, neither of us
+looks back with satisfaction.’
+
+‘Is there, then, no hope? Must I ever live with the consciousness of
+being the object of your scorn?’
+
+‘Oh, no, no! As you will speak, let us understand each other. However I
+may approve of my decision, I have lived quite long enough to repent the
+manner in which it was conveyed. I cannot, without the most unfeigned
+regret, I cannot for a moment remember that I have addressed a
+bitter word to one to whom I am under the greatest obligations. If my
+apologies----’
+
+‘Pray, pray be silent!’
+
+‘I must speak. If my apologies, my complete, my most humble apologies,
+can be any compensation for treating with such lightness feelings which
+I now respect, and offers by which I now consider myself honoured,
+accept them!’
+
+‘O, Miss Dacre! that fatal word, respect!’
+
+‘We have warmer words in this house for you. You are now our friend.’
+
+‘I dare not urge a suit which may offend you; yet, if you could read my
+heart, I sometimes think that we might be happy. Let me hope!’
+
+‘My dear Duke of St. James, I am sure you will not ever offend me,
+because I am sure you will not ever wish to do it. There are few people
+in this world for whom I entertain a more sincere regard than yourself.
+I am convinced, I am conscious, that when we met I did sufficient
+justice neither to your virtues nor your talents. It is impossible for
+me to express with what satisfaction I now feel that you have resumed
+that place in the affections of this family to which you have an
+hereditary right. I am grateful, truly, sincerely grateful, for all
+that you feel with regard to me individually; and believe me, in again
+expressing my regret that it is not in my power to view you in any other
+light than as a valued friend, I feel that I am pursuing that conduct
+which will conduce as much to your happiness as my own.’
+
+‘My happiness, Miss Dacre!’
+
+‘Indeed, such is my opinion. I will not again endeavour to depreciate
+the feelings which you entertain for me, and by which, ever remember,
+I feel honoured; but these very feelings prevent you from viewing their
+object so dispassionately as I do.’
+
+‘I am at a loss for your meaning; at least, favour me by speaking
+explicitly: you see I respect your sentiments, and do not presume to
+urge that on which my very happiness depends.’
+
+‘To be brief, then, I will not affect to conceal that marriage is a
+state which has often been the object of my meditations. I think it the
+duty of all women that so important a change in their destiny should
+be well considered. If I know anything of myself, I am convinced that I
+should never survive an unhappy marriage.’
+
+‘But why dream of anything so utterly impossible?’
+
+‘So very probable, so very certain, you mean. Ay! I repeat my words, for
+they are truth. If I ever marry, it is to devote every feeling and every
+thought, each hour, each instant of existence, to a single being for
+whom I alone live. Such devotion I expect in return; without it I should
+die, or wish to die; but such devotion can never be returned by you.’
+
+‘You amaze me! I! who live only on your image.’
+
+‘Your education, the habits in which you are brought up, the maxims
+which have been instilled into you from your infancy, the system which
+each year of your life has more matured, the worldly levity with which
+everything connected with woman is viewed by you and your companions;
+whatever may be your natural dispositions, all this would prevent you,
+all this would render it a perfect impossibility, all this will ever
+make you utterly unconscious of the importance of the subject on which
+we are now conversing. Pardon me for saying it, you know not of what you
+speak. Yes! however sincere may be the expression of your feelings to me
+this moment, I shudder to think on whom your memory dwelt even this hour
+but yesterday. I never will peril my happiness on such a chance; but
+there are others who do not think as I do.’
+
+‘Miss Dacre! save me! If you knew all, you would not doubt. This moment
+is my destiny.’
+
+‘My dear Duke of St. James, save yourself. There is yet time. You have
+my prayers.’
+
+‘Let me then hope----’
+
+‘Indeed, indeed, it cannot be. Here our conversation on this subject
+ends for ever.’
+
+‘Yet we part friends!’ He spoke in a broken voice.
+
+‘The best and truest!’ She extended her arm; he pressed her hand to his
+impassioned lips, and quitted the house, mad with love and misery.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+     _Joys of the Alhambra_
+
+THE Duke threw himself into his carriage in that mood which fits us
+for desperate deeds. What he intended to do, indeed, was doubtful,
+but something very vigorous, very decided, perhaps very terrible. An
+indefinite great effort danced, in misty magnificence, before the vision
+of his mind. His whole being was to be changed, his life was to be
+revolutionised. Such an alteration was to take place that even she could
+not doubt the immense yet incredible result. Then despair whispered its
+cold-blooded taunts, and her last hopeless words echoed in his ear. But
+he was too agitated to be calmly miserable, and, in the poignancy of his
+feelings, he even meditated death. One thing, however, he could obtain;
+one instant relief was yet in his power, solitude. He panted for the
+loneliness of his own chamber, broken only by his agitated musings.
+
+The carriage stopped; the lights and noise called him to life. This,
+surely, could not be home? Whirled open the door, down dashed the steps,
+with all that prompt precision which denotes the practised hand of an
+aristocratic retainer. (284)
+
+‘What is all this, Symmons? Why did you not drive home?’
+
+‘Your Grace forgets that Mr. Annesley and some gentlemen sup with your
+Grace to-night at the Alhambra.’
+
+‘Impossible! Drive home.’
+
+‘Your Grace perhaps forgets that your Grace is expected?’ said the
+experienced servant, who knew when to urge a master, who, to-morrow,
+might blame him for permitting his caprice.
+
+‘What am I to do? Stay here. I will run upstairs, and put them off.’
+
+He ran up into the crush-room. The opera was just over, and some parties
+who were not staying the ballet, had already assembled there. As he
+passed along he was stopped by Lady Fitz-pompey, who would not let such
+a capital opportunity escape of exhibiting Caroline and the young Duke
+together.
+
+‘Mr. Bulkley,’ said her Ladyship, ‘there must be something wrong about
+the carriage.’ An experienced, middle-aged gentleman, who jobbed on in
+society by being always ready and knowing his cue, resigned the arm of
+Lady Caroline St. Maurice and disappeared.
+
+‘George,’ said Lady Fitz-pompey, ‘give your arm to Carry just for one
+moment.’
+
+If it had been anybody but his cousin, the Duke would easily have
+escaped; but Caroline he invariably treated with marked regard; perhaps
+because his conscience occasionally reproached him that he had not
+treated her with a stronger feeling. At this moment, too, she was
+the only being in the world, save one, whom he could remember with
+satisfaction: he felt that he loved her most affectionately, but somehow
+she did not inspire him with those peculiar feelings which thrilled his
+heart at the recollection of May Dacre.
+
+In this mood he offered an arm, which was accepted; but he could not in
+a moment assume the tone of mind befitting his situation and the scene.
+He was silent; for him a remarkable circumstance.
+
+‘Do not stay here,’ said Lady Caroline is a soft voice, which her mother
+could not overhear. ‘I know you want to be away. Steal off.’
+
+‘Where can I be better than with you, Carry?’ said the young Duke,
+determined not to leave her, and loving her still more for her modest
+kindness; and thereon he turned round, and, to show that he was sincere,
+began talking with his usual spirit. Mr. Bulkley of course never
+returned, and Lady Fitz-pompey felt as satisfied with her diplomatic
+talents as a plenipotentiary who has just arranged an advantageous
+treaty.
+
+Arundel Dacre came up and spoke to Lady Fitz-pompey. Never did two
+persons converse together who were more dissimilar in their manner and
+their feelings; and yet Arundel Dacre did contrive to talk; a result
+which he could not always accomplish, even with those who could
+sympathise with him. Lady Fitz-pompey listened to him with attention;
+for Arundel Dacre, in spite of his odd manner, or perhaps in some degree
+in consequence of it, had obtained a distinguished reputation both among
+men and women; and it was the great principle of Lady Fitz-pompey to
+attach to her the distinguished youth of both sexes. She was pleased
+with this public homage of Arundel Dacre; because he was one who, with
+the reputation of talents, family, and fashion, seldom spoke to anyone,
+and his attentions elevated their object. Thus she maintained her
+empire.
+
+St. Maurice now came up to excuse himself to the young Duke for not
+attending at the Alhambra to-night. ‘Sophy could not bear it,’ he
+whispered: ‘she had got her head full of the most ridiculous fancies,
+and it was in vain to speak: so he had promised to give up that, as well
+as Crockford’s.’
+
+This reminded our hero of his party, and the purpose of his entering the
+opera. He determined not to leave Caroline till her carriage was called;
+and he began to think that he really must go to the Alhambra, after all.
+He resolved to send them off at an early hour.
+
+‘Anything new to-night, Henry?’ asked his Grace, of Lord St. Maurice. ‘I
+have just come in.’
+
+‘Oh! then you have seen them?’
+
+‘Seen whom?’
+
+‘The most knowing _forestieri_ we ever had. We have been speaking of
+nothing else the whole evening. Has not Caroline told you? Arundel Dacre
+introduced me to them.’
+
+‘Who are they?’
+
+‘I forget their names. Dacre, how do you call the heroes of the night?
+Dacre never answers. Did you ever observe that? But, see! there they
+come.’
+
+The Duke turned, and observed Lord Darrell advancing with two gentlemen
+with whom his Grace was well acquainted. These were Prince Charles de
+Whiskerburg and Count Frill.
+
+M. de Whiskerburg was the eldest son of a prince, who, besides being
+the premier noble of the empire, possessed, in his own country, a very
+pretty park of two or three hundred miles in circumference, in the
+boundaries of which the imperial mandate was not current, but hid its
+diminished head before the supremacy of a subject worshipped under the
+title of John the Twenty-fourth. M. de Whiskerburg was a young man,
+tall, with a fine figure, and fine features. In short, a sort of
+Hungarian Apollo; only his beard, his mustachios, his whiskers,
+his _favoris_, his _padishas_, his sultanas, his mignonettas, his
+dulcibellas, did not certainly entitle him to the epithet of _imberbis_,
+and made him rather an apter representative of the Hungarian Hercules.
+
+Count Frill was a different sort of personage. He was all rings and
+ringlets, ruffles, and a little rouge. Much older than his companion,
+short in stature, plump in figure, but with a most defined waist, fair,
+blooming, with a multiplicity of long light curls, and a perpetual smile
+playing upon his round countenance, he looked like the Cupid of an opera
+Olympus.
+
+The Duke of St. James had been intimate with these distinguished
+gentlemen in their own country, and had received from them many and
+distinguished attentions. Often had he expressed to them his sincere
+desire to greet them in his native land. Their mutual anxiety of never
+again meeting was now removed. If his heart, instead of being bruised,
+had been absolutely broken, still honour, conscience, the glory of his
+house, his individual reputation, alike urged him not to be cold or
+backward at such a moment. He advanced, therefore, with a due mixture
+of grace and warmth, and congratulated them on their arrival. At this
+moment, Lady Fitz-pompey’s carriage was announced. Promising to return
+to them in an instant, he hastened to his cousin; but Mr. Arundel Dacre
+had already offered his arm, which, for Arundel Dacre, was really pretty
+well.
+
+The Duke was now glad that he had a small reunion this evening, as he
+could at once pay a courtesy to his foreign friends. He ran into the
+Signora’s dressing-room, to assure her of his presence. He stumbled
+upon Peacock Piggott as he came out, and summoned him to fill the vacant
+place of St. Maurice, and then sent him with a message to some friends
+who yet lingered in their box, and whose presence, he thought, might be
+an agreeable addition to the party.
+
+You entered the Alhambra by a Saracenic cloister, from the ceiling of
+which an occasional lamp threw a gleam upon some Eastern arms hung up
+against the wall. This passage led to the armoury, a room of moderate
+dimensions, but hung with rich contents. Many an inlaid breastplate,
+many a Mameluke scimitar and Damascus blade, many a gemmed pistol
+and pearl-embroidered saddle, might there be seen, though viewed in a
+subdued and quiet light. All seemed hushed, and still, and shrouded in
+what had the reputation of being a palace of pleasure.
+
+In this chamber assembled the expected guests. And having all arrived,
+they proceeded down a small gallery to the banqueting-room. The room
+was large and lofty. It was fitted up as an Eastern tent. The walls
+were hung with scarlet cloth, tied up with ropes of gold. Round the room
+crouched recumbent lions richly gilt, who grasped in their paws a lance,
+the top of which was a coloured lamp. The ceiling was emblazoned with
+the Hauteville arms, and was radiant with burnished gold. A cresset lamp
+was suspended from the centre of the shield, and not only emitted an
+equable flow of soft though brilliant light, but also, as the aromatic
+oil wasted away, distilled an exquisite perfume.
+
+The table blazed with golden plate, for the Bird of Paradise loved
+splendour. At the end of the room, under a canopy and upon a throne, the
+shield and vases lately executed for his Grace now appeared. Everything
+was gorgeous, costly, and imposing; but there was no pretence, save
+in the original outline, at maintaining the Oriental character. The
+furniture was French; and opposite the throne Canova’s Hebe, bounded
+with a golden cup from a pedestal of ormolu.
+
+The guests are seated; but after a few minutes the servants withdraw.
+Small tables of ebony and silver, and dumb waiters of ivory and gold,
+conveniently stored, are at hand, and Spiridion never leaves the room.
+The repast was refined, exquisite, various. It was one of those meetings
+where all eat. When a few persons, easy and unconstrained, unencumbered
+with cares, and of dispositions addicted to enjoyment, get together at
+past midnight, it is extraordinary what an appetite they evince. Singers
+also are proverbially prone to gourmandise; and though the Bird of
+Paradise unfortunately possessed the smallest mouth in all Singingland,
+it is astonishing how she pecked! But they talked as well as feasted,
+and were really gay.
+
+‘Prince,’ said the Duke, ‘I hope Madame de Harestein approves of your
+trip to England?’
+
+The Prince only smiled, for he was of a silent disposition, and
+therefore wonderfully well suited his travelling companion.
+
+‘Poor Madame de Harestein!’ exclaimed Count Frill. ‘What despair she was
+in, when you left Vienna, my dear Duke. I did what I could to amuse her.
+I used to take my guitar, and sing to her morning and night, but without
+effect. She certainly would have died of a broken heart, if it had not
+been for the dancing-dogs.’
+
+‘Did they bite her?’ asked a lady who affected the wit of Lord Squib,
+‘and so inoculate her with gaiety.’
+
+‘Everybody was mad about the dancing-dogs. They came from Peru, and
+danced the mazurka in green jackets with a _jabot_. Oh! what a _jabot!_’
+
+‘I dislike animals excessively,’ remarked another lady, who was as
+refined as Mr. Annesley, her model.
+
+‘Dislike the dancing-dogs!’ said Count Frill. ‘Ah! my good lady, you
+would have been enchanted. Even the Kaiser fed them with pistachio nuts.
+Oh! so pretty! Delicate leetle things, soft shining little legs, and
+pretty little faces! so sensible, and with such _jabots!_’
+
+‘I assure you they were excessively amusing,’ said the Prince, in a
+soft, confidential undertone to his neighbour, Mrs. Montfort, who was as
+dignified as she was beautiful, and who, admiring his silence, which she
+took for state, smiled and bowed with fascinating condescension.
+
+‘And what else has happened very remarkable, Count, since I left you?’
+asked Lord Darrell.
+
+‘Nothing, nothing, my dear Darrell. This _bêtise_ of a war has made
+us all serious. If old Clamstandt had not married that gipsy, little
+Dugiria, I really think I should have taken a turn to Belgrade.’
+
+‘You should not eat so much, Poppet!’ drawled Charles Annesley to
+a Spanish danseuse, tall, dusky and lithe, glancing like a lynx and
+graceful as a jennet. She was very silent, but no doubt indicated
+the possession of Cervantic humour by the sly calmness with which she
+exhausted her own waiter, and pillaged her neighbours.
+
+‘Why not?’ said a little French actress, highly finished like a
+miniature, who scarcely ate anything, but drank champagne and chatted
+with equal rapidity and composure, and who was always ready to fight
+anybody’s battle, provided she could get an opportunity to talk. ‘Why
+not, Mr. Annesley? You never will let anybody eat. I never eat myself,
+because every night, having to talk so much, I am dry, dry, dry; so
+I drink, drink, drink. It is an extraordinary thing that there is no
+language which makes you so thirsty as French.’
+
+‘What can be the reason?’ asked a sister of Mrs. Montfort, a tall fair
+girl, who looked sentimental, but was only silly.
+
+‘Because there is so much salt in it,’ said Lord Squib.
+
+‘Delia,’ drawled Mr. Annesley, ‘you look very pretty to-night!’
+
+‘I am charmed to charm you, Mr. Annesley. Shall I tell you what Lord Bon
+Mot said of you?’
+
+‘No, _ma mignonne!_ I never wish to hear my own good things.’
+
+‘Spoiled, you should add,’ said the fair rival of Lord Squib, ‘if Bon
+Mot be in the case.’
+
+‘Lord Bon Mot is a most gentlemanlike man,’ said Delia, indignant at
+an admirer being attacked. ‘He always wants to be amusing. Whenever he
+dines out, he comes and sits with me for half an hour to catch the air
+of the Parisian badinage.’
+
+‘And you tell him a variety of little things?’ asked Lord Squib,
+insidiously drawing out the secret tactics of Bon Mot.
+
+‘_Beaucoup, beaucoup_,’ said Delia, extending two little white hands
+sparkling with gems. ‘If he come in ever so, how do you call it? heavy,
+not that: in the domps. Ah! it is that. If ever he come in the domps, he
+goes out always like a _soufflée_.’
+
+‘As empty, I have no doubt,’ said the witty lady.
+
+‘And as sweet, I have no doubt,’ said Lord Squib; ‘for Delcroix
+complains sadly of your excesses, Delia.’
+
+‘Mr. Delcroix complain of me! That, indeed, is too bad. Just because I
+recommend Montmorency de Versailles to him for an excellent customer,
+ever since he abuses me, merely because Montmorency has forgot, in the
+hurry of going off, to pay his little account.’
+
+‘But he says you have got all the things,’ said Lord Squib, whose great
+amusement was to put Delia in a passion.
+
+‘What of that?’ screamed the little lady. ‘Montmorency gave them me.’
+
+‘Don’t make such a noise,’ said the Bird of Paradise. ‘I never can eat
+when there is a noise. Duke,’ continued she in a fretful tone, ‘they
+make such a noise!’
+
+‘Annesley, keep Squib quiet.’
+
+‘Delia, leave that young man alone. If Isidora would talk a little
+more, and you eat a little more, I think you would be the most agreeable
+little ladies I know. Poppet! put those bonbons in your pocket. You
+should never eat sugarplums in company.’
+
+Thus, talking agreeable nonsense, tasting agreeable dishes, and sipping
+agreeable wines, an hour ran on. Sweetest music from an unseen source
+ever and anon sounded, and Spiridion swung a censer full of perfumes
+round the chamber. At length the Duke requested Count Frill to give them
+a song. The Bird of Paradise would never sing for pleasure, only for
+fame and a slight cheque. The Count begged to decline, and at the same
+time asked for a guitar. The Signora sent for hers; and his Excellency,
+preluding with a beautiful simper, gave them some slight thing to this
+effect.
+
+     I.
+
+     Charming Bignetta! charming Bignetta!
+     What a gay little girl is charming Bignetta!
+     She dances, she prattles,
+     She rides and she rattles;
+     But she always is charming, that charming Bignetta!
+
+
+     II
+
+     Charming Bignetta! charming Bignetta!
+     What a wild little witch is charming Bignetta!
+     When she smiles, I’m all madness;
+     When she frowns, I’m all sadness;
+     But she always is smiling, that charming Bignetta!
+
+
+     III.
+
+     Charming Bignetta! charming Bignetta!
+     What a wicked young rogue is charming Bignetta!
+     She laughs at my shyness,
+     And flirts with his Highness;
+     Yet still she is charming, that charming Bignetta!
+
+
+     IV.
+
+     Charming Bignetta! charming Bignetta!
+     What a dear little girl is charming Bignetta!
+     ‘Think me only a sister,’
+     Said she trembling: I kissed her.
+     What a charming young sister is charming Bignetta!
+
+
+To choicer music chimed his gay guitar ‘In Este’s Halls,’ yet still his
+song served its purpose, for it raised a smile.
+
+‘I wrote that for Madame Sapiepha, at the Congress of Verona,’ said
+Count Frill. ‘It has been thought amusing.’
+
+‘Madame Sapiepha!’ exclaimed the Bird of Paradise. ‘What! that pretty
+little woman, who has such pretty caps?’
+
+‘The same! Ah! what caps! what taste!’
+
+‘You like caps, then?’ asked the Bird of Paradise, with a sparkling eye.
+
+‘Oh! if there be anything more than another that I know most, it is the
+cap. Here,’ said he, rather oddly unbuttoning his waistcoat, ‘you see
+what lace I have got.’
+
+‘Ah me! what lace!’ exclaimed the Bird, in rapture. ‘Duke, look at his
+lace. Come here, sit next to me. Let me look at that lace.’ She examined
+it with great attention, then turned up her beautiful eyes with a
+fascinating smile. ‘_Ah! c’est jolie, n’est-ce pas?_ But you like caps.
+I tell you what, you shall see my caps. Spiridion, go, _mon cher_, and
+tell Ma’amselle to bring my caps, all my caps, one of each set.’
+
+In due time entered the Swiss, with the caps, all the caps, one of each
+set. As she handed them in turn to her mistress, the Bird chirped a
+panegyric upon each.
+
+‘That is pretty, is it not, and this also? but this is my favourite.
+What do you think of this border? _c’est belle cette garniture? et
+ce jabot, c’est très-séduisant, n’est-ce pas? Mais voici_, the cap of
+Princess Lichtenstein. _C’est superb, c’est mon favori_. But I also love
+very much this of the Duchess de Berri. She gave me the pattern herself.
+And, after, all, this _cornette à petite santé_ of Lady Blaze is a dear
+little thing; then, again, this _coiffe à dentelle_ of Lady Macaroni is
+quite a pet.’
+
+‘Pass them down,’ said Lord Squib; ‘we want to look at them.’
+Accordingly they were passed down. Lord Squib put one on.
+
+‘Do I look superb, sentimental, or only pretty?’ asked his Lordship. The
+example was contagious, and most of the caps were appropriated. No one
+laughed more than their mistress, who, not having the slightest idea of
+the value of money, would have given them all away on the spot; not from
+any good-natured feeling, but from the remembrance that tomorrow she
+might amuse half an hour in buying others.
+
+Whilst some were stealing, and she remonstrating, the Duke clapped
+his hands like a caliph. The curtain at the end of the apartment was
+immediately withdrawn, and the ball-room stood revealed.
+
+It was the same size as the banqueting-hall. Its walls exhibited a long
+perspective of golden pilasters, the frequent piers of which were of
+looking-glass, save where, occasionally, a picture had been, as it were,
+inlaid in its rich frame. Here was the Titian Venus of the Tribune,
+deliciously copied by a French artist: there, the Roman Fornarina, with
+her delicate grace, beamed like the personification of Raf-faelle’s
+genius. Here, Zuleikha, living in the light and shade of that magician
+Guercino, in vain summoned the passions of the blooming Hebrew: and
+there, Cleopatra, preparing for her last immortal hour, proved by what
+we saw that Guido had been a lover.
+
+The ceiling of this apartment was richly painted, and richly gilt: from
+it were suspended three lustres by golden cords, which threw a softened
+light upon the floor of polished and curiously inlaid woods. At the end
+of the apartment was an orchestra.
+
+Round the room waltzed the elegant revellers. Softly and slowly, led by
+their host, they glided along like spirits of air; but each time that
+the Duke passed the musicians, the music became livelier, and the motion
+more brisk, till at length you might have mistaken them for a college of
+spinning dervishes. One by one, an exhausted couple retreated from the
+lists. Some threw themselves on a sofa, some monopolised an easy chair;
+but in twenty minutes the whirl had ceased. At length Peacock Piggott
+gave a groan, which denoted returning energy, and raised a stretching
+leg in air, bringing up, though most unwittingly, upon his foot, one of
+the Bird’s sublime and beautiful caps.
+
+‘Halloa! Piggott, armed _cap-au-pied_, I see,’ said Lord Squib. This
+joke was a signal for general resuscitation.
+
+The Alhambra formed a quadrangle: all the chambers were on the basement
+story. In the middle of the court of the quadrangle was a beautiful
+fountain; and the court was formed by a conservatory, which was built
+along each side of the interior square, and served, like a cloister
+or covered way, for a communication between the different parts of the
+building. To this conservatory they now repaired. It was broad, full
+of rare and delicious plants and flowers, and brilliantly illuminated.
+Busts and statues were intermingled with the fairy grove; and a rich,
+warm hue, by a skilful arrangement of coloured lights, was thrown over
+many a nymph and fair divinity, many a blooming hero and beardless god.
+Here they lounged in different parties, talking on such subjects as
+idlers ever fall upon; now and then plucking a flower, now and then
+listening to the fountain, now and then lingering over the distant
+music, and now and then strolling through a small apartment which opened
+to their walks, and which bore the title of the Temple of Gnidus. Here,
+Canova’s Venus breathed an atmosphere of perfume and of light; that
+wonderful statue, whose full-charged eye is not very classical, to be
+sure; but then, how true!
+
+While they were thus whiling away their time, Lord Squib proposed a
+visit to the theatre, which he had ordered to be lit up. To the theatre
+they repaired. They rambled over every part of the house, amused
+themselves with a visit to the gallery, and then collected behind the
+scenes. They were excessively amused with the properties; and Lord Squib
+proposed they should dress themselves. In a few minutes they were all
+in costume. A crowd of queens and chambermaids, Jews and chimney-sweeps,
+lawyers and Charleys, Spanish Dons, and Irish officers, rushed upon
+the stage. The little Spaniard was Almaviva, and fell into magnificent
+attitudes, with her sword and plume. Lord Squib was the old woman of
+Brentford, and very funny. Sir Lucius Grafton, Harlequin; and Darrell,
+Grimaldi. The Prince, and the Count without knowing it, figured as
+watchmen. Squib whispered Annesley, that Sir Lucius O’Trigger might
+appear in character, but was prudent enough to suppress the joke.
+
+The band was summoned, and they danced quadrilles with infinite spirit,
+and finished the night, at the suggestion of Lord Squib, by breakfasting
+on the stage. By the time this meal was despatched the purple light of
+morn had broken into the building, and the ladies proposed an immediate
+departure.
+
+
+
+
+BOOK IV.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+     _Pen Bronnock Palace_
+
+THE arrival of the two distinguished foreigners reanimated the dying
+season. All vied in testifying their consideration, and the Duke of St.
+James exceeded all. He took them to see the alterations at Hauteville
+House, which no one had yet witnessed; and he asked their opinion of his
+furniture, which no one had yet decided on. Two fêtes in the same week
+established, as well as maintained, his character as the Archduke of
+fashion. Remembering, however, the agreeable month which he had spent in
+the kingdom of John the Twenty-fourth, he was reminded, with annoyance,
+that his confusion at Hauteville prevented him from receiving his
+friends _en grand seigneur_ in his hereditary castle. Metropolitan
+magnificence, which, if the parvenu could not equal, he at least could
+imitate, seemed a poor return for the feudal splendour and impartial
+festivity of an Hungarian magnate. While he was brooding over these
+reminiscences, it suddenly occurred to him that he had never made a
+progress into his western territories. Pen Bronnock Palace was the boast
+of Cornwall, though its lord had never paid it a visit. The Duke of St.
+James sent for Sir Carte Blanche.
+
+Besides entertaining the foreign nobles, the young Duke could no longer
+keep off the constantly-recurring idea that something must be done to
+entertain himself. He shuddered to think where and what he should have
+been been, had not these gentlemen so providentially arrived. As for
+again repeating the farce of last year, he felt that it would no longer
+raise a smile. Yorkshire he shunned. Doncaster made him tremble. A
+week with the Duke of Burlington at Marringworth; a fortnight with the
+Fitz-pompeys at Malthorpe; a month with the Graftons at Cleve; and so
+on: he shuddered at the very idea. Who can see a pantomime more than
+once? Who could survive a pantomime the twentieth time? All the shifting
+scenes, and flitting splendour; all the motley crowds of sparkling
+characters; all the quick changes, and full variety, are, once,
+enchantment. But when the splendour is discovered to be monotony; the
+change, order, and the caprice a system; when the characters play ever
+the same part, and the variety never varies; how dull, how weary, how
+infinitely flat, is such a world to that man who requires from its
+converse, not occasional relaxation, but constant excitement!
+
+Pen Bronnock was a new object. At this moment in his life, novelty was
+indeed a treasure. If he could cater for a month, no expense should be
+grudged; as for the future, he thrust it from his mind. By taking up his
+residence, too, at Pen Bronnock, he escaped from all invitations;
+and so, in a word, the worthy Knight received orders to make all
+preparations at the palace for the reception of a large party in the
+course of three weeks.
+
+Sir Carte, as usual, did wonders. There was, fortunately for his
+employer, no time to build or paint, but some dingy rooms were hung with
+scarlet cloth; cart-loads of new furniture were sent down; the theatre
+was re-burnished; the stables put in order; and, what was of infinitely
+more importance in the estimation of all Englishmen, the neglected pile
+was ‘well aired.’
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+     _A Dandy From Vienna_
+
+WE ARE in the country, and such a country, that even in Italy we think
+of thee, native Hesperia! Here, myrtles grow, and fear no blasting
+north, or blighting east. Here, the south wind blows with that soft
+breath which brings the bloom to flesh. Here, the land breaks in gentle
+undulations; and here, blue waters kiss a verdant shore. Hail! to thy
+thousand bays, and deep-red earth, thy marble quarries, and thy silver
+veins! Hail! to thy far-extending landscape, whose sparkling villages
+and streaky fields no clime can match!
+
+Some gales we owe to thee of balmy breath, some gentle hours when life
+had fewest charms. And we are grateful for all this, to say nothing of
+your cider and your junkets.
+
+The Duke arrived just as the setting sun crowned the proud palace with
+his gleamy rays. It was a pile which the immortal Inigo had raised in
+sympathy with the taste of a noble employer, who had passed his
+earliest years in Lombardy. Of stone, and sometimes even of marble, with
+pediments and balustrades, and ornamental windows, and richly-chased
+keystones, and flights of steps, and here and there a statue, the
+structure was quite Palladian, though a little dingy, and, on the whole,
+very imposing.
+
+There were suites of rooms which had no end, and staircases which had no
+beginning. In this vast pile, nothing was more natural than to lose your
+way, an agreeable amusement on a rainy morning. There was a collection
+of pictures, very various, by which phrase we understand not select.
+Yet they were amusing; and the Canalettis were unrivalled. There was a
+regular ball-room, and a theatre; so resources were at hand. The scenes,
+though dusty, were numerous; and the Duke had provided new dresses. The
+park was not a park; by which we mean, that it was rather a chase than
+the highly-finished enclosure which we associate with the first title.
+In fact, Pen Bronnock Chase was the right name of the settlement; but
+some monarch travelling, having been seized with a spasm, recruited his
+strength under the roof of his loyal subject, then the chief seat of the
+House of Hauteville, and having in his urgency been obliged to hold a
+privy council there, the supreme title of palace was assumed by right.
+
+The domain was bounded on one side by the sea; and here a yacht and
+some slight craft rode at anchor in a small green bay, and offered an
+opportunity for the adventurous, and a refuge for the wearied. When you
+have been bored for an hour or two on earth, it sometimes is a change to
+be bored for an hour or two on water.
+
+The house was soon full, and soon gay. The guests, and the means
+of amusing them, were equally numerous. But this was no common
+_villeggiatura_, no visit to a family with their regular pursuits and
+matured avocations. The host was as much a guest as any other. The young
+Duke appointed Lord Squib master of the ceremonies, and gave orders
+for nothing but constant excitement. Constant excitement his Lordship
+managed to maintain, for he was experienced, clever, careless and gay,
+and, for once in his life, had the command of unbounded resources. He
+ordered, he invented, he prepared, and he expended. They acted, they
+danced, they sported, they sailed, they feasted, they masqueraded; and
+when they began to get a little wearied of themselves, and their own
+powers of diversion gradually vanished, then a public ball was given
+twice a week at the palace, and all the West of England invited. New
+faces brought new ideas; new figures brought new fancies. All were
+delighted with the young Duke, and flattery from novel quarters will for
+a moment whet even the appetite of the satiated. Simplicity, too, can
+interest. There were some Misses Gay-weather who got unearthed, who
+never had been in London, though nature had given them sparkling eyes
+and springing persons. This tyranny was too bad. Papa was quizzed, mamma
+flattered, and the daughters’ simplicity amused these young lordlings.
+Rebellion was whispered in the small ears of the Gay weathers. The
+little heads, too, of the Gay-weathers were turned. They were the
+constant butt, and the constant resource, of every lounging dandy.
+
+The Bird of Paradise also arranged her professional engagements so as
+to account with all possible propriety for her professional visit at Pen
+Bronnock. The musical meeting at Exeter over, she made her appearance,
+and some concerts were given, which electrified all Cornwall. Count
+Frill was very strong here; though, to be sure, he also danced, and
+acted, in all varieties. He was the soul, too, of a masqued ball; but
+when complimented on his accomplishments, and thanked for his exertions,
+he modestly depreciated his worth, and panegyrised the dancing-dogs.
+
+As for the Prince, on the whole, he maintained his silence; but it
+was at length discovered by the fair sex that he was not stupid, but
+sentimental. When this was made known he rather lost ground with the
+dark sex, who, before thinking him thick, had vowed that he was a
+devilish good fellow; but now, being really envious, had their tale
+and hint, their sneer and sly joke. M. de Whiskerburg had one active
+accomplishment; this was his dancing. His gallopade was declared to
+be divine: he absolutely sailed in air. His waltz, at his will, either
+melted his partner into a dream, or whirled her into a frenzy! Dangerous
+M. de Whiskerburg!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+     _‘A Little Rift.’_
+
+IT IS said that the conduct of refined society, in a literary point of
+view, is, on the whole, productive but of slight interest; that all we
+can aspire to is, to trace a brilliant picture of brilliant manners;
+and that when the dance and the festival have been duly inspired by the
+repartee and the sarcasm, and the gem, the robe, and the plume adroitly
+lighted up by the lamp and the lustre, our cunning is exhausted. And so
+your novelist generally twists this golden thread with some substantial
+silken cord, for use, and works up, with the light dance, and with the
+heavy dinner, some secret marriage, and some shrouded murder. And thus,
+by English plots and German mysteries, the page trots on, or jolts,
+till, in the end, Justice will have her way, and the three volumes are
+completed.
+
+A plan both good and antique, and also popular, but not our way. We
+prefer trusting to the slender incidents which spring from out our
+common intercourse. There is no doubt that that great pumice-stone,
+Society, smooths down the edges of your thoughts and manners. Bodies of
+men who pursue the same object must ever resemble each other: the life
+of the majority must ever be imitation. Thought is a labour to which few
+are competent; and truth requires for its development as much courage as
+acuteness. So conduct becomes conventional, and opinion is a legend; and
+thus all men act and think alike.
+
+But this is not peculiar to what is called fashionable life, it is
+peculiar to civilisation, which gives the passions less to work upon.
+Mankind are not more heartless because they are clothed in ermine; it is
+that their costume attracts us to their characters, and we stare because
+we find the prince or the peeress neither a conqueror nor a heroine. The
+great majority of human beings in a country like England glides through
+existence in perfect ignorance of their natures, so complicated and so
+controlling is the machinery of our social life! Few can break the bonds
+that tie them down, and struggle for self-knowledge; fewer, when
+the talisman is gained, can direct their illuminated energies to the
+purposes with which they sympathise.
+
+A mode of life which encloses in its circle all the dark and deep
+results of unbounded indulgence, however it may appear to some who
+glance over the sparkling surface, does not exactly seem to us one
+either insipid or uninteresting to the moral speculator; and, indeed, we
+have long been induced to suspect that the seeds of true sublimity lurk
+in a life which, like this book, is half fashion and half passion.
+
+We know not how it was, but about this time an unaccountable, almost
+an imperceptible, coolness seemed to spring up between our hero and the
+Lady Aphrodite. If we were to puzzle our brains for ever, we could not
+give you the reason. Nothing happened, nothing had been said or done,
+which could indicate its origin. Perhaps this _was_ the origin; perhaps
+the Duke’s conduct had become, though unexceptionable, too negative.
+But here we only throw up a straw. Perhaps, if we must go on suggesting,
+anxiety ends in callousness.
+
+His Grace had thought so much of her feelings, that he had quite
+forgotten his own, or worn them out. Her Ladyship, too, was perhaps
+a little disappointed at the unexpected reconciliation. When we have
+screwed our courage up to the sticking point, we like not to be baulked.
+Both, too, perhaps--we go on _perhapsing_--both, too, we repeat,
+perhaps, could not help mutually viewing each other as the cause of much
+mutual care and mutual anxiousness. Both, too, perhaps, were a little
+tired, but without knowing it. The most curious thing, and which would
+have augured worst to a calm judge, was, that they silently seemed
+to agree not to understand that any alteration had really taken place
+between them, which, we think, was a bad sign: because a lover’s
+quarrel, we all know, like a storm in summer, portends a renewal of warm
+weather or ardent feelings; and a lady is never so well seated in her
+admirer’s heart as when those betters are interchanged which express so
+much, and those explanations entered upon which explain so little.
+
+And here we would dilate on greater things than some imagine; but,
+unfortunately, we are engaged. For Newmarket calls Sir Lucius and his
+friends. We will not join them, having lost enough. His Grace half
+promised to be one of the party; but when the day came, just remembered
+the Shropshires were expected, and so was very sorry, and the rest. Lady
+Aphrodite and himself parted with warmth which remarkably contrasted
+with their late intercourse, and which neither of them could decide
+whether it were reviving affection or factitious effort. M. de
+Whiskerburg and Count Frill departed with Sir Lucius, being extremely
+desirous to be initiated in the mysteries of the turf, and, above all,
+to see a real English jockey.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+     _Satiety._
+
+THE newspapers continued to announce the departures of new visitors to
+the Duke of St. James, and to dilate upon the protracted and princely
+festivity of Pen Bron-nock. But while thousands were envying his lot,
+and hundreds aspiring to share it, what indeed was the condition of our
+hero?
+
+A month or two had rolled on and if he had not absolutely tasted
+enjoyment, at least he had thrown off reflection; but as the autumn wore
+away, and as each day he derived less diversion or distraction from the
+repetition of the same routine, carried on by different actors, he
+could no longer control feelings which would be predominant, and those
+feelings were not such as perhaps might have been expected from one who
+was receiving the homage of an admiring world. In a word, the Duke of
+St. James was the most miserable wretch that ever lived.
+
+‘Where is this to end?’ he asked himself. ‘Is this year to close, to
+bring only a repetition of the past? Well, I have had it all, and what
+is it? My restless feelings are at last laid, my indefinite appetites
+are at length exhausted. I have known this mighty world, and where am
+I? Once, all prospects, all reflections merged in the agitating, the
+tremulous and panting lust with which I sighed for it. Have I been
+deceived? Have I been disappointed? Is it different from what I
+expected? Has it fallen short of my fancy? Has the dexterity of my
+musings deserted me? Have I under-acted the hero of my reveries? Have
+I, in short, mismanaged my début? Have I blundered? No, no, no! Far, far
+has it gone beyond even my imagination, and _my_ life has, if no other,
+realised its ideas!
+
+‘Who laughs at me? Who does not burn incense before my shrine? What
+appetite have I not gratified? What gratification has proved bitter? My
+vanity! Has it been, for an instant, mortified? Am I not acknowledged
+the most brilliant hero of the most brilliant society in Europe? Intense
+as is my self-love, has it not been gorged? Luxury and splendour were my
+youthful dreams, and have I not realised the very romance of indulgence
+and magnificence? My career has been one long triumph. My palaces, and
+my gardens, and my jewels, my dress, my furniture, my equipages, my
+horses, and my festivals, these used to occupy my meditations, when I
+could only meditate; and have my determinations proved a delusion? Ask
+the admiring world.
+
+‘And now for the great point to which all this was to tend, which all
+this was to fascinate and subdue, to adorn, to embellish, to delight,
+to honour. Woman! Oh! when I first dared, among the fields of Eton,
+to dwell upon the soft yet agitating fancy, that some day my existence
+might perhaps be rendered more intense, by the admiration of these
+maddening but then mysterious creatures; could, could I have dreamt of
+what has happened? Is not this the very point in which my career has
+most out-topped my lofty hopes?
+
+‘I have read, and sometimes heard, of _satiety_. It must then be satiety
+that I feel; for I do feel more like a doomed man, than a young noble
+full of blood and youth. And yet, satiety; it is a word. What then? A
+word is breath, and am I wiser? Satiety! Satiety! Satiety! Oh! give me
+happiness! Oh! give me love!
+
+‘Ay! there it is, I feel it now. Too well I feel that happiness must
+spring from purer fountains than self-love. We are not born merely for
+ourselves, and they who, full of pride, make the trial, as I have done,
+and think that the world is made for them, and not for mankind, must
+come to as bitter results, perhaps as bitter a fate; for, by Heavens! I
+am half tempted at this moment to fling myself from off this cliff, and
+so end all.
+
+‘Why should I live? For virtue, and for duty; to compensate for all
+my folly, and to achieve some slight good end with my abused and
+unparalleled means. Ay! it is all vastly rational, and vastly sublime,
+but it is too late. I feel the exertion above me. I am a lost man.
+
+‘We cannot work without a purpose and an aim. I had mine, although it
+was a false one, and I succeeded. Had I one now I might succeed again,
+but my heart is a dull void. And Caroline, that gentle girl, will not
+give me what I want; and to offer her but half a heart may break hers,
+and I would not bruise that delicate bosom to save my dukedom. Those
+sad, silly parents of hers have already done mischief enough; but I will
+see Darrell, and will at least arrange that. I like him, and will make
+him my friend for her sake. God! God! why am I not loved! A word from
+her, and all would change. I feel a something in me which could put all
+right. I have the will, and she could give the power.
+
+‘Now see what a farce life is! I shall go on, Heaven knows how! I cannot
+live long. Men like me soon bloom and fade. What I may come to, I dread
+to think. There is a dangerous facility in my temper; I know it well,
+for I know more of myself than people think; there is a dangerous
+facility which, with May Dacre, might be the best guaranty of virtue;
+but with all others, for all others are at the best weak things, will as
+certainly render me despicable, perhaps degraded. I hear the busy devil
+whispering even now. It is my demon. Now, I say, see what a farce life
+is! I shall die like a dog, as I have lived like a fool; and then my
+epitaph will be in everybody’s mouth. Here are the consequences of
+self-indulgence: here is a fellow, forsooth, who thought only of the
+gratification of his vile appetites; and by the living Heaven, am I not
+standing here among my hereditary rocks, and sighing to the ocean, to be
+virtuous!
+
+‘She knew me well, she read me in a minute, and spoke more truth at that
+last meeting than is in a thousand sermons. It is out of our power to
+redeem ourselves. Our whole existence is a false, foul state, totally
+inimical to love and purity, and domestic gentleness, and calm delight.
+Yet are we envied! Oh! could these fools see us at any other time except
+surrounded by our glitter, and hear of us at any other moment save in
+the first bloom of youth, which is, even then, often wasted; could they
+but mark our manhood, and view our hollow marriages, and disappointed
+passions; could they but see the traitors that we have for sons, the
+daughters that own no duty; could they but watch us even to our grave,
+tottering after some fresh bauble, some vain delusion, which, to the
+last, we hope may prove a substitute for what we have never found
+through life, a contented mind, they would do something else but envy
+us.
+
+‘But I stand prating when I am wanted. I must home. Home! O sacred word!
+and then comes night! Horrible night! Horrible day! It seems to me I am
+upon the eve of some monstrous folly, too ridiculous to be a crime, and
+yet as fatal. I have half a mind to go and marry the Bird of Paradise,
+out of pure pique with myself, and with the world.’
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+     _A Startling Letter_
+
+SOUTHEY, that virtuous man, whom Wisdom calls her own, somewhere thanks
+God that he was not born to a great estate. We quite agree with the
+seer of Keswick; it is a bore. Provided a man can enjoy every personal
+luxury, what profits it that your flag waves on castles you never visit,
+and that you count rents which you never receive? And yet there are some
+things which your miserable, moderate incomes cannot command, and which
+one might like to have; for instance, a band.
+
+A complete, a consummate band, in uniforms of uncut white velvet, with
+a highly-wrought gold button, just tipped with a single pink topaz,
+appears to me [Greek phrase]. When we die, ‘Band’ will be found
+impressed upon our heart, like ‘Frigate’ on the core of Nelson. The
+negroes should have their noses bored, as well as their ears, and hung
+with rings of rubies. The kettle-drums should be of silver. And with
+regard to a great estate, no doubt it brings great cares; or, to get
+free of them, the estate must be neglected, and then it is even worse.
+
+Elections come on, and all your members are thrown out; so much for
+neglected influence. Agricultural distress prevails, and all your
+farms are thrown up; so much for neglected tenants. Harassed by leases,
+renewals, railroads, fines, and mines, you are determined that life
+shall not be worn out by these continual and petty cares. Thinking it
+somewhat hard, that, because you have two hundred thousand a-year, you
+have neither ease nor enjoyment, you find a remarkably clever man, who
+manages everything for you. Enchanted with his energy, his acuteness,
+and his foresight, fascinated by your increasing rent-roll, and the
+total disappearance of arrears, you dub him your right hand, introduce
+him to all your friends, and put him into Parliament; and then, fired
+by the ambition of rivalling his patron, he disburses, embezzles, and
+decamps.
+
+But where is our hero? Is he forgotten? Never! But in the dumps, blue
+devils, and so on. A little bilious, it may be, and dull. He scarcely
+would amuse you at this moment. So we come forward with a graceful bow;
+the Jack Pudding of our doctor, who is behind.
+
+In short, that is to say, in long--for what is true use of this affected
+brevity? When this tale is done, what have you got? So let us make it
+last. We quite repent of having intimated so much: in future, it is our
+intention to develop more, and to describe, and to delineate, and to
+define, and, in short, to bore. You know the model of this kind of
+writing, Richardson, whom we shall revive. In future, we shall, as a
+novelist, take Clarendon’s Rebellion for our guide, and write our hero’s
+notes, or heroine’s letters, like a state paper, or a broken treaty.
+
+The Duke, and the young Duke--oh! to be a Duke, and to be young, it is
+too much--was seldom seen by the gay crowd who feasted in his hall. His
+mornings now were lonely, and if, at night, his eye still sparkled, and
+his step still sprang, why, between us, wine gave him beauty, and wine
+gave him grace.
+
+It was the dreary end of dull November, and the last company were
+breaking off. The Bird of Paradise, according to her desire, had gone
+to Brighton, where his Grace had presented her with a tenement, neat,
+light, and finished; and though situated amid the wilds of Kemp Town,
+not more than one hyæna on a night ventured to come down from the
+adjacent heights. He had half promised to join her, because he thought
+he might as well be there as here, and consequently he had not invited
+a fresh supply of visitors from town, or rather from the country. As he
+was hesitating about what he should do, he received a letter from his
+bankers, which made him stare. He sent for the groom of the chambers,
+and was informed the house was clear, save that some single men still
+lingered, as is their wont. They never take a hint. His Grace ordered
+his carriage; and, more alive than he had been for the last two months,
+dashed off to town.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+     _The Cost of Pleasure_
+
+THE letter from his bankers informed the Duke of St. James that not only
+was the half-million exhausted, but, in pursuance of their powers, they
+had sold out all his stock, and, in reliance on his credit, had advanced
+even beyond it. They were ready to accommodate him in every possible
+way, and to advance as much more as he could desire, at five per cent.!
+Sweet five per cent.! Oh! magical five per cent.! Lucky the rogue now
+who gets three. Nevertheless, they thought it but proper to call his
+Grace’s attention to the circumstance, and to put him in possession of
+the facts. Something unpleasant is coming when men are anxious to tell
+the truth.
+
+The Duke of St. James had never affected to be a man of business; still,
+he had taken it for granted that pecuniary embarrassment was not ever
+to be counted among his annoyances. He wanted something to do, and
+determined to look into his affairs, merely to amuse himself.
+
+The bankers were most polite. They brought their books, also several
+packets of papers neatly tied up, and were ready to give every
+information. The Duke asked for results. He found that the turf,
+the Alhambra, the expenses of his outfit in purchasing the lease and
+furniture of his mansion, and the rest, had, with his expenditure,
+exhausted his first year’s income; but he reconciled himself to this,
+because he chose to consider them extraordinary expenses. Then the
+festivities of Pen Bronnock counterbalanced the economy of his more
+scrambling life the preceding year; yet he had not exceeded his income
+much. Then he came to Sir Carte’s account. He began to get a little
+frightened. Two hundred and fifty thousand had been swallowed by
+Hauteville Castle: one hundred and twenty thousand by Hauteville House.
+Ninety-six thousand had been paid for furniture. There were also some
+awkward miscellanies which, in addition, exceeded the half-million.
+
+This was smashing work; but castles and palaces, particularly of the
+correctest style of architecture, are not to be had for nothing. The
+Duke had always devoted the half-million to this object; but he had
+intended that sum to be sufficient. What puzzled and what annoyed him
+was a queer suspicion that his resources had been exhausted without
+his result being obtained. He sent for Sir Carte, who gave every
+information, and assured him that, had he had the least idea that a
+limit was an object, he would have made his arrangements accordingly. As
+it was, he assured the young Duke that he would be the Lord of the most
+sumptuous and accurate castle, and of the most gorgeous and tasteful
+palace, in Europe. He was proceeding with a cloud of words, when his
+employer cut him short by a peremptory demand of the exact sum requisite
+for the completion of his plans. Sir Carte was confused, and requested
+time. The estimates should be sent in as quickly as possible. The clerks
+should sit up all night, and even his own rest should not be an object,
+any more than the Duke’s purse. So they parted.
+
+The Duke determined to run down to Brighton for change of scene.
+He promised his bankers to examine everything on his return; in the
+meantime, they were to make all necessary advances, and honour his
+drafts to any amount.
+
+He found the city of chalk and shingles not quite so agreeable as last
+year. He discovered that it had no trees. There was there, also, just
+everybody that he did not wish to see. It was one great St. James’
+Street, and seemed only an anticipation of that very season which he
+dreaded. He was half inclined to go somewhere else, but could not fix
+upon any spot. London might be agreeable, as it was empty; but then
+those confounded accounts awaited him. The Bird of Paradise was a sad
+bore. He really began to suspect that she was little better than an
+idiot: then, she ate so much, and he hated your eating women. He gladly
+shuffled her off on that fool Count Frill, who daily brought his guitar
+to Kemp Town. They just suited each other. What a madman he had been, to
+have embarrassed himself with this creature! It would cost him a pretty
+ransom now before he could obtain his freedom. How we change! Already
+the Duke of St. James began to think of pounds, shillings, and pence. A
+year ago, so long as he could extricate himself from a scrape by force
+of cash, he thought himself a lucky fellow.
+
+The Graftons had not arrived, but were daily expected. He really could
+not stand them. As for Lady Afy, he execrated the greenhornism which had
+made him feign a passion, and then get caught where he meant to capture.
+As for Sir Lucius, he wished to Heaven he would just take it into
+his head to repay him the fifteen thousand he had lent him at that
+confounded election, to say nothing of anything else.
+
+Then there was Burlington, with his old loves and his new dances. He
+wondered how the deuce that fellow could be amused with such frivolity,
+and always look so serene and calm. Then there was Squib: that man never
+knew when to leave off joking; and Annesley, with his false refinement;
+and Darrell, with his petty ambition. He felt quite sick, and took a
+solitary ride: but he flew from Scylla to Charybdis. Mrs. Montfort could
+not forget their many delightful canters last season to Rottingdean,
+and, lo! she was at his side. He wished her down the cliff.
+
+In this fit of the spleen he went to the theatre: there were eleven
+people in the boxes. He listened to the ‘School for Scandal.’ Never
+was slander more harmless. He sat it all out, and was sorry when it was
+over, but was consoled by the devils of ‘Der Freischutz.’ How sincerely,
+how ardently did he long to sell himself to the demon! It was eleven
+o’clock, and he dreaded the play to be over as if he were a child. What
+to do with himself, or where to go, he was equally at a loss. The
+door of the box opened, and entered Lord Bagshot. If it must be an
+acquaintance, this cub was better than any of his refined and lately
+cherished companions.
+
+‘Well, Bag, what are you doing with yourself?’
+
+‘Oh! I don’t know; just looking in for a lark. Any game?’
+
+‘On my honour, I can’t say.’
+
+‘What’s that girl? Oh! I see; that’s little Wilkins. There’s Moll Otway.
+Nothing new. I shall go and rattle the bones a little; eh! my boy?’
+
+‘Rattle the bones? what is that?’
+
+‘Don’t you know?’ and here this promising young peer manually explained
+his meaning.
+
+‘What do you play at?’ asked the Duke.
+
+‘Hazard, for my money; but what you like.’
+
+‘Where?’
+
+‘We meet at De Berghem’s. There is a jolly set of us. All crack men.
+When my governor is here, I never go. He is so jealous. I suppose there
+must be only one gamester in the family; eh! my covey?’ Lord Bagshot,
+excited by the unusual affability of the young Duke, grew quite
+familiar.
+
+‘I have half a mind to look in with you,’ said his Grace with a careless
+air.
+
+‘Oh! come along, by all means. They’ll be devilish glad to see you. De
+Berghem was saying the other day what a nice fellow you were, and how he
+should like to know you. You don’t know De Berghem, do you?’
+
+‘I have seen him. I know enough of him.’
+
+They quitted the theatre together, and under the guidance of Lord
+Bagshot, stopped at a door in Brunswick Terrace. There they found
+collected a numerous party, but all persons of consideration. The Baron,
+who had once been a member of the diplomatic corps, and now lived in
+England, by choice, on his pension and private fortune, received them
+with marked courtesy. Proud of his companion, Lord Bagshot’s hoarse,
+coarse, idiot voice seemed ever braying. His frequent introductions
+of the Duke of St. James were excruciating, and it required all the
+freezing of a finished manner to pass through this fiery ordeal. His
+Grace was acquainted with most of the guests by sight, and to some he
+even bowed. They were chiefly men of a certain age, with the exception
+of two or three young peers like himself.
+
+There was the Earl of Castlefort, plump and luxurious, with a youthful
+wig, who, though a sexagenarian, liked no companion better than a minor.
+His Lordship was the most amiable man in the world, and the most lucky;
+but the first was his merit, and the second was not his fault. There was
+the juvenile Lord Dice, who boasted of having done his brothers out of
+their miserable 5,000L. patrimony, and all in one night. But the wrinkle
+that had already ruffled his once clear brow, his sunken eye, and his
+convulsive lip, had been thrown, we suppose, into the bargain, and, in
+our opinion, made it a dear one. There was Temple Grace, who had run
+through four fortunes, and ruined four sisters. Withered, though only
+thirty, one thing alone remained to be lost, what he called his honour,
+which was already on the scent to play booty. There was Cogit, who, when
+he was drunk, swore that he had had a father; but this was deemed the
+only exception to _in vino Veritas_. Who he was, the Goddess of Chance
+alone could decide; and we have often thought that he might bear the
+same relation to her as Æneas to the Goddess of Beauty. His age was as
+great a mystery as anything else. He dressed still like a boy, yet some
+vowed he was eighty. He must have been Salathiel. Property he never had,
+and yet he contrived to live; connection he was not born with, yet he
+was upheld by a set. He never played, yet he was the most skilful dealer
+going. He did the honours of a _rouge et noir_ table to a miracle; and
+looking, as he thought, most genteel in a crimson waistcoat and a
+gold chain, raked up the spoils, or complacently announced après. Lord
+Castlefort had few secrets from him: he was the jackal to these prowling
+beasts of prey; looked out for pigeons, got up little parties to
+Richmond or Brighton, sang a song when the rest were too anxious to make
+a noise, and yet desired a little life, and perhaps could cog a die,
+arrange a looking-glass, or mix a tumbler.
+
+Unless the loss of an occasional napoleon at a German watering-place
+is to be so stigmatised, gaming had never formed one of the numerous
+follies of the Duke of St. James. Rich, and gifted with a generous,
+sanguine, and luxurious disposition, he had never been tempted by
+the desire of gain, or as some may perhaps maintain, by the desire of
+excitement, to seek assistance or enjoyment in a mode of life which
+stultifies all our fine fancies, deadens all our noble emotions, and
+mortifies all our beautiful aspirations.
+
+We know that we are broaching a doctrine which many will start at, and
+which some will protest against, when we declare our belief that no
+person, whatever his apparent wealth, ever yet gamed except from the
+prospect of immediate gain. We hear much of want of excitement, of
+ennui, of satiety; and then the gaming-table is announced as a sort
+of substitute for opium, wine, or any other mode of obtaining a more
+intense vitality at the cost of reason. Gaming is too active, too
+anxious, too complicated, too troublesome; in a word, _too sensible_ an
+affair for such spirits, who fly only to a sort of dreamy and indefinite
+distraction.
+
+The fact is, gaming is a matter of business. Its object is tangible,
+clear, and evident. There is nothing high, or inflammatory, or exciting;
+no false magnificence, no visionary elevation, in the affair at all. It
+is the very antipodes to enthusiasm of any kind. It pre-supposes in its
+votary a mind essentially mercantile. All the feelings that are in its
+train are the most mean, the most commonplace, and the most annoying
+of daily life, and nothing would tempt the gamester to experience them
+except the great object which, as a matter of calculation, he is willing
+to aim at on such terms. No man flies to the gaming-table in a paroxysm.
+The first visit requires the courage of a forlorn hope. The first stake
+will make the lightest mind anxious, the firmest hand tremble, and the
+stoutest heart falter. After the first stake, it is all a matter of
+calculation and management, even in games of chance. Night after night
+will men play at _rouge et noir_, upon what they call a system, and for
+hours their attention never ceases, any more than it would if they were
+in the shop or oh the wharf. No manual labour is more fatiguing, and
+more degrading to the labourer, than gaming. Every gamester feels
+ashamed. And this vice, this worst vice, from whose embrace, moralists
+daily inform us, man can never escape, is just the one from which
+the majority of men most completely, and most often, free themselves.
+Infinite is the number of men who have lost thousands in their youth,
+and never dream of chance again. It is this pursuit which, oftener
+than any other, leads man to self-knowledge. Appalled by the absolute
+destruction on the verge of which he finds his early youth just
+stepping; aghast at the shadowy crimes which, under the influence of
+this life, seem, as it were, to rise upon his soul; often he hurries to
+emancipate himself from this fatal thraldom, and with a ruined fortune,
+and marred prospects, yet thanks his Creator that his soul is still
+white, his conscience clear, and that, once more, he breathes the sweet
+air of heaven.
+
+And our young Duke, we must confess, gamed, as all other men have
+gamed, for money. His satiety had fled the moment that his affairs were
+embarrassed. The thought suddenly came into his head while Bag-shot was
+speaking. He determined to make an effort to recover; and so completely
+was it a matter of business with him, that he reasoned that, in the
+present state of his affairs, a few thousands more would not signify;
+that these few thousands might lead to vast results, and that, if they
+did, he would bid adieu to the gaming-table with the same coolness with
+which he had saluted it.
+
+Yet he felt a little odd when he first ‘rattled the bones;’ and his
+affected nonchalance made him constrained. He fancied every one was
+watching him; while, on the contrary, all were too much interested in
+their own different parties. This feeling, however, wore off.
+
+According to every novelist, and the moralists ‘our betters,’ the Duke
+of St. James should have been fortunate at least to-night. You always
+win at first, you know. If so, we advise said children of fancy and of
+fact to pocket their gains, and not play again. The young Duke had not
+the opportunity of thus acting. He lost fifteen hundred pounds, and at
+half-past five he quitted the Baron’s.
+
+Hot, bilious, with a confounded twang in his mouth, and a cracking pain
+in his head, he stood one moment and sniffed in the salt sea breeze.
+The moon was unfortunately on the waters, and her cool, beneficent light
+reminded him, with disgust, of the hot, burning glare of the Baron’s
+saloon. He thought of May Dacre, but clenched his fist, and drove her
+image from his mind.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+     _Dangerous Friends_
+
+HE ROSE late, and as he was lounging over his breakfast, entered Lord
+Bagshot and the Baron. Already the young Duke began to experience one
+of the gamester’s curses, the intrusive society of those of whom you
+are ashamed. Eight-and-forty hours ago, Lord Bagshot would no more have
+dared to call on the Duke of St. James than to call at the Pavilion; and
+now, with that reckless want of tact which marks the innately vulgar,
+he seemed to triumph in their unhallowed intimacy, and lounging into
+his Grace’s apartment with that half-shuffling, hair-swaggering air
+indicative of the ‘cove,’ hat cocked, and thumbs in his great-coat
+pockets, cast his complacent eye around, and praised his Grace’s
+‘rooms.’ Lord Bagshot, who for the occasional notice of the Duke of St.
+James had been so long a ready and patient butt, now appeared to assume
+a higher character, and addressed his friend in a tone and manner which
+were authorised by the equality of their rank and the sympathy of their
+tastes. If this change had taken place in the conduct of the Viscount,
+it was not a singular one. The Duke also, to his surprise, found himself
+addressing his former butt in a very different style from that which he
+had assumed in the ballroom of Doncaster. In vain he tried to rally, in
+vain he tried to snub. It was indeed in vain. He no longer possessed any
+right to express his contempt of his companion. That contempt, indeed,
+he still felt. He despised Lord Bagshot still, but he also despised
+himself.
+
+The soft and silky Baron was a different sort of personage; but
+there was something sinister in all his elaborate courtesy and highly
+artificial manner, which did not touch the feelings of the Duke, whose
+courtesy was but the expression of his noble feelings, and whose grace
+was only the impulse of his rich and costly blood. Baron de Berghem was
+too attentive, and too deferential. He smiled and bowed too much.
+He made no allusion to the last night’s scene, nor did his tutored
+companion, but spoke of different and lighter subjects, in a manner
+which at once proved his experience of society, the liveliness of his
+talents, and the cultivation of his taste. He told many stories, all
+short and poignant, and always about princes and princesses. Whatever
+was broached, he always had his _apropos_ of Vienna, and altogether
+seemed an experienced, mild, tolerant man of the world, not bigoted to
+any particular opinions upon any subject, but of a truly liberal and
+philosophic mind.
+
+When they had sat chatting for half-an-hour, the Baron developed the
+object of his visit, which was to endeavour to obtain the pleasure of
+his Grace’s company at dinner, to taste some wild boar and try some
+tokay. The Duke, who longed again for action, accepted the invitation;
+and then they parted.
+
+Our hero was quite surprised at the feverish anxiety with which he
+awaited the hour of union. He thought that seven o’clock would never
+come. He had no appetite at breakfast, and after that he rode, but
+luncheon was a blank. In the midst of the operation, he found himself
+in a brown study, calculating chances. All day long his imagination had
+been playing hazard, or _rouge et noir_. Once he thought that he had
+discovered an infallible way of winning at the latter. On the long run,
+he was convinced it must answer, and he panted to prove it.
+
+Seven o’clock at last arrived, and he departed to Brunswick Terrace.
+There was a brilliant party to meet him: the same set as last night,
+but select. He was faint, and did justice to the _cuisine_ of his host,
+which was indeed remarkable. When we are drinking a man’s good wine, it
+is difficult to dislike him. Prejudice decreases with every draught.
+His Grace began to think the Baron as good-hearted as agreeable. He was
+grateful for the continued attentions of old Castlefort, who, he now
+found out, had been very well acquainted with his father, and once even
+made a trip to Spa with him. Lord Dice he could not manage to endure,
+though that worthy was, for him, remarkably courteous, and grinned with
+his parchment face, like a good-humoured ghoul. Temple Grace and the
+Duke became almost intimate. There was an amiable candour in that
+gentleman’s address, a softness in his tones, and an unstudied and
+extremely interesting delicacy in his manner, which in this society was
+remarkable. Tom Cogit never presumed to come near the young Duke, but
+paid him constant attention. He sat at the bottom of the table, and
+was ever sending a servant with some choice wine, or recommending him,
+through some third person, some choice dish. It is pleasant to be ‘made
+much of,’ as Shakspeare says, even by scoundrels. To be king of your
+company is a poor ambition, yet homage is homage, and smoke is smoke,
+whether it come out of the chimney of a palace or of a workhouse.
+
+The banquet was not hurried. Though all wished it finished, no one liked
+to appear urgent. It was over at last, and they walked up-stairs, where
+the tables were arranged for all parties, and all play. Tom Cogit went
+up a few minutes before them, like the lady of the mansion, to review
+the lights, and arrange the cards. Feminine Tom Cogit!
+
+The events of to-night were much the same as of the preceding one. The
+Duke was a loser, but his losses were not considerable. He retired about
+the same hour, with a head not so hot, or heavy: and he never looked
+at the moon, or thought of May Dacre. The only wish that reigned in his
+soul was a longing for another opportunity, and he had agreed to dine
+with the Baron, before he left Brunswick Terrace.
+
+Thus passed a week, one night the Duke of St. James redeeming himself,
+another falling back to his old position, now pushing on to Madrid, now
+re-crossing the Tagus. On the whole, he had lost four or five thousand
+pounds, a mere trifle to what, as he had heard, had been lost and gained
+by many of his companions during only the present season. On the whole,
+he was one of the most moderate of these speculators, generally played
+at the large table, and never joined any of those private coteries, some
+of which he had observed, and of some of which he had heard. Yet this
+was from no prudential resolve or temperate resolution. The young Duke
+was heartily tired of the slight results of all his anxiety, hopes, and
+plans, and ardently wished for some opportunity of coming to closer and
+more decided action. The Baron also had resolved that an end should
+be put to this skirmishing; but he was a calm head, and never hurried
+anything.
+
+‘I hope your Grace has been lucky to-night!’ said the Baron one evening,
+strolling up to the Duke: ‘as for myself, really, if Dice goes on
+playing, I shall give up banking. That fellow must have a talisman. I
+think he has broken more banks than any man living. The best thing he
+did of that kind was the roulette story at Paris. You have heard of
+that?’
+
+‘Was that Lord Dice?’
+
+‘Oh yes! he does everything. He must have cleared his hundred thousand
+last year. I have suffered a good deal since I have been in England.
+Castlefort has pulled in a great deal of my money. I wonder to whom he
+will leave his property?’
+
+‘You think him rich?’
+
+‘Oh! he will cut up large!’ said the Baron, elevating his eyebrows. ‘A
+pleasant man too! I do not know any man that I would sooner play with
+than Castlefort; no one who loses his money with better temper.’
+
+‘Or wins it,’ said his Grace.
+
+‘That we all do,’ said the Baron, faintly laughing. ‘Your Grace has
+lost, and you do not seem particularly dull. You will have your revenge.
+Those who lose at first are always the children of fortune. I always
+dread a man who loses at first. All I beg is, that you will not break my
+bank.’
+
+‘Why! you see I am not playing now.’ ‘I am not surprised. There is too
+much heat and noise here,’ said he. ‘We will have a quiet dinner some
+day, and play at our ease. Come to-morrow, and I will ask Castlefort
+and Dice. I should uncommonly like, _entre nous_, to win some of their
+money. I will take care that nobody shall be here whom you would not
+like to meet. By-the-bye, whom were you riding with this morning? Fine
+woman!’
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+     _Birds of Prey_
+
+THE young Duke had accepted the invitation of the Baron de Berg-hem
+for to-morrow, and accordingly, himself, Lords Castlefort and Dice,
+and Temple Grace assembled in Brunswick Terrace at the usual hour.
+The dinner was studiously plain, and very little wine was drunk; yet
+everything was perfect. Tom Cogit stepped in to carve in his usual
+silent manner. He always came in and went out of a room without anyone
+observing him. He winked familiarly to Temple Grace, but scarcely
+presumed to bow to the Duke. He was very busy about the wine, and
+dressed the wild fowl in a manner quite unparalleled. Tom Cogit was the
+man for a sauce for a brown bird. What a mystery he made of it! Cayenne
+and Burgundy and limes were ingredients, but there was a magic in the
+incantation with which he alone was acquainted. He took particular care
+to send a most perfect portion to the young Duke, and he did this, as
+he paid all attentions to influential strangers, with the most marked
+consciousness of the sufferance which permitted his presence: never
+addressing his Grace, but audibly whispering to the servant, ‘Take this
+to the Duke;’ or asking the attendant, ‘whether his Grace would try the
+Hermitage?’
+
+After dinner, with the exception of Cogit, who was busied in compounding
+some wonderful liquid for the future refreshment, they sat down to
+_écarté_. Without having exchanged a word upon the subject, there seemed
+a general understanding among all the parties that to-night was to be a
+pitched battle, and they began at once, briskly. Yet, in spite of their
+universal determination, midnight arrived without anything decisive.
+Another hour passed over, and then Tom Cogit kept touching the Baron’s
+elbow and whispering in a voice which everybody could understand. All
+this meant that supper was ready. It was brought into the room.
+
+Gaming has one advantage, it gives you an appetite; that is to say,
+so long as you have a chance remaining. The Duke had thousands; for
+at present his resources were unimpaired, and he was exhausted by
+the constant attention and anxiety of five hours. He passed over the
+delicacies and went to the side-table, and began cutting himself some
+cold roast beef. Tom Cogit ran up, not to his Grace, but to the Baron,
+to announce the shocking fact that the Duke of St. James was enduring
+great trouble; and then the Baron asked his Grace to permit Mr. Cogit to
+serve him. Our hero devoured--we use the word advisedly, as fools say
+in the House of Commons--he devoured the roast beef, and rejecting the
+Hermitage with disgust, asked for porter.
+
+They set to again fresh as eagles. At six o’clock accounts were so
+complicated that they stopped to make up their books. Each played with
+his memoranda and pencil at his side. Nothing fatal had yet happened.
+The Duke owed Lord Dice about five thousand pounds, and Temple Grace
+owed him as many hundreds. Lord Castlefort also was his debtor to the
+tune of seven hundred and fifty, and the Baron was in his books, but
+slightly. Every half-hour they had a new pack of cards, and threw the
+used one on the floor. All this time Tom Cogit did nothing but snuff the
+candles, stir the fire, bring them a new pack, and occasionally make a
+tumbler for them. At eight o’clock the Duke’s situation was worsened.
+The run was greatly against him, and perhaps his losses were doubled. He
+pulled up again the next hour or two; but nevertheless, at ten o’clock,
+owed everyone something. No one offered to give over; and everyone,
+perhaps, felt that his object was not obtained. They made their toilets
+and went down-stairs to breakfast. In the meantime the shutters were
+opened, the room aired, and in less than an hour they were at it again.
+
+They played till dinner-time without intermission; and though the Duke
+made some desperate efforts, and some successful ones, his losses were,
+nevertheless, trebled. Yet he ate an excellent dinner and was not at
+all depressed; because the more he lost, the more his courage and his
+resources seemed to expand. At first he had limited himself to ten
+thousand; after breakfast it was to have been twenty thousand; then
+thirty thousand was the ultimatum; and now he dismissed all thoughts of
+limits from his mind, and was determined to risk or gain everything.
+
+At midnight, he had lost forty-eight thousand pounds. Affairs now began
+to be serious. His supper was not so hearty. While the rest were eating,
+he walked about the room, and began to limit his ambition to recovery,
+and not to gain. When you play to win back, the fun is over: there is
+nothing to recompense you for your bodily tortures and your degraded
+feelings; and the very best result that can happen, while it has no
+charms, seems to your cowed mind impossible.
+
+[Illustration: page338]
+
+On they played, and the Duke lost more. His mind was jaded. He
+floundered, he made desperate efforts, but plunged deeper in the slough.
+Feeling that, to regain his ground, each card must tell, he acted on
+each as if it must win, and the consequences of this insanity (for a
+gamester at such a crisis is really insane) were, that his losses were
+prodigious.
+
+Another morning came, and there they sat, ankle-deep in cards. No
+attempt at breakfast now, no affectation of making a toilet or airing
+the room. The atmosphere was hot, to be sure, but it well became such a
+Hell. There they sat, in total, in positive forgetfulness of everything
+but the hot game they were hunting down. There was not a man in the
+room, except Tom Cogit, who could have told you the name of the town
+in which they were living. There they sat, almost breathless, watching
+every turn with the fell look in their cannibal eyes which showed their
+total inability to sympathise with their fellow-beings. All forms of
+society had been long forgotten. There was no snuff-box handed
+about now, for courtesy, admiration, or a pinch; no affectation of
+occasionally making a remark upon any other topic but the all-engrossing
+one. Lord Castlefort rested with his arms on the table: a false tooth
+had got unhinged. His Lordship, who, at any other time, would have been
+most annoyed, coolly put it in his pocket. His cheeks had fallen, and
+he looked twenty years older. Lord Dice had torn off his cravat, and
+his hair hung down over his callous, bloodless cheeks, straight as silk.
+Temple Grace looked as if he were blighted by lightning; and his deep
+blue eyes gleamed like a hyaena’s. The Baron was least changed. Tom
+Cogit, who smelt that the crisis was at hand, was as quiet as a bribed
+rat.
+
+On they played till six o’clock in the evening, and then they agreed
+to desist till after dinner. Lord Dice threw himself on a sofa. Lord
+Castlefort breathed with difficulty. The rest walked about. While they
+were resting on their oars, the young Duke roughly made up his accounts.
+He found that he was minus about one hundred thousand pounds.
+
+Immense as this loss was, he was more struck, more appalled, let us say,
+at the strangeness of the surrounding scene, than even by his own ruin.
+As he looked upon his fellow gamesters, he seemed, for the first time in
+his life, to gaze upon some of those hideous demons of whom he had read.
+He looked in the mirror at himself. A blight seemed to have fallen
+over his beauty, and his presence seemed accursed. He had pursued a
+dissipated, even more than a dissipated career. Many were the nights
+that had been spent by him not on his couch; great had been the
+exhaustion that he had often experienced; haggard had sometimes even
+been the lustre of his youth. But when had been marked upon his brow
+this harrowing care? when had his features before been stamped with
+this anxiety, this anguish, this baffled desire, this strange unearthly
+scowl, which made him even tremble? What! was it possible? it could not
+be, that in time he was to be like those awful, those unearthly, those
+unhallowed things that were around him. He felt as if he had fallen from
+his state, as if he had dishonoured his ancestry, as if he had betrayed
+his trust. He felt a criminal. In the darkness of his meditations a
+flash burst from his lurid mind, a celestial light appeared to dissipate
+this thickening gloom, and his soul felt as if it were bathed with the
+softening radiancy. He thought of May Dacre, he thought of everything
+that was pure, and holy, and beautiful, and luminous, and calm. It was
+the innate virtue of the man that made this appeal to his corrupted
+nature. His losses seemed nothing; his dukedom would be too slight a
+ransom for freedom from these ghouls, and for the breath of the sweet
+air.
+
+He advanced to the Baron, and expressed his desire to play no more.
+There was an immediate stir. All jumped up, and now the deed was done.
+Cant, in spite of their exhaustion, assumed her reign. They begged him
+to have his revenge, were quite annoyed at the result, had no doubt he
+would recover if he proceeded. Without noticing their remarks, he seated
+himself at the table, and wrote cheques for their respective amounts,
+Tom Cogit jumping up and bringing him the inkstand. Lord Castlefort,
+in the most affectionate manner, pocketed the draft; at the same time
+recommending the Duke not to be in a hurry, but to send it when he was
+cool. Lord Dice received his with a bow, Temple Grace with a sigh, the
+Baron with an avowal of his readiness always to give him his revenge.
+
+The Duke, though sick at heart, would not leave the room with any
+evidence of a broken spirit; and when Lord Castlefort again repeated,
+‘Pay us when we meet again,’ he said, ‘I think it very improbable that
+we shall meet again, my Lord. I wished to know what gaming was. I had
+heard a great deal about it. It is not so very disgusting; but I am a
+young man, and cannot play tricks with my complexion.’
+
+He reached his house. The Bird was out. He gave orders for himself not
+to be disturbed, and he went to bed; but in vain he tried to sleep. What
+rack exceeds the torture of an excited brain and an exhausted body? His
+hands and feet were like ice, his brow like fire; his ears rung with
+supernatural roaring; a nausea had seized upon him, and death he would
+have welcomed. In vain, in vain he courted repose; in vain, in vain he
+had recourse to every expedient to wile himself to slumber. Each minute
+he started from his pillow with some phrase which reminded him of his
+late fearful society. Hour after hour moved on with its leaden pace;
+each hour he heard strike, and each hour seemed an age. Each hour was
+only a signal to cast off some covering, or shift his position. It was,
+at length, morning. With a feeling that he should go mad if he remained
+any longer in bed, he rose, and paced his chamber. The air refreshed
+him. He threw himself on the floor; the cold crept over his senses, and
+he slept.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+     _A Duke Without A Friend_
+
+O YE immortal Gods! ye are still immortal, although no longer ye hover
+o’er Olympus. The Crescent glitters on your mountain’s base, and Crosses
+spring from out its toppling crags. But in vain the Mufti, and the
+Patriarch, and the Pope flout at your past traditions. They are married
+to man’s memory by the sweetest chain that ever Fancy wove for Love. The
+poet is a priest, who does not doubt the inspiration of his oracles; and
+your shrines are still served by a faithful band, who love the beautiful
+and adore the glorious! In vain, in vain they tell us your divinity is
+a dream. From the cradle to the grave, our thoughts and feelings take
+their colour from you! O! Ægiochus, the birch has often proved thou
+art still a thunderer; and, although thy twanging bow murmur no longer
+through the avenging air, many an apple twig still vindicates thy
+outraged dignity, _pulcher_ Apollo.
+
+O, ye immortal Gods! nothing so difficult as to begin a chapter, and
+therefore have we flown to you. In literature, as in life, it is the
+first step; you know the rest. After a paragraph or so our blood Is up,
+and even our jaded hackneys scud along, and warm up into friskiness.
+
+The Duke awoke: another day of his eventful life is now to run its
+course. He found that the Bird of Paradise had not returned from an
+excursion to a neighbouring park: he left a note for her, apprising her
+of his departure to London, and he despatched an affectionate letter to
+Lady Aphrodite, which was the least that he could do, considering that
+he perhaps quitted Brighton the day of her arrival. And having done all
+this, he ordered his horses, and before noon was on his first stage.
+
+It was his birthday. He had completed his twenty-third year. This was
+sufficient, even if he had no other inducement, to make him indulge in
+some slight reflection. These annual summings up are awkward things,
+even to the prosperous and the happy, but to those who are the reverse,
+who are discontented with themselves, and find that youth melting away
+which they believe can alone achieve anything, I think a birthday is
+about the most gloomy four-and-twenty hours that ever flap their damp
+dull wings over melancholy man.
+
+Yet the Duke of St. James was rather thoughtful than melancholy. His
+life had been too active of late to allow him to indulge much in that
+passive mood. ‘I may never know what happiness is,’ thought his Grace,
+as he leaned back in his whirling britzska, ‘but I think I know what
+happiness is not. It is not the career which I have hitherto pursued.
+All this excitement which they talk of so much wears out the mind,
+and, I begin to believe, even the body, for certainly my energies
+seem deserting me. But two years, two miserable years, four-and-twenty
+months, eight-and-forty times the hours, the few hours, that I have been
+worse than wasting here, and I am shipwrecked, fairly bulged. Yet I have
+done everything, tried everything, and my career has been an eminent
+career. Woe to the wretch who trusts to his pampered senses for
+felicity! Woe to the wretch who flies from the bright goddess Sympathy,
+to sacrifice before the dark idol Self-love! Ah! I see too late, we were
+made for each other. Too late, I discover the beautiful results of this
+great principle of creation. Oh! the blunders of an unformed character!
+Oh! the torture of an ill-regulated mind!
+
+‘Give me a life with no fierce alternations of rapture and anguish, no
+impossible hopes, no mad depression. Free me from the delusions which
+succeed each other like scentless roses, that are ever blooming. Save me
+from the excitement which brings exhaustion, and from the passion that
+procreates remorse. Give me the luminous mind, where recognised and
+paramount duty dispels the harassing, ascertains the doubtful, confirms
+the wavering, sweetens the bitter. Give me content. Oh! give me love!
+
+‘How is it to end? What is to become of me? Can nothing rescue me? Is
+there no mode of relief, no place of succour, no quarter of refuge, no
+hope of salvation? I cannot right myself, and there is an end of it.
+Society, society, society! I owe thee much; and perhaps in working in
+thy service, those feelings might be developed which I am now convinced
+are the only source of happiness; but I am plunged too deep in the quag.
+I have no impulse, no call. I know not how it is, but my energies, good
+and evil, seem alike vanishing. There stares that fellow at my carriage!
+God! willingly would I break the stones upon the road for a year, to
+clear my mind of all the past!’
+
+A carriage dashed by, and a lady bowed. It was Mrs. Dallington Vere.
+
+The Duke had appointed his banker to dine with him, as not a moment must
+be lost in preparing for the reception of his Brighton drafts. He was
+also to receive, this evening, a complete report of all his affairs. The
+first thing that struck his eye on his table was a packet from Sir Carte
+Blanche. He opened it eagerly, stared, started, nearly shrieked. It
+fell from his hands. He was fortunately alone. The estimates for the
+completion of his works, and the purchase of the rest of the furniture,
+exactly equalled the sum already expended. Sir Carte added, that the
+works might of course be stopped, but that there was no possible way
+of reducing them, with any deference to the original design, scale, and
+style; that he had already given instructions not to proceed with the
+furniture until further notice, but regretted to observe that the orders
+were so advanced that he feared it was too late to make any sensible
+reduction. It might in some degree reconcile his Grace to this report
+when he concluded by observing that the advanced state of the works
+could permit him to guarantee that the present estimates would not be
+exceeded.
+
+The Duke had sufficiently recovered before the arrival of his
+confidential agent not to appear agitated, only serious. The awful
+catastrophe at Brighton was announced, and his report of affairs
+was received. It was a very gloomy one. Great agricultural distress
+prevailed, and the rents could not be got in. Five-and-twenty per cent,
+was the least that must be taken off his income, and with no prospect
+of being speedily added on. There was a projected railroad which would
+entirely knock up his canal, and even if crushed must be expensively
+opposed. Coals were falling also, and the duties in town increasing.
+There was sad confusion in the Irish estates. The missionaries, who were
+patronised on the neighbouring lands of one of the City Companies, had
+been exciting fatal confusion. Chapels were burnt, crops destroyed,
+stock butchered, and rents all in arrear. Mr. Dacre had contrived with
+great prudence to repress the efforts of the new reformation, and had
+succeeded in preventing any great mischief. His plans for the pursual
+of his ideas and feelings upon this subject had been communicated to his
+late ward in an urgent and important paper, which his Grace had never
+seen, but one day, unread, pushed into a certain black cabinet, which
+perhaps the reader may remember. His Grace’s miscellaneous debts
+had also been called in, and amounted to a greater sum than they had
+anticipated, which debts always do. One hundred and forty thousand
+pounds had crumbled away in the most imperceptible manner. A great slice
+of this was the portion of the jeweller. His shield and his vases would
+at least be evidence to his posterity of the splendour and the taste
+of their imprudent ancestor; but he observed the other items with less
+satisfaction. He discovered that in the course of two years he had given
+away one hundred and thirty-seven necklaces and bracelets; and as for
+rings, they must be counted by the bushel. The result of this gloomy
+interview was, that the Duke had not only managed to get rid of the
+immortal half-million, but had incurred debts or engagements to the
+amount of nearly eight hundred thousand pounds, incumbrances which were
+to be borne by a decreased and perhaps decreasing income. His Grace was
+once more alone. ‘Well! my brain is not turned; and yet I think it has
+been pretty well worked these last few days. It cannot be true: it must
+all be a dream. He never could have dined here, and said all this. Have
+I, indeed, been at Brighton? No, no, no; I have been sleeping after
+dinner. I have a good mind to ring and ask whether he really was here.
+It must be one great delusion. But no! there are those cursed accounts.
+Well! what does it signify? I was miserable before, and now I am only
+contemptible in addition. How the world will laugh! They were made
+forsooth for my diversion. O, idiot! you will be the butt of everyone!
+Talk of Bagshot, indeed! Why, he will scarcely speak to me!
+
+‘Away with this! Let me turn these things in my mind. Take it at one
+hundred and fifty thousand. It is more, it must be more, but we will
+take it at that. Now, suppose one hundred thousand is allotted every
+year to meet my debts; I suppose, in nine or ten years I shall be free.
+Not that freedom will be worth much then; but still I am thinking of the
+glory of the House I have betrayed. Well, then, there is fifty thousand
+a-year left. Let me see; twenty thousand have always been spent in
+Ireland, and ten at Pen Bronnock, and they must not be cut down. The
+only thing I can do now is, not to spare myself. I am the cause, and
+let me meet the consequences. Well, then, perhaps twenty thousand a-year
+remain to keep Hauteville Castle and Hauteville House; to maintain the
+splendour of the Duke of St. James. Why, my hereditary charities alone
+amount to a quarter of my income, to say nothing of incidental charges:
+I too, who should and who would wish to rebuild, at my own cost, every
+bridge that is swept away, and every steeple that is burnt, in my
+county.
+
+‘And now for the great point. Shall I proceed with my buildings? My own
+personal convenience whispers no! But I have a strong conviction that
+the advice is treasonable. What! the young Duke’s folly for every gazer
+in town and country to sneer at! Oh! my fathers, am I indeed your child,
+or am I bastard? Never, never shall your shield be sullied while I bear
+it! Never shall your proud banner veil while I am chieftain! They shall
+be finished; certainly, they shall be finished, if I die an exile! There
+can be no doubt about this; I feel the deep propriety.
+
+‘This girl, too, something must be done for her. I must get Squib to
+run down to Brighton for me: and Afy, poor dear Afy, I think she will be
+sorry when she hears it all!
+
+‘My head is weak: I want a counsellor. This man cannot enter into my
+feelings. Then there is my family lawyer; if I ask him for advice, he
+will ask me for instructions. Besides, this is not a matter of pounds,
+shillings, and pence; it is an affair as much of sentiment as economy;
+it involves the honour of my family, and I want one to unburden myself
+to, who can sympathise with the tortured feelings of a noble, of a Duke
+without a dukedom, for it has come to that. But I will leave sneers to
+the world.
+
+‘There is Annesley. He is clever, but so coldblooded. He has no heart.
+There is Squib; he is a good fellow, and has heart enough; and I
+suppose, if I wanted to pension off a mistress, or compound with a few
+rascally tradesmen, he would manage the affair to a miracle. There is
+Darrell; but he will be so fussy, and confidential, and official. Every
+meeting will be a cabinet council, every discussion a debate, every
+memorandum a state paper. There is Burlington; he is experienced, and
+clever, and kind-hearted, and, I really think, likes me; but, no, no, it
+is too ridiculous. We who have only met for enjoyment, whose countenance
+was a smile, and whose conversation was badinage; we to meet, and
+meditate on my broken fortunes! Impossible! Besides, what right have I
+to compel a man, the study of whose life is to banish care, to take
+all my anxieties on his back, or refuse the duty at the cost of my
+acquaintance and the trouble of his conscience. Ah! I once had a friend,
+the best, the wisest; but no more of that. What is even the loss of
+fortune and of consideration to the loss of his--his daughter’s love?’
+
+His voice faltered, yet it was long before he retired; and he rose on
+the morrow only to meditate over his harassing embarrassments. As if the
+cup of his misery were not o’erflowing, a new incident occurred about
+this time, which rendered his sense of them even keener. But this is
+important enough to commence a new chapter.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+     _A New Star Rises_
+
+WILLIAM HENRY, MARQUESS OF MARYLEBONE, completed his twenty-first year:
+an event which created a greater sensation among the aristocracy of
+England, even, than the majority of George Augustus Frederick, Duke
+of St. James. The rent-roll of his Grace was great: but that of his
+Lordship was incalculable. He had not indeed so many castles as our
+hero; but then, in the metropolis, a whole parish owned him as Lord,
+and it was whispered that, when a few miles of leases fell in, the very
+Civil List must give him the wall. Even in the duration of his minority,
+he had the superiority over the young Duke, for the Marquess was a
+posthumous son.
+
+Lord Marylebone was a short, thick, swarthy young gentleman, with
+wiry black hair, a nose somewhat flat, sharp eyes, and tusky mouth;
+altogether not very unlike a terrier. His tastes were unknown: he had
+not travelled, nor done anything very particular, except, with a
+few congenial spirits, beat the Guards in a rowing-match, a
+pretty diversion, and almost as conducive to a small white hand as
+almond-paste.
+
+But his Lordship was now of age, and might be seen every day at a
+certain hour rattling up Bond Street in a red drag, in which he drove
+four or five particular friends who lived at Stevens’ Hotel, and
+therefore, we suppose, were the partners of his glory in his victory
+over his Majesty’s household troops. Lord Marylebone was the universal
+subject of conversation. Pursuits which would have devoted a shabby Earl
+of twelve or fifteen thousand a year to universal reprobation, or, what
+is much worse, to universal sneers, assumed quite a different character
+when they constituted the course of life of this fortunate youth. He
+was a delightful young man. So unaffected! No super-refinement, no false
+delicacy. Everyone, each sex, everything, extended his, her, or its hand
+to this cub, who, quite puzzled, but too brutal to be confused, kept
+driving on the red van, and each day perpetrating some new act
+of profligacy, some new instance of coarse profusion, tasteless
+extravagance, and inelegant eccentricity.
+
+But, nevertheless, he was the hero of the town. He was the great point
+of interest in ‘The Universe,’ and ‘The New World’ favoured the old one
+with weekly articles on his character and conduct. The young Duke
+was quite forgotten, if really young he could be longer called. Lord
+Marylebone was in the mouth of every tradesman, who authenticated his
+own vile inventions by foisting them on his Lordship. The most grotesque
+fashions suddenly inundated the metropolis; and when the Duke of St.
+James ventured to express his disapprobation, he found his empire was
+over. ‘They were sorry that it did not meet his Grace’s taste, but
+really what his Grace had suggested was quite gone by. This was the only
+hat, or cane, or coat which any civilised being could be seen with. Lord
+Marylebone wore, or bore, no other.’
+
+In higher circles, it was much the same. Although the dandies would not
+bate an inch, and certainly would not elect the young Marquess for their
+leader, they found, to their dismay, that the empire which they were
+meditating to defend, had already slipped away from their grasp. A
+new race of adventurous youths appeared upon the stage. Beards, and
+greatcoats even rougher, bull-dogs instead of poodles, clubs instead of
+canes, cigars instead of perfumes, were the order of the day. There was
+no end to boat-racing; Crockford’s sneered at White’s; and there was
+even a talk of reviving the ring. Even the women patronised the young
+Marquess, and those who could not be blind to his real character, were
+sure, that, if well managed, he would not turn out ill.
+
+Assuredly our hero, though shelved, did not envy his successful rival.
+Had he been, instead of one for whom he felt a sovereign contempt, a
+being even more accomplished than himself, pity and not envy would have
+been the sentiment he would have yielded to his ascendant star.
+But, nevertheless, he could not be insensible to the results of this
+incident; and the advent of the young Marquess seemed like the sting in
+the epigram of his life. After all his ruinous magnificence, after
+all the profuse indulgence of his fantastic tastes, he had sometimes
+consoled himself, even in the bitterness of satiety, by reminding
+himself, that he at least commanded the admiration of his
+fellow-creatures, although it had been purchased at a costly price. Not
+insensible to the power of his wealth, the magic of his station, he had,
+however, ventured to indulge in the sweet belief that these qualities
+were less concerned in the triumphs of his career than his splendid
+person, his accomplished mind, his amiable disposition, and his finished
+manner; his beauty, his wit, his goodness, and his grace. Even from this
+delusion, too, was he to waken, and, for the first time in his life, he
+gauged the depth and strength of that popularity which had been so dear
+to him, and which he now found to be so shallow and so weak.
+
+‘What will they think of me when they know all? What they will: I care
+not. I would sooner live in a cottage with May Dacre, and work for our
+daily bread, than be worshipped by all the beauty of this Babylon.’
+
+Gloomy, yet sedate, he returned home. His letters announced two
+extraordinary events. M. de Whiskerburg had galloped off with Lady
+Aphrodite, and Count Frill had flown away with the Bird of Paradise.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+     _‘Lovely Woman Stoops to Folly.’_
+
+THE last piece of information was a relief; but the announcement of the
+elopement cost him a pang. Both surprised, and the first shocked him.
+We are unreasonable in love, and do not like to be anticipated even in
+neglect. An hour ago Lady Aphrodite Grafton was to him only an object of
+anxiety and a cause of embarrassment. She was now a being to whom he was
+indebted for some of the most pleasing hours of his existence, and who
+could no longer contribute to his felicity. Everybody appeared deserting
+him.
+
+He had neglected her, to be sure; and they must have parted, it was
+certain. Yet, although the present event saved him from the most
+harrowing of scenes, he could not refrain shedding a tear. So good! and
+so beautiful! and was this her end? He who knew all knew how bitter had
+been the lot of her life.
+
+It is certain that when one of your very virtuous women ventures to be
+a little indiscreet, we say it is certain, though we regret it, that
+sooner or later there is an explosion. And the reason is this, that they
+are always in a hurry to make up for lost time, and so love with them
+becomes a business instead of being a pleasure. Nature had intended Lady
+Aphrodite Grafton for a Psyche, so spiritual was her soul, so pure her
+blood! Art--that is, education, which at least should be an art, though
+it is not--art had exquisitely sculptured the precious gem that Nature
+had developed, and all that was wanting was love to stamp an impression.
+Lady Aphrodite Grafton might have been as perfect a character as was
+ever the heroine of a novel. And to whose account shall we place her
+blighted fame and sullied lustre? To that animal who seems formed
+only to betray woman. Her husband was a traitor in disguise. She found
+herself betrayed; but like a noble chieftain, when her capital was lost,
+maintained herself among the ruins of her happiness, in the citadel of
+her virtue. She surrendered, she thought, on terms; and in yielding her
+heart to the young Duke, though never for a moment blind to her conduct,
+yet memory whispered extenuation, and love added all that was necessary.
+
+Our hero (we are for none of your perfect heroes) did not behave much
+better than her husband. The difference between them was, Sir Lucius
+Grafton’s character was formed, and formed for evil; while the Duke
+of St. James, when he became acquainted with Lady Aphrodite, possessed
+none. Gallantry was a habit, in which he had been brought up. To protest
+to woman what he did not believe, and to feign what he did not feel,
+were, as he supposed, parts in the character of an accomplished
+gentleman; and as hitherto he had not found his career productive of
+any misery, we may perhaps view his conduct with less severity. But at
+length he approaches, not a mere woman of the world, who tries to delude
+him into the idea that he is the first hero of a romance that has been
+a hundred times repeated. He trembles at the responsibility which he
+has incurred by engaging the feelings of another. In the conflict of
+his emotions, some rays of moral light break upon his darkened soul.
+Profligacy brings its own punishment, and he feels keenly that man is
+the subject of sympathy, and not the slave of self-love.
+
+This remorse protracts a connection which each day is productive of more
+painful feelings; but the heart cannot be overstrung, and anxiety
+ends in callousness. Then come neglect, remonstrance, explanations,
+protestations, and, sooner or later, a catastrophe.
+
+But love is a dangerous habit, and when once indulged, is not easily
+thrown off, unless you become devout, which is, in a manner, giving the
+passion a new direction. In Catholic countries, it is surprising how
+many adventures end in a convent. A dame, in her desperation, flies to
+the grate, which never reopens; but in Protestant regions she has time
+to cool, and that’s the deuce; so, instead of taking the veil, she takes
+a new lover.
+
+Lady Aphrodite had worked up her mind and the young Duke to a step the
+very mention of which a year before would have made him shudder. What an
+enchanter is Passion! No wonder Ovid, who was a judge, made love so much
+connected with his Metamorphoses. With infinite difficulty she had dared
+to admit the idea of flying with his Grace; but when the idea was once
+admitted, when she really had, once or twice, constantly dwelt on the
+idea of at length being free from her tyrant, and perhaps about to
+indulge in those beautiful affections for which she was formed, and of
+which she had been rifled; when, I say, all this occurred, and her hero
+diplomatised, and, in short, kept back; why, she had advanced one step,
+without knowing it, to running away with another man.
+
+It was unlucky that De Whiskerburg stepped in. An Englishman would not
+have done. She knew them well, and despised them all; but he was new
+(dangerous novelty), with a cast of feelings which, because they were
+strange, she believed to be unhackneyed; and he was impassioned. We need
+not go on.
+
+So this star has dropped from out the heaven; so this precious pearl no
+longer gleams among the jewels of society, and there she breathes in a
+foreign land, among strange faces and stranger customs, and, when she
+thinks of what is past, laughs at some present emptiness, and tries to
+persuade her withering heart that the mind is independent of country,
+and blood, and opinion. And her father’s face no longer shines with its
+proud love, and her mother’s voice no longer whispers to her with sweet
+anxiety. Clouded is the brow of her bold brother, and dimmed is the
+radiancy of her budding sister’s bloom.
+
+Poor creature! that is to say, wicked woman! for we are not of those who
+set themselves against the verdict of society, or ever omit to expedite,
+by a gentle kick, a falling friend. And yet, when we just remember
+beauty is beauty, and grace is grace, and kindness is kindness, although
+the beautiful, the graceful, and the amiable do get in a scrape, we
+don’t know how it is, we confess it is a weakness, but, under these
+circumstances, we do not feel quite inclined to sneer.
+
+But this is wrong. We should not pity or pardon those who have yielded
+to great temptation, or perchance great provocation. Besides, it is
+right that our sympathy should be kept for the injured.
+
+To stand amid the cold ashes of your desolate hearth, with all your
+Penates shivered at your feet; to find no smiling face meet your return,
+no brow look gloomy when you leave your door; to eat and sleep alone;
+to be bored with grumbling servants and with weekly bills; to have your
+children asking after mamma; and no one to nurse your gout, or cure the
+influenza that rages in your household: all this is doubtless hard to
+digest, and would tell in a novel, particularly if written by my friends
+Mr. Ward or Mr. Bulwer.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+     _Kindly Words_
+
+THE Duke had passed a stormy morning with his solicitor, who wished him
+to sell the Pen Bronnock property, which, being parliamentary, would
+command a price infinitely greater than might be expected from its
+relative income. The very idea of stripping his coronet of this
+brightest jewel, and thus sacrificing for wealth the ends of riches,
+greatly disordered him, and he more and more felt the want of a
+counsellor who could sympathise with his feelings as well as arrange his
+fortunes. In this mood he suddenly seized a pen, and wrote the following
+letter:--
+
+
+‘----House, Feb. 5, 182--.
+
+‘My dear Mr. Dacre,
+
+‘I keenly feel that you are the last person to whom I should apply for
+the counsels or the consolation of friendship. I have long ago forfeited
+all claims to your regard, and your esteem I never possessed. Yet,
+if only because my career ought to end by my being an unsuccessful
+suppliant to the individual whom both virtue and nature pointed out to
+me as my best friend, and whose proffered and parental support I have so
+wantonly, however thoughtlessly, rejected, I do not regret that this is
+written. No feeling of false delicacy can prevent me from applying to
+one to whom I have long ago incurred incalculable obligations, and no
+feeling of false delicacy will, I hope, for a moment, prevent you from
+refusing the application of one who has acknowledged those obligations
+only by incalculable ingratitude.
+
+‘In a word, my affairs, are, I fear, inextricably involved. I will not
+dwell upon the madness of my life; suffice that its consequences appall
+me. I have really endeavoured to examine into all details, and am
+prepared to meet the evil as becomes me; but, indeed, my head turns with
+the complicated interests which solicit my consideration, and I tremble
+lest, in the distraction of my mind, I may adopt measures which may
+baffle the very results I would attain. For myself, I am ready to pay
+the penalty of my silly profligacy; and if exile, or any other personal
+infliction, can redeem the fortunes of the House that I have betrayed, I
+shall cheerfully submit to my destiny. My career has been productive of
+too little happiness to make me regret its termination.
+
+‘But I want advice: I want the counsel of one who can sympathise with
+my distracted feelings, who will look as much, or rather more, to the
+honour of my family than to the convenience of myself. I cannot obtain
+this from what are called men of business, and, with a blush I confess,
+I have no friend. In this situation my thoughts recur to one on whom,
+believe me, they have often dwelt; and although I have no right to
+appeal to your heart, for my father’s sake you will perhaps pardon this
+address. Whatever you may resolve, my dearest sir, rest assured that you
+and your family will always command the liveliest gratitude of one who
+regrets he may not subscribe himself
+
+‘Your obliged and devoted friend,
+
+‘St. James.
+
+‘I beg that you will not answer this, if your determination be what I
+anticipate and what I deserve. ‘Dacre Dacre, Esq., &c, &c, &c.’
+
+
+It was signed, sealed, and sent. He repented its transmission when it
+was gone. He almost resolved to send a courier to stop the post. He
+continued walking up and down his room for the rest of the day; he
+could not eat, or read, or talk. He was plunged in a nervous reverie.
+He passed the next day in the same state. Unable to leave his house, and
+unseen by visitors, he retired to his bed feverish and dispirited. The
+morning came, and he woke from his hot and broken sleep at an early
+hour; yet he had not energy to rise. At last the post arrived, and his
+letters were brought up to him. With a trembling hand and sinking breath
+he read these lines:--
+
+
+‘Castle Dacre, February 6, 182--.
+
+‘My dear young Friend,
+
+‘Not only for your father’s sake, but your own, are my services ever at
+your command. I have long been sensible of your amiable disposition, and
+there are circumstances which will ever make me your debtor.
+
+‘The announcement of the embarrassed state of your affairs fills me with
+sorrow and anxiety, yet I will hope the best. Young men, unconsciously,
+exaggerate adversity as well as prosperity. If you are not an habitual
+gamester, and I hope you have not been even an occasional one, unbounded
+extravagance could scarcely in two years have permanently injured your
+resources. However, bring down with you all papers, and be careful to
+make no arrangement, even of the slightest nature, until we meet.
+
+‘We expect you hourly. May desires her kindest regards, and begs me to
+express the great pleasure which she will feel at again finding you our
+guest. It is unnecessary for me to repeat how very sincerely
+
+‘I am your friend,
+
+‘Dacre Dacre.’
+
+
+He read the letter three times to be sure he did not mistake the
+delightful import. Then he rang the bell with a vivacity which had not
+characterised him for many a month.
+
+‘Luigi! prepare to leave town to-morrow morning for an indefinite
+period. I shall only take you. I must dress immediately, and order
+breakfast and my horses.’
+
+The Duke of St. James had communicated the state of his affairs to Lord
+Fitz-pompey, who was very shocked, offered his best services, and also
+asked him to dinner, to meet the Marquess of Marylebone. The young
+Duke had also announced to his relatives, and to some of his particular
+friends, that he intended to travel for some time, and he well knew that
+their charitable experience would understand the rest. They understood
+everything. The Marquess’s party daily increased, and ‘The Universe’ and
+‘The New World’ announced that the young Duke was ‘done up.’
+
+There was one person to whom our hero would pay a farewell visit before
+he left London. This was Lady Caroline St. Maurice. He had called at
+Fitz-pompey House one or two mornings in the hope of finding her alone,
+and to-day he determined to be more successful. As he stopped his horse
+for the last time before his uncle’s mansion, he could not help calling
+to mind the first visit which he had paid after his arrival. But the
+door opens, he enters, he is announced, and finds Lady Caroline alone.
+
+Ten minutes passed away, as if the morning ride or evening ball were
+again to bring them together. The young Duke was still gay and still
+amusing. At last he said with a smile,
+
+‘Do you know, Caroline, this is a farewell visit, and to you?’
+
+She did not speak, but bent her head as if she were intent upon some
+work, and so seated herself that her countenance was almost hid.
+
+‘You have heard from my uncle,’ continued he, laughing; ‘and if you
+have not heard from him, you have heard from somebody else, of my little
+scrape. A fool and his money, you know, Caroline, and a short reign and
+a merry one. When we get prudent we are wondrous fond of proverbs. My
+reign has certainly been brief enough; with regard to the merriment,
+that is not quite so certain. I have little to regret except your
+society, sweet coz!’
+
+‘Dear George, how can you talk so of such serious affairs! If you knew
+how unhappy, how miserable I am, when I hear the cold, callous world
+speak of such things with indifference, you would at least not imitate
+their heartlessness.’
+
+‘Dear Caroline!’ said he, seating himself at her side.
+
+‘I cannot help thinking,’ she continued, ‘that you have not sufficiently
+exerted yourself about these embarrassments. You are, of course, too
+harassed, too much annoyed, too little accustomed to the energy and the
+detail of business, to interfere with any effect; but surely a friend
+might. You will not speak to my father, and perhaps you have your
+reasons; but is there no one else? St. Maurice, I know, has no head. Ah!
+George, I often feel that if your relations had been different people,
+your fate might have been different. We are the fault.’
+
+He kissed her hand.
+
+‘Among all your intimates,’ she continued, ‘is there no one fit to be
+your counsellor, no one worthy of your confidence?’
+
+‘None,’ said the Duke, bitterly, ‘none, none. I have no friend among
+those intimates: there is not a man of them who cares to serve or is
+capable of serving me.’
+
+‘You have well considered?’ asked Lady Caroline.
+
+‘Well, dear, well. I know them all by rote, head and heart. Ah! my dear,
+dear Carry, if you were a man, what a nice little friend you would be!’
+
+‘You will always laugh, George. But I--I have no heart to laugh. This
+breaking up of your affairs, this exile, this losing you whom we all
+love, love so dearly, makes me quite miserable.’
+
+He kissed her hand again.
+
+‘I dare say,’ she continued, ‘you have thought me as heartless as the
+rest, because I never spoke. But I knew; that is, I feared; or, rather,
+hoped that a great part of what I heard was false; and so I thought
+notice was unnecessary, and might be painful. Yet, heaven knows, there
+are few subjects that have been oftener in my thoughts, or cost me more
+anxiety. Are you sure you have no friend?’
+
+‘I have you, Caroline. I did not say I had no friends: I said I had none
+among those intimates you talked of; that there was no man among them
+capable of the necessary interference, even if he were willing to
+undertake it. But I am not friendless, not quite forlorn, dear! My fate
+has given me a friend that I but little deserve: one whom, if I had
+prized better, I should not perhaps have been obliged to put his
+friendship to so severe a trial. To-morrow, Caroline, I depart for
+Castle Dacre; there is my friend. Alas! how little have I deserved such
+a boon!’
+
+‘Dacre!’ exclaimed Lady Caroline, ‘Mr. Dacre! Oh! you have made me so
+happy, George! Mr. Dacre is the very, very person; that is, the very
+best person you could possibly have applied to.’
+
+‘Good-bye, Caroline,’ said his Grace, rising.
+
+She burst into tears.
+
+Never, never had she looked so lovely: never, never had he loved her
+so entirely! Tears! tears shed for him! Oh! what, what is grief when
+a lovely woman remains to weep over our misfortunes! Could he be
+miserable, could his career indeed be unfortunate, when this was
+reserved for him? He was on the point of pledging his affection, but to
+leave her under such circumstances was impossible: to neglect Mr. Dacre
+was equally so. He determined to arrange his affairs with all possible
+promptitude, and then to hasten up, and entreat her to share his
+diminished fortunes. But he would not go without whispering hope,
+without leaving some soft thought to lighten her lonely hours. He caught
+her in his arms; he covered her sweet small mouth with kisses, and
+whispered, in the midst of their pure embrace,
+
+‘Dearest Carry! I shall soon return, and we will yet be happy.’
+
+
+
+
+BOOK V.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+     _Once More at Dacre_
+
+MISS DACRE, although she was prepared to greet the Duke of St. James
+with cordiality, did not anticipate with equal pleasure the arrival
+of the page and the jäger. Infinite had been the disturbances they had
+occasioned during their first visit, and endless the complaints of the
+steward and the housekeeper. The men-servants were initiated in
+the mysteries of dominoes, and the maid-servants in the tactics of
+flirtation. Karlstein was the hero of the under-butlers, and even the
+trusty guardian of the cellar himself was too often on the point of
+obtaining the German’s opinion of his master’s German wines. Gaming, and
+drunkenness, and love, the most productive of all the teeming causes
+of human sorrow, had in a week sadly disordered the well-regulated
+household of Castle Dacre, and nothing but the impetuosity of our hero
+would have saved his host’s establishment from utter perdition. Miss
+Dacre was, therefore, not less pleased than surprised when the britzska
+of the Duke of St. James discharged on a fine afternoon, its noble
+master, attended only by the faithful Luigi, at the terrace of the
+Castle.
+
+A few country cousins, fresh from Cumberland, who knew nothing of the
+Duke of St. James except from a stray number of ‘The Universe,’ which
+occasionally stole down to corrupt the pure waters of their lakes, were
+the only guests. Mr. Dacre grasped our hero’s hand with a warmth and
+expression which were unusual with him, but which conveyed, better than
+words, the depth of his friendship; and his daughter, who looked more
+beautiful than ever, advanced with a beaming face and joyous tone, which
+quite reconciled the Duke of St. James to being a ruined man.
+
+The presence of strangers limited their conversation to subjects of
+general interest. At dinner, the Duke took care to be agreeable: he
+talked in an unaffected manner, and particularly to the cousins, who
+were all delighted with him, and found him ‘quite a different person
+from what they had fancied.’ The evening passed over, and even lightly,
+without the aid of _écarté_, romances, or gallops. Mr. Dacre chatted
+with old Mr. Montingford, and old Mrs. Montingford sat still admiring
+her ‘girls,’ who stood still admiring May Dacre singing or talking, and
+occasionally reconciled us to their occasional silence by a frequent
+and extremely hearty laugh; that Cumberland laugh which never outlives a
+single season in London.
+
+And the Duke of St. James, what did he do? It must be confessed that in
+some points he greatly resembled the Misses Montingford, for he was both
+silent and admiring; but he never laughed. Yet he was not dull, and
+was careful not to show that he had cares, which is vulgar. If a man be
+gloomy, let him keep to himself. No one has a right to go croaking
+about society, or, what is worse, looking as if he stifled grief. These
+fellows should be put in the pound. We like a good broken heart or so
+now and then; but then one should retire to the Sierra Morena mountains,
+and live upon locusts and wild honey, not ‘dine out’ with our cracked
+cores, and, while we are meditating suicide, the Gazette, or the
+Chiltern Hundreds, damn a vintage or eulogise an _entrée_.
+
+And as for cares, what are cares when a man is in love? Once more they
+had met; once more he gazed upon that sunny and sparkling face; once
+more he listened to that sweet and thrilling voice, which sounded like
+a bird-like burst of music upon a summer morning. She moved, and each
+attitude was fascination. She was still, and he regretted that she
+moved. Now her neck, now her hair, now her round arm, now her tapering
+waist, ravished his attention; now he is in ecstasies with her twinkling
+foot; now he is dazzled with her glancing hand.
+
+Once more he was at Dacre! How different was this meeting to their
+first! Then, she was cold, almost cutting; then she was disregardful,
+almost contemptuous; but then he had hoped; ah! madman, he had more than
+hoped. Now she was warm, almost affectionate; now she listened to him
+with readiness, ay! almost courted his conversation. And now he could
+only despair. As he stood alone before the fire, chewing this bitter
+cud, she approached him.
+
+‘How good you were to come directly!’ she said with a smile, which
+melted his heart. ‘I fear, however, you will not find us so merry as
+before. But you can make anything amusing. Come, then, and sing to these
+damsels. Do you know they are half afraid of you? and I cannot persuade
+them that a terrible magician has not assumed, for the nonce, the air
+and appearance of a young gentleman of distinction.’
+
+He smiled, but could not speak. Repartee sadly deserts the lover; yet
+smiles, under those circumstances, are eloquent; and the eye, after all,
+speaks much more to the purpose than the tongue. Forgetting everything
+except the person who addressed him, he offered her his hand, and
+advanced to the group which surrounded the piano.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+     _The Moth and the Flame_
+
+THE next morning was passed by the Duke of St. James in giving Mr.
+Dacre his report of the state of his affairs. His banker’s accounts,
+his architect’s estimates, his solicitor’s statements, were all brought
+forward and discussed. A ride, generally with Miss Dacre and one of her
+young friends, dinner, and a short evening, and eleven o’clock, sent
+them all to repose. Thus glided on a fortnight. The mornings continued
+to be passed in business. Affairs were more complicated than his Grace
+had imagined, who had no idea of detail. He gave all the information
+that he could, and made his friend master of his particular feelings.
+For the rest, Mr. Dacre was soon involved in much correspondence; and
+although the young Duke could no longer assist him, he recommended and
+earnestly begged that he would remain at Dacre; for he could perceive,
+better than his Grace, that our hero was labouring under a great deal of
+excitement, and that his health was impaired. A regular course of life
+was therefore as necessary for his constitution as it was desirable for
+all other reasons.
+
+Behold, then, our hero domesticated at Dacre; rising at nine, joining
+a family breakfast, taking a quiet ride, or moderate stroll, sometimes
+looking into a book, but he was no great reader; sometimes fortunate
+enough in achieving a stray game at billiards, usually with a Miss
+Montingford, and retiring to rest about the time that in London his most
+active existence generally began. Was he dull? was he wearied? He was
+never lighter-hearted or more contented in his life. Happy he could not
+allow himself to be styled, because the very cause which breathed this
+calm over his existence seemed to portend a storm which could not be
+avoided. It was the thought, the presence, the smile, the voice of May
+Dacre that imparted this new interest to existence: that being who never
+could be his. He shuddered to think that all this must end; but although
+he never indulged again in the great hope, his sanguine temper allowed
+him to thrust away the future, and to participate in all the joys of the
+flowing hour.
+
+At the end of February the Montingfords departed, and now the Duke was
+the only guest at Dacre; nor did he hear that any others were expected.
+He was alone with her again; often was he alone with her, and never
+without a strange feeling coming over his frame, which made him tremble.
+Mr. Dacre, a man of active habits, always found occupation in his public
+duties and in the various interests of a large estate, and usually
+requested, or rather required, the Duke of St. James to be his
+companion. He was desirous that the Duke should not be alone, and ponder
+too much over the past; nor did he conceal his wishes from his daughter,
+who on all occasions, as the Duke observed with gratification, seconded
+the benevolent intentions of her parent. Nor did our hero indeed wish
+to be alone, or to ponder over the past. He was quite contented with
+the present; but he did not want to ride with papa, and took every
+opportunity to shirk; all of which Mr. Dacre set down to the indolence
+of exhaustion, and the inertness of a mind without an object.
+
+‘I am going to ride over to Doncaster, George,’ said Mr. Dacre one
+morning at breakfast. ‘I think that you had better order your horse too.
+A good ride will rouse you, and you should show yourself there.’
+
+‘Oh! very well, sir; but, but I think that----’
+
+‘But what?’ asked Mr. Dacre, smiling.
+
+The Duke looked to Miss Dacre, who seemed to take pity on his idleness.
+
+‘You make him ride too much, papa. Leave him at home with me. I have
+a long round to-day, and want an escort. I will take him instead of my
+friend Tom Carter. You must carry a basket though,’ said she, turning to
+the Duke, ‘and run for the doctor if he be wanted, and, in short, do any
+odd message that turns up.’
+
+So Mr. Dacre departed alone, and shortly after his daughter and the Duke
+of St. James set out on their morning ramble. Many were the cottages at
+which they called; many the old dames after whose rheumatisms, and many
+the young damsels after whose fortunes they enquired. Old Dame Rawdon
+was worse or better; worse last night, but better this morning. She was
+always better when Miss called. Miss’s face always did her good. And
+Fanny was very comfortable at Squire Wentworth’s, and the housekeeper
+was very kind to her, thanks to Miss saying a word to the great Lady.
+And old John Selby was quite about again. Miss’s stuff had done him a
+world of good, to say nothing of Mr. Dacre’s generous old wine.
+
+‘And is this your second son, Dame Rishworth?’ ‘No; that bees our
+fourth,’ said the old woman, maternally arranging the urchin’s thin,
+white, flat, straight, unmanageable hair. ‘We are thinking what to do
+with him, Miss. He wants to go out to service. Since Jem Eustace got on
+so, I don’t know what the matter is with the lads; but I think we shall
+have none of them in the fields soon. He can clean knives and shoes very
+well, Miss. Mr. Bradford, at the Castle, was saying t’other day that
+perhaps he might want a young hand. You haven’t heard anything, I
+suppose, Miss?’
+
+‘And what is your name, sir?’ asked Miss Dacre. ‘Bobby Rishworth, Miss!’
+‘Well, Bobby, I must consult Mr. Bradford.’ ‘We be in great trouble,
+Miss,’ said the next cottager. ‘We be in great trouble. Tom, poor Tom,
+was out last night, and the keepers will give him up. The good man has
+done all he can, we have all done all we can, Miss, and you see how it
+ends. He is the first of the family that ever went out. I hope that will
+be considered, Miss. Seventy years, our fathers before us, have we
+been on the ‘state, and nothing ever sworn agin us. I hope that will
+be considered, Miss. I am sure if Tom had been an underkeeper, as Mr.
+Roberts once talked of, this would never have happened. I hope that will
+be considered, Miss. We are in great trouble surely. Tom, you see, was
+our first, Miss.’
+
+‘I never interfere about poaching, you know, Mrs. Jones. Mr. Dacre is
+the best judge of such matters. But you can go to him, and say that I
+sent you. I am afraid, however, that he has heard of Tom before.’
+
+‘Only that night at Milwood, Miss; and then you see he had been drinking
+with Squire Ridge’s people. I hope that will be considered, Miss.’
+
+‘Well, well, go up to the Castle.’
+
+‘Pray be seated, Miss,’ said a neat-looking mistress of a neat little
+farmhouse. ‘Pray be seated, sir. Let me dust it first. Dust will get
+everywhere, do what we can. And how’s Pa, Miss? He has not given me
+a look-in for many a day, not since he was a-hunting: bless me, if it
+ayn’t a fortnight. This day fortnight he tasted our ale, sure enough.
+Will you take a glass, sir?’
+
+‘You are very good. No, I thank you; not today.’
+
+‘Yes, give him a glass, nurse. He is unwell, and it will do him good.’
+
+She brought the sparkling amber fluid, and the Duke did justice by his
+draught.
+
+‘I shall have fine honey for you, Miss, this year,’ said the old nurse.
+‘Are you fond of honey, sir? Our honey is well known about. I don’t know
+how it is, but we do always contrive to manage the bees. How fond some
+people are of honey, good Lord! Now, when you were a little girl (I knew
+this young lady, sir, before you did), you always used to be fond of
+honey. I remember one day: let me see, it must be, ay! truly, that it
+is, eighteen years ago next Martinmas: I was a-going down the nursery
+stairs, just to my poor mistress’s room, and I had you in my arms (for I
+knew this young lady, sir, before you did). Well! I was a-going down the
+stairs, as I just said, to my poor dear mistress’s room with you, who
+was then a little-un indeed (bless your smiling face! you cost me many
+a weary hour when you were weaned, Miss. That you did! Some thought you
+would never get through it; but I always said, while there is life there
+is hope; and so, you see I were right); but, as I was saying, I was
+a-going down the stairs to my poor dear mistress, and I had a gallipot
+in my hand, a covered gallipot, with some leeches. And just as I had
+got to the bottom of the stairs, and was a-going into my poor dear
+mistress’s room, said you (I never shall forget it), said you, “Honey,
+honey, nurse.” She thought it were honey, sir. So you see she were
+always very fond of honey (for I knew this young lady long before you
+did, sir).’
+
+‘Are you quite sure of that, nurse?’ said Miss Dacre; ‘I think this is
+an older friend than you imagine. You remember the little Duke; do not
+you? This is the little Duke. Do you think he has grown?’
+
+‘Now! bless my life! is it so indeed? Well, be sure, he has grown. I
+always thought he would turn out well, Miss, though Dr. Pretyman were
+always a-preaching, and talking his prophecycations. I always thought he
+would turn out well at last. Bless me! how he has grown, indeed! Perhaps
+he grows too fast, and that makes him weak. Nothing better than a glass
+of ale for weak people. I remember when Dr. Pretyman ordered it for my
+poor dear mistress. “Give her ale,” said the Doctor, “as strong as it
+can be brewed;” and sure enough, my poor dear master had it brewed! Have
+you done growing, sir? You was ever a troublesome child. Often and often
+have I called George, George, Georgy, Georgy Porgy, and he never would
+come near me, though he heard all the time as plainly as he does now.
+Bless me! he has grown indeed!’
+
+‘But I have turned out well at last, nurse, eh?’ asked the Duke.
+
+‘Ay! sure enough; I always said so. Often and often have I said, he will
+turn out well at last. You be going, Miss? I thank you for looking in.
+My duty to my master. I was thinking of bringing up one of those cheeses
+he likes so.’
+
+‘Ay! do, nurse. He can eat no cheese but yours.’
+
+As they wandered home, they talked of Lady Caroline, to whom the Duke
+mentioned that he must write. He had once intended distinctly to have
+explained his feelings to her in a letter from Dacre; but each day he
+postponed the close of his destiny, although without hope. He lingered
+and he lingered round May Dacre, as a bird flutters round the fruit
+which is already grasped by a boy. Circumstances, which we shall
+relate, had already occurred, which confirmed the suspicion he had long
+entertained that Arundel Dacre was his favoured rival. Impressed with
+the folly of again encouraging hope, yet unable to harden his heart
+against her continual fascination, the softness of his manner indicated
+his passion, and his calm and somewhat languid carriage also told her it
+was hopeless. Perhaps, after all, there is no demeanour more calculated
+to melt obdurate woman. The gratification he received from her society
+was evident, yet he never indulged in that gallantry of which he was
+once so proud. When she approached him, a mild smile lit up his pensive
+countenance; he adopted her suggestions, but made none; he listened to
+her remarks with interest, but no longer bandied repartee. Delicately he
+impressed her with the absolute power which she might exercise over his
+mind.
+
+‘I write myself to Caroline to-morrow,’ said Miss Dacre.
+
+‘Ah! Then I need not write. I talked of going up sooner. Have the
+kindness to explain why I do not: peremptory orders from Mr. Dacre;
+fresh air, and----’
+
+‘Arithmetic. I understand you get on admirably.’
+
+‘My follies,’ said the Duke with a serious air, ‘have at least been
+productive of one good end, they have amused you.’
+
+‘Nay! I have done too many foolish things myself any more to laugh at
+my neighbours. As for yourself, you have only committed those which were
+inseparable from your situation; and few, like the Duke of St. James,
+would so soon have opened their eyes to the truth of their conduct.’
+
+‘A compliment from you repays me for all.’
+
+‘Self-approbation does, which is much better than compliments from
+anyone. See! there is papa, and Arundel too: let us run up!’
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+     _Again the Rival_
+
+THE Duke of St. James had, on his arrival at Dacre, soon observed that
+a constant correspondence was maintained between Miss Dacre and her
+cousin. There was no attempt to conceal the fact from any of the guests,
+and, as that young gentleman was now engaged in an affair interesting to
+all his friends, every letter generally contained some paragraph almost
+as interesting to the Montingfords as to herself, which was
+accordingly read aloud. Mr. Arundel Dacre was candidate for the vacant
+representation of a town in a distant county. He had been disappointed
+in his views on the borough, about which he had returned to England, but
+had been nevertheless persuaded by his cousin to remain in his native
+country. During this period, he had been a great deal at Castle Dacre,
+and had become much more intimate and unreserved with his uncle, who
+observed with great satisfaction this change in his character, and lost
+no opportunity of deserving and increasing the confidence for which
+he had so long unavailingly yearned, and which was now so unexpectedly
+proffered.
+
+The borough for which Arundel Dacre was about to stand was in Sussex, a
+county in which his family had no property, and very slight connection.
+Yet at the place, the Catholic interest was strong, and on that, and
+the usual Whig influence, he ventured. His desire to be a member of
+the Legislature, at all and from early times extreme, was now greatly
+heightened by the prospect of being present at the impending Catholic
+debate. After an absence of three weeks, he had hurried to Yorkshire for
+four-and-twenty hours, to give a report of the state of his canvass,
+and the probability of his success. In that success all were greatly
+interested, but none more so than Miss Dacre, whose thoughts indeed
+seemed to dwell on no other subject, and who expressed herself with a
+warmth which betrayed her secret feelings. Had the place only been
+in Yorkshire, she was sure he must have succeeded. She was the best
+canvasser in the world, and everybody agreed that Harry Grey-stoke owed
+his election merely to her insinuating tongue and unrivalled powers
+of scampering, by which she had completely baffled the tactics of Lady
+Amarantha.
+
+Germain, who thought that a canvass was only a long morning call, and
+might be achieved in a cashmere and a britzska.
+
+The young Duke, who had seen little of his second since the eventful
+day, greeted him with warmth, and was welcomed with a frankness which
+he had never before experienced from his friend. Excited by rapid
+travel and his present course of life, and not damped by the unexpected
+presence of any strangers, Arundel Dacre seemed quite a changed man, and
+talked immensely.
+
+‘Come, May, I must have a kiss! I have been kissing as pretty girls as
+you. There now! You all said I never should be a popular candidate. I
+get regularly huzzaed every day, so they have been obliged to hire a
+band of butchers’ boys to pelt me. Whereupon I compare myself to Cæsar
+set upon in the Senate House, and get immense cheering in “The County
+Chronicle,” which I have bribed. If you knew the butts of wine, the
+Heidelberg tuns of ale, that I have drank during the last fortnight,
+you would stare indeed. As much as the lake: but then I have to talk
+so much, that the ardour of my eloquence, like the hot flannels of the
+Humane Society, save me from the injurious effects of all this liquid.’
+
+‘But will you get in; but will you get in?’ exclaimed his cousin.
+
+‘‘Tis not in mortals to command success; but---’
+
+‘Pooh! pooh! you must command it!’ ‘Well, then, I have an excellent
+chance; and the only thing against me is, that my committee are quite
+sure. But really I think that if the Protestant overseers, whom,
+by-the-bye, May, I cannot persuade that I am a heretic (it is very hard
+that a man is not believed when he says he shall be damned), if they
+do not empty the workhouse, we shall do. But let us go in, for I have
+travelled all night, and must be off to-morrow morning.’
+
+They entered the house, and the Duke quitted the family group. About an
+hour afterwards, he sauntered to the music-room. As he opened the door,
+his eyes lighted upon May Dacre and her cousin. They were standing
+before the fire, with their backs to the door. His arm was wound
+carelessly round her waist, and with his other hand he supported, with
+her, a miniature, at which she was looking.
+
+The Duke could not catch her countenance, which was completely hid; but
+her companion was not gazing on the picture: his head, a little turned,
+indicated that there was a living countenance more interesting to him
+than all the skill of the most cunning artist. Part of his cheek was
+alone perceptible, and that was burning red.
+
+All this was the work of a moment. The Duke stared, turned pale, closed
+the door without a sound, and retired unperceived. When he was sure that
+he could no longer be observed, he gasped for breath, a cold dew covered
+his frame, his joints loosened, and his sinking heart gave him that
+sickening sensation when life appears utterly worthless, and ourselves
+utterly contemptible. Yet what had he witnessed? A confirmation of what
+he had never doubted. What was this woman to him? Alas! how supreme was
+the power with which she ruled his spirit! And this Dacre, this Arundel
+Dacre, how he hated him! Oh! that they were hand to hand, and sword to
+sword, in some fair field, and there decide it! He must conquer; he felt
+that. Already his weapon pierced that craven heart, and ripped open that
+breast which was to be the pillow of---. Hell! hell! He rushed to his
+room, and began a letter to Caroline St. Maurice; but he could not
+write; and after scribbling over a quire of paper, he threw the sheets
+to the flames, and determined to ride up to town to-morrow.
+
+The dinner bell sounded. Could he meet them? Ay! meet them! Defy them!
+Insult them! He descended to the dining-room. He heard her musical
+and liquid voice; the scowl upon his brow melted away; but, gloomy and
+silent, he took his seat, and gloomy and silent he remained. Little he
+spoke, and that little was scarcely courteous. But Arundel had enough to
+say. He was the hero of the party. Well he might be. Story after
+story of old maids and young widows, sturdy butchers and corrupt coal
+merchants, sparkled away; but a faint smile was all the tribute of the
+Duke, and a tribute that was seldom paid.
+
+‘You are not well!’ said Miss Dacre to him, in a low voice.
+
+‘I believe I am,’ answered he shortly.
+
+‘You do not seem quite so,’ she replied, with an air of surprise.
+
+‘I believe I have got a headache,’ he retorted with little more
+cordiality. She did not again speak, but she was evidently annoyed.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+     _Bitter is Jealousy_
+
+THERE certainly is a dark delight in being miserable, a sort of strange
+satisfaction in being savage, which is uncommonly fascinating. One of
+the greatest pests of philosophy is, that one can no longer be sullen,
+and most sincerely do I regret it. To brood over misery, to flatter
+yourself that there is not a single being who cares for your existence,
+and not a single circumstance to make that existence desirable: there
+is wild witchery in it, which we doubt whether opium can reach, and are
+sure that wine cannot.
+
+And the Duke! He soon left the uncle and nephew to their miserable
+speculations about the state of the poll, and took his sullen way,
+with the air of Ajax, to the terrace. Here he stalked along in a fierce
+reverie; asked why he had been born; why he did not die; why he should
+live, and so on. His wounded pride, which had borne so much, fairly
+got the mastery, and revenged itself for all insults on Love, whom it
+ejected most scurvily. He blushed to think how he had humiliated
+himself before her. She was the cause of that humiliation, and of every
+disagreeable sensation that he was experiencing. He began, therefore, to
+imprecate vengeance, walked himself into a fair, cold-hearted, malicious
+passion, and avowed most distinctly that he hated her. As for him, most
+ardently he hoped that, some day or other, they might again meet at
+six o’clock in the morning in Kensington Gardens, but in a different
+relation to each other.
+
+It was dark when he entered the Castle. He was about ascending to his
+own room, when he determined not to be cowed, and resolved to show
+himself the regardless witness of their mutual loves: so he repaired to
+the drawing-room. At one end of this very spacious apartment, Mr. Dacre
+and Arundel were walking in deep converse; at the other sat Miss Dacre
+at a table reading. The Duke seized a chair without looking at her,
+dragged it along to the fireplace, and there seating himself, with his
+arms folded, his feet on the fender, and his chair tilting, he appeared
+to be lost in the abstracting contemplation of the consuming fuel.
+
+Some minutes had passed, when a slight sound, like a fluttering bird,
+made him look up: Miss Dacre was standing at his side.
+
+‘Is your head better?’ she asked him, in a soft voice.
+
+‘Thank you, it is quite well,’ he replied, in a sullen one.
+
+There was a moment’s pause, and then she again spoke.
+
+‘I am sure you are not well.’
+
+‘Perfectly, thank you.’
+
+‘Something has happened, then,’ she said, rather imploringly.
+
+‘What should have happened?’ he rejoined, pettishly.
+
+‘You are very strange; very unlike what you always are.’
+
+‘What I always am is of no consequence to myself, or to anyone else;
+and as for what I am now, I cannot always command my feelings, though I
+shall take care that they are not again observed.’
+
+‘I have offended you?’
+
+‘Then you have shown your discretion, for you should always offend the
+forlorn.’
+
+‘I did not think before that you were bitter.’
+
+‘That has made me bitter which has made all others so.’
+
+‘What?’
+
+‘Disappointment.’
+
+Another pause, yet she did not go.
+
+‘I will not quarrel, and so you need not try. You are consigned to my
+care, and I am to amuse you. What shall we do?’
+
+‘Do what you like, Miss Dacre; but spare, oh! spare me your pity!’
+
+‘You do indeed surprise me. Pity! I was not thinking of pity! But you
+are indeed serious, and I leave you.’
+
+He turned; he seized her hand.
+
+‘Nay! do not go. Forgive me,’ he said, ‘forgive me, for I am most
+miserable.’
+
+‘Why, why are you?’
+
+‘Oh! do not ask; you agonise me.’
+
+‘Shall I sing? Shall I charm the evil spirit?’
+
+‘Anything?’
+
+She tripped to the piano, and an air, bursting like the spring, and gay
+as a village feast, filled the room with its delight. He listened, and
+each instant the chilly weight loosened from his heart. Her balmy voice
+now came upon his ear, breathing joy and cheerfulness, content and love.
+Could love be the savage passion which lately subjugated his soul? He
+rose from his seat; he walked about the room; each minute his heart
+was lighter, his brow more smooth. A thousand thoughts, beautiful and
+quivering like the twilight, glanced o’er his mind in indistinct but
+exquisite tumult, and hope, like the voice of an angel in a storm, was
+heard above all. He lifted a chair gently from the ground, and, stealing
+to the enchantress, seated himself at her side. So softly he reached
+her, that for a moment he was unperceived. She turned her head, and her
+eyes met his. Even the ineffable incident was forgotten, as he marked
+the strange gush of lovely light, that seemed to say---- what to think
+of was, after all, madness.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+     _Arundel’s Disappointment_
+
+THE storm was past. He vowed that a dark thought should not again cross
+his mind. It was fated that she should not be his; but it was some
+miserable satisfaction that he was only rejected in favour of an
+attachment which had grown with her years, and had strengthened with her
+stature, and in deference to an engagement hallowed by time as well as
+by affection. It was deadly indeed to remember that Fate seemed to have
+destined him for that happy position, and that his folly had rejected
+the proffered draught of bliss. He blasphemed against the Fitz-pompeys.
+However, he did not leave Dacre at the same time as Arundel, but
+lingered on. His affairs were far from being arranged. The Irish
+business gave great trouble, and he determined therefore to remain.
+
+It was ridiculous to talk of feeding a passion which was not susceptible
+of increase. Her society was Heaven; and he resolved to enjoy it,
+although he was to be expelled. As for his loss of fortune, it gave him
+not a moment’s care. Without her, he felt he could not live in England,
+and, even ruined, he would be a match for an Italian prince.
+
+So he continued her companion, each day rising with purer feelings and
+a more benevolent heart; each day more convinced of the falseness of his
+past existence, and of the possibility of happiness to a well-regulated
+mind; each day more conscious that duty is nothing more than
+self-knowledge, and the performance of it consequently the development
+of feelings which are the only true source of self-gratification. He
+mourned over the opportunities which he had forfeited of conducing to
+the happiness of others and himself. Sometimes he had resolved to remain
+in England and devote himself to his tenantry; but passion blinded him,
+and he felt that he had erred too far ever to regain the right road.
+
+The election for which Arundel Dacre was a candidate came on. Each day
+the state of the poll arrived. It was nearly equal to the last. Their
+agitation was terrible, but forgotten in the deep mortification which
+they experienced at the announcement of his defeat. He talked to the
+public boldly of petitioning, and his certainty of ultimate success; but
+he let them know privately that he had no intention of the first, and
+no chance of the second. Even Mr. Dacre could mot conceal his deep
+disappointment; but May was quite in despair. Even if her father could
+find means of securing him a seat another time, the present great
+opportunity was lost.
+
+‘Surely we can make some arrangement for next session,’ said the Duke,
+whispering hope to her.
+
+‘Oh! no, no, no; so much depended upon this. It is not merely his taking
+a part in the debate, but--but Arundel is so odd, and everything was
+staked upon this. I cannot tell you what depended upon it. He will leave
+England directly.’
+
+She did not attempt to conceal her agitation. The Duke rose, and paced
+the room in a state scarcely less moved. A thought had suddenly flashed
+upon him. Their marriage doubtless depended upon this success. He knew
+something of Arundel Dacre, and had heard more. He was convinced of the
+truth of his suspicion. Either the nephew would not claim her hand
+until he had carved out his own fortunes, or perhaps the uncle made his
+distinction the condition of his consent. Yet this was odd. It was all
+odd. A thousand things had occurred which equally puzzled him. Yet he
+had seen enough to weigh against a thousand thoughts.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+     _A Generous Action_
+
+ANOTHER fortnight glided away, and he was still at the Castle, still the
+constant and almost sole companion of May Dacre. It is breakfast; the
+servant is delivering the letter-bag to Mr. Dacre. Interesting moment!
+when you extend your hand for the billet of a mistress, and receive your
+tailor’s bill! How provokingly slow are most domestic chieftains in this
+anxious operation! They turn the letters over and over, and upside and
+down; arrange, confuse, mistake, assort; pretend, like Champollion, to
+decipher illegible franks, and deliver with a slight remark, which is
+intended as a friendly admonition, the documents of the unlucky wight
+who encourages unprivileged correspondents.
+
+A letter was delivered to Miss Dacre. She started, exclaimed, blushed,
+and tore it open.
+
+‘Only you, only you,’ she said, extending her hand to the young Duke,
+‘only you were capable of this!’
+
+It was a letter from Arundel Dacre, not only written but franked by him.
+
+It explained everything that the Duke of St. James might have told them
+before; but he preferred hearing all himself, from the delighted and
+delightful lips of Miss Dacre, who read to her father her cousin’s
+letter.
+
+The Duke of St. James had returned him for one of his Cornish boroughs.
+It appeared that Lord St. Maurice was the previous member, who had
+accepted the Chiltern Hundreds in his favour.
+
+‘You were determined to surprise, as well as delight us,’ said Mr.
+Dacre.
+
+‘I am no admirer of mysteries,’ said the Duke; ‘but the fact is, in
+the present case, it was not in my power to give you any positive
+information, and I had no desire to provide you, after your late
+disappointment, with new sources of anxiety. The only person I could
+take the liberty with, at so short a notice, was St. Maurice. He, you
+know, is a Liberal; but he cannot forget that he is the son of a Tory,
+and has no great ambition to take any active part in affairs at present.
+I anticipated less difficulty with him than with his father. St. Maurice
+can command me again when it suits him; but, I confess to you, I have
+been surprised at my uncle’s kindness in this affair. I really have not
+done justice to his character before, and regret it. He has behaved
+in the most kind-hearted and the most liberal manner, and put me under
+obligations which I never shall forget. He seems as desirous of serving
+my friend as myself; and I assure you, sir, it would give you pleasure
+to know in what terms of respect he speaks of your family, and
+particularly of Arundel.’
+
+‘Arundel says he shall take his seat the morning of the debate. How very
+near! how admirably managed! Oh! I never shall recover my surprise and
+delight! How good you are!’
+
+‘He takes his seat, then, to-morrow,’ said Mr. Dacre, in a musing tone.
+‘My letters give a rather nervous account of affairs. We are to win it,
+they hope, but by two only. As for the Lords, the majority against
+us will, it is said, be somewhat smaller than usual. We shall never
+triumph, George, till May is M.P. for the county. Cannot you return her
+for Pen Bronnock too?’
+
+They talked, as you may suppose, of nothing else. At last Mr. Dacre
+remembered an appointment with his bailiff, and proposed to the Duke to
+join him, who acceded.
+
+‘And I to be left alone this morning, then!’ said Miss Dacre. ‘I am
+sure, as they say of children, I can set to nothing.’
+
+‘Come and ride with us, then!’
+
+‘An excellent idea! Let us canter over to Hauteville! I am just in the
+humour for a gallop up the avenue, and feel half emancipated already
+with a Dacre in the House! Oh! to-morrow, how nervous I shall be!’
+
+‘I will despatch Barrington, then,’ said Mr. Dacre, ‘and join you in ten
+minutes.’
+
+‘How good you are!’ said Miss Dacre to the Duke. ‘How can we thank you
+enough? What can we do for you?’
+
+‘You have thanked me enough. What have I done after all? My opportunity
+to serve my friends is brief. Is it wonderful that I seize the
+opportunity?’
+
+‘Brief! brief! Why do you always say so? Why do you talk so of leaving
+us?’
+
+‘My visit to you has been already too long. It must soon end, and I
+remain not in England when it ceases.’
+
+‘Come and live at Hauteville, and be near us?’
+
+He faintly smiled as he said, ‘No, no; my doom is fixed. Hauteville is
+the last place that I should choose for my residence, even if I remained
+in England. But I hear the horses.’
+
+The important night at length arrived, or rather the important
+messenger, who brought down, express, a report of its proceedings to
+Castle Dacre.
+
+Nothing is more singular than the various success of men in the House of
+Commons. Fellows who have been the oracles of coteries from their
+birth; who have gone through the regular process of gold medals,
+senior wranglerships, and double firsts, who have nightly sat down
+amid tumultuous cheering in debating societies, and can harangue
+with unruffled foreheads and unfaltering voice, from one end of a
+dinner-table to the other, who, on all occasions, have something to say,
+and can speak with fluency on what they know nothing about, no sooner
+rise in the House than their spells desert them. All their effrontery
+vanishes. Commonplace ideas are rendered even more uninteresting by
+monotonous delivery; and keenly alive as even boobies are in those
+sacred walls to the ridiculous, no one appears more thoroughly aware of
+his unexpected and astounding deficiencies than the orator himself. He
+regains his seat hot and hard, sultry and stiff, with a burning cheek
+and an icy hand, repressing his breath lest it should give evidence of
+an existence of which he is ashamed, and clenching his fist, that
+the pressure may secretly convince him that he has not as completely
+annihilated his stupid body as his false reputation.
+
+On the other hand, persons whom the women have long deplored, and the
+men long pitied, as having ‘no manner,’ who blush when you speak to
+them, and blunder when they speak to you, suddenly jump up in the House
+with a self-confidence, which is only equalled by their consummate
+ability. And so it was with Arundel Dacre. He rose the first night
+that he took his seat (a great disadvantage, of which no one was more
+sensible than himself), and for an hour and a half he addressed the
+fullest House that had long been assembled, with the self-possession of
+an habitual debater. His clenching argument, and his luminous detail,
+might have been expected from one who had the reputation of having been
+a student. What was more surprising was, the withering sarcasm that
+blasted like the simoom, the brilliant sallies of wit that flashed like
+a sabre, the gushing eddies of humour that drowned all opposition and
+overwhelmed those ponderous and unwieldy arguments which the producers
+announced as rocks, but which he proved to be porpoises. Never was there
+such a triumphant début; and a peroration of genuine eloquence, because
+of genuine feeling, concluded amid the long and renewed cheers of all
+parties.
+
+The truth is, Eloquence is the child of Knowledge. When a mind is full,
+like a wholesome river, it is also clear. Confusion and obscurity are
+much oftener the results of ignorance than of inefficiency. Few are
+the men who cannot express their meaning, when the occasion demands
+the energy; as the lowest will defend their lives with acuteness,
+and sometimes even with eloquence. They are masters of their subject.
+Knowledge must be gained by ourselves. Mankind may supply us with facts;
+but the results, even if they agree with previous ones, must be the work
+of our own mind. To make others feel, we must feel ourselves; and to
+feel ourselves, we must be natural. This we can never be, when we
+are vomiting forth the dogmas of the schools. Knowledge is not a mere
+collection of words; and it is a delusion to suppose that thought can
+be obtained by the aid of any other intellect than our own. What is
+repetition, by a curious mystery ceases to be truth, even if it were
+truth when it was first heard; as the shadow in a mirror, though it move
+and mimic all the actions of vitality, is not life. When a man is not
+speaking, or writing, from his own mind, he is as insipid company as a
+looking-glass.
+
+Before a man can address a popular assembly with command, he must know
+something of mankind; and he can know nothing of mankind without knowing
+something of himself. Self-knowledge is the property of that man whose
+passions have their play, but who ponders over their results. Such a man
+sympathises by inspiration with his kind. He has a key to every heart.
+He can divine, in the flash of a single thought, all that they require,
+all that they wish. Such a man speaks to their very core. All feel that
+a master-hand tears off the veil of cant, with which, from necessity,
+they have enveloped their souls; for cant is nothing more than
+the sophistry which results from attempting to account for what is
+unintelligible, or to defend what is improper.
+
+Perhaps, although we use the term, we never have had oratory in England.
+There is an essential difference between oratory and debating. Oratory
+seems an accomplishment confined to the ancients, unless the French
+preachers may put in their claim, and some of the Irish lawyers. Mr.
+Shiel’s speech in Kent was a fine oration; and the boobies who taunted
+him for having got it by rote, were not aware that in doing so he only
+wisely followed the example of Pericles, Demosthenes, Lysias, Isocrates,
+Hortensius, Cicero, Cæsar, and every great orator of antiquity. Oratory
+is essentially the accomplishment of antiquity: it was their most
+efficient mode of communicating thought; it was their substitute for
+printing.
+
+I like a good debate; and, when a stripling, used sometimes to be
+stifled in the Gallery, or enjoy the easier privileges of a member’s
+son. I like, I say, a good debate, and have no objection to a due
+mixture of bores, which are a relief. I remember none of the giants of
+former days; but I have heard Canning. He was a consummate rhetorician;
+but there seemed to me a dash of commonplace in all that he said, and
+frequent indications of the absence of an original mind. To the last,
+he never got clear of ‘Good God, sir!’ and all the other hackneyed
+ejaculations of his youthful debating clubs. The most commanding speaker
+that I ever listened to is, I think, Sir Francis Burdett. I never heard
+him in the House; but at an election. He was full of music, grace» and
+dignity, even amid all the vulgar tumult; and, unlike all mob orators,
+raised the taste of the populace to him, instead of lowering his own to
+theirs. His colleague, Mr. Hobhouse, seemed to me ill qualified for a
+demagogue, though he spoke with power. He is rather too elaborate, and
+a little heavy, but fluent, and never weak. His thoughtful and
+highly-cultivated mind maintains him under all circumstances; and his
+breeding never deserts him. Sound sense comes recommended from his lips
+by the language of a scholar and the urbanity of a gentleman.
+
+Mr. Brougham, at present, reigns paramount in the House of Commons. I
+think the lawyer has spoiled the statesman. He is said to have great
+powers of sarcasm. From what I have observed there, I should think very
+little ones would be quite sufficient. Many a sneer withers in those
+walls, which would scarcely, I think, blight a currant-bush out of
+them; and I have seen the House convulsed with raillery which, in other
+society, would infallibly settle the rallier to be a bore beyond all
+tolerance. Even an idiot can raise a smile. They are so good-natured, or
+find it so dull. Mr. Canning’s badinage was the most successful, though
+I confess I have listened to few things more calculated to make a man
+gloomy. But the House always ran riot, taking everything for granted,
+and cracked their universal sides before he opened his mouth. The fault
+of Mr. Brougham is, that he holds no intellect at present in great
+dread, and, consequently, allows himself on all occasions to run wild.
+Few men hazard more unphilosophical observations; but he is safe,
+because there is no one to notice them. On all great occasions, Mr.
+Brougham has come up to the mark; an infallible test of a man of genius.
+
+I hear that Mr. Macaulay is to be returned. If he speaks half as well as
+he writes, the House will be in fashion again. I fear that he is one of
+those who, like the individual whom he has most studied, will ‘give up
+to party what was meant for mankind.’
+
+At any rate, he must get rid of his rabidity. He writes now on all
+subjects, as if he certainly intended to be a renegade, and was
+determined to make the contrast complete.
+
+Mr. Peel is the model of a minister, and improves as a speaker; though,
+like most of the rest, he is fluent without the least style. He should
+not get so often in a passion either, or, if he do, should not get out
+of one so easily. His sweet apologies are cloying. His candour--he
+will do well to get rid of that. He can make a present of it to Mr.
+Huskisson, who is a memorable instance of the value of knowledge, which
+maintains a man under all circumstances and all disadvantages, and will.
+
+In the Lords, I admire the Duke. The readiness with which he has adopted
+the air of a debater, shows the man of genius. There is a gruff, husky
+sort of a downright Montaignish naïveté about him, which is quaint,
+unusual, and tells. You plainly perceive that he is determined to be a
+civilian; and he is as offended if you drop a hint that he occasionally
+wears an uniform, as a servant on a holiday if you mention the word
+_livery_.
+
+Lord Grey speaks with feeling, and is better to hear than to read,
+though ever strong and impressive. Lord Holland’s speeches are like a
+_refacimento_ of all the suppressed passages in Clarendon, and the
+notes in the new edition of Bishop Burnet’s Memoirs: but taste throws a
+delicate hue over the curious medley, and the candour of a philosophic
+mind shows that in the library of Holland House he can sometimes cease
+to be a partisan.
+
+One thing is clear, that a man may speak very well in the House of
+Commons, and fail very completely in the House of Lords. There are two
+distinct styles requisite: I intend, in the course of my career, if I
+have time, to give a specimen of both. In the Lower House Don Juan may
+perhaps be our model; in the Upper House, Paradise Lost.
+
+
+
+
+BOOK V [CONTINUED]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+     _‘To See Ourselves as Others See Us.’_
+
+NOTHING was talked of in Yorkshire but Mr. Arundel Dacre’s speech. All
+the world flocked to Castle Dacre to compliment and to congratulate; and
+an universal hope was expressed that he might come in for the county,
+if indeed the success of his eloquence did not enable his uncle to
+pre-occupy that honour. Even the calm Mr. Dacre shared the general
+elation, and told the Duke of St. James regularly every day that it was
+all owing to him. May Dacre was enthusiastic; but her gratitude to him
+was synonymous with her love for Arundel, and valued accordingly. The
+Duke, however, felt that he had acted at once magnanimously, generously,
+and wisely. The consciousness of a noble action is itself ennobling.
+His spirit expanded with the exciting effects which his conduct
+had produced; and he felt consolation under all his misery from
+the conviction that he had now claims to be remembered, and perhaps
+regarded, when he was no more among them.
+
+The Bill went swimmingly through the Commons, the majority of two
+gradually swelling into eleven; and the important night in the Lords was
+at hand.
+
+‘Lord Faulconcourt writes,’ said Mr. Dacre, ‘that they expect only
+thirty-eight against us.’
+
+‘Ah! that terrible House of Lords!’ said Miss Dacre. ‘Let us see: when
+does it come on, the day after to-morrow? Scarcely forty-eight hours
+and all will be over, and we shall be just where we were. You and your
+friends manage very badly in your House,’ she added, addressing herself
+to the Duke.
+
+‘I do all I can,’ said his Grace, smiling. ‘Burlington has my proxy.’
+
+‘That is exactly what I complain of. On such an occasion, there should
+be no proxies. Personal attendance would indicate a keener interest in
+the result. Ah! if I were Duke of St. James for one night!’
+
+‘Ah! that you would be Duchess of St. James!’ thought the Duke; but
+a despairing lover has no heart for jokes, and so he did not give
+utterance to the wish. He felt a little agitated, and caught May Dacre’s
+eye. She smiled, and slightly blushed, as if she felt the awkwardness of
+her remark, though too late.
+
+The Duke retired early, but not to sleep. His mind was busied on a great
+deed. It was past midnight before he could compose his agitated feelings
+to repose, and by five o’clock he was again up. He dressed himself, and
+then put on a rough travelling coat, which, with a shawl, effectually
+disguised his person; and putting in one pocket a shirt, and in the
+other a few articles from his dressing-case, the Duke of St. James stole
+out of Castle Dacre, leaving a note for his host, accounting for his
+sudden departure by urgent business at Hauteville, and promising a
+return in a day or two.
+
+The fresh morn had fully broke. He took his hurried way through the long
+dewy grass, and, crossing the Park, gained the road, which, however, was
+not the high one. He had yet another hour’s rapid walk, before he could
+reach his point of destination; and when that was accomplished, he found
+himself at a small public-house, bearing for a sign his own arms, and
+situated in the high road opposite his own Park. He was confident that
+his person was unknown to the host, or to any of the early idlers who
+were lingering about the mail, then breakfasting.
+
+‘Any room, guard, to London?’
+
+‘Room inside, sir: just going off.’
+
+The door was opened, and the Duke of St. James took his seat in the
+Edinburgh and York Mail. He had two companions: the first, because
+apparently the most important, was a hard-featured, grey-headed
+gentleman, with a somewhat supercilious look, and a mingled air of
+acuteness and conceit; the other was a humble-looking widow in
+her weeds, middle-aged, and sad. These persons had recently roused
+themselves from their nocturnal slumbers, and now, after their welcome
+meal and hurried toilet, looked as fresh as birds.
+
+‘Well! now we are off,’ said the gentleman. ‘Very neat, cleanly little
+house this, ma’am,’ continued he to his companion. ‘What is the sign?’
+‘The Hauteville Arms.’ ‘Oh! Hauteville; that is--that is, let me see!
+the St. James family. Ah! a pretty fool that young man has made of
+himself, by all accounts. Eh! sir?’
+
+‘I have reason to believe so,’ said the Duke.
+
+‘I suppose this is his park, eh? Hem! going to London, sir?’
+
+‘I am.’
+
+‘Ah! hem! Hauteville Park, I suppose, this. Fine ground wasted. What the
+use of parks is, I can’t say.’
+
+‘The place seems well kept up,’ said the widow.
+
+‘So much the worse; I wish it were in ruins.’
+
+‘Well, for my part,’ continued the widow in a low voice, ‘I think a park
+nearly the most beautiful thing we have. Foreigners, you know, sir----’
+
+‘Ah! I know what you are going to say,’ observed the gentleman in a
+curt, gruffish voice. ‘It is all nonsense. Foreigners are fools. Don’t
+talk to me of beauty; a mere word. What is the use of all this? It
+produces about as much benefit to society as its owner does.’
+
+‘And do you think his existence, then, perfectly useless?’ asked the
+Duke.
+
+‘To be sure, I do. So the world will, some day or other. We are
+opening our eyes fast. Men begin to ask themselves what the use of an
+aristocracy is. That is the test, sir.’
+
+‘I think it not very difficult to demonstrate the use of an
+aristocracy,’ mildly observed the Duke.
+
+‘Pooh! nonsense, sir! I know what you are going to say; but we have
+got beyond all that. Have you read this, sir? This article on the
+aristocracy in “The Screw and Lever Review?”’
+
+‘I have not, sir.’
+
+‘Then I advise you to make yourself master of it, and you will talk no
+more of the aristocracy. A few more articles like this, and a few more
+noblemen like the man who has got this park, and people will open their
+eyes at last.’
+
+‘I should think,’ said his Grace, ‘that the follies of the man who had
+got this park have been productive of evil only to himself. In fact,
+sir, according to your own system, a prodigal noble seems to be a very
+desirable member of the commonwealth and a complete leveller.’
+
+‘We shall get rid of them all soon, sir,’ said his companion, with a
+malignant smile.
+
+‘I have heard that he is very young, sir,’ remarked the widow.
+
+‘What is that to you or me?’
+
+‘Ah! youth is a trying time. Let us hope the best! He may turn out well
+yet, poor soul!’
+
+‘I hope not. Don’t talk to me of poor souls. There is a poor soul,’ said
+the utilitarian, pointing to an old man breaking stones on the highway.
+‘That is what I call a poor soul, not a young prodigal, whose life has
+been one long career of infamous debauchery.’
+
+‘You appear to have heard much of this young nobleman,’ said the Duke;
+‘but it does not follow, sir, that you have heard truth.’
+
+‘Very true, sir,’ said the widow. ‘The world is very foul-mouthed. Let
+us hope he is not so very bad.’
+
+‘I tell you what, my friends; you know nothing about what you are
+talking of. I don’t speak without foundation. You have not the least
+idea, sir, how this fellow has lived. Now, what I am going to tell you
+is a fact: I know it to be a fact. A very intimate friend of mine, who
+knows a person, who is a very intimate friend of an intimate friend of a
+person, who knows the Duke of St. James, told me himself, that one night
+they had for supper--what do you think ma’am?--Venison cutlets, each
+served up in a hundred pound note!’
+
+‘Mercy!’ exclaimed the widow.
+
+‘And do you believe it?’ asked the Duke.
+
+‘Believe it! I know it!’
+
+‘He is very young,’ said the widow. ‘Youth is a very trying time.’
+
+‘Nothing to do with his youth. It’s the system, the infernal system. If
+that man had to work for his bread, like everybody else, do you think he
+would dine off bank notes? No! to be sure he wouldn’t! It’s the system.’
+
+‘Young people are very wild!’ said the widow.
+
+‘Pooh! ma’am. Nonsense! Don’t talk cant. If a man be properly educated,
+he is as capable at one-and-twenty of managing anything, as at any time
+in his life; more capable. Look at the men who write “The Screw and
+Lever;” the first men in the country. Look at them. Not one of age.
+Look at the man who wrote this article on the aristocracy: young Duncan
+Macmorrogh. Look at him, I say, the first man in the country by far.’
+
+‘I never heard his name before,’ calmly observed the Duke.
+
+‘Not heard his name? Not heard of young Duncan Macmorrogh, the first
+man of the day, by far; not heard of him? Go and ask the Marquess of
+Sheepshead what he thinks of him. Go and ask Lord Two and Two what he
+thinks of him. Duncan dines with Lord Two and Two every week.’
+
+The Duke smiled, and his companion proceeded.
+
+‘Well, again, look at his friends. There is young First Principles.
+What a «head that fellow has got! Here, this article on India is by him.
+He’ll knock up their Charter. He is a clerk in the India House. Up to
+the detail, you see. Let me read you this passage on monopolies. Then
+there is young Tribonian Quirk. By G--, what a mind that fellow has got!
+By G--, nothing but first principles will go down with these
+fellows! They laugh at anything else. By G--, sir, they look upon the
+administration of the present day as a parcel of sucking babes! When I
+was last in town, Quirk told me that he would not give that for all the
+public men that ever existed! He is keeping his terms at Gray’s Inn.
+This article on a new Code is by him. Shows as plain as light, that,
+by sticking close to first principles, the laws of the country might be
+carried in every man’s waistcoat pocket.’
+
+The coach stopped, and a colloquy ensued.
+
+‘Any room to Selby?’
+
+‘Outside or in?’
+
+‘Out, to be sure.’
+
+‘Room inside only.’
+
+‘Well! in then.’
+
+The door opened, and a singularly quaint-looking personage presented
+himself. He was very stiff and prim in his appearance; dressed in a blue
+coat and scarlet waistcoat, with a rich bandanna handkerchief tied very
+neatly round his neck, and a very new hat, to which his head seemed
+little habituated.
+
+‘Sorry to disturb you, ladies and gentlemen: not exactly the proper
+place for me. Don’t be alarmed. I’m always respectful wherever I am. My
+rule through life is to be respectful.’
+
+‘Well, now, in with you,’ said the guard.
+
+‘Be respectful, my friend, and don’t talk so to an old soldier who has
+served his king and his country.’
+
+Off they went.
+
+‘Majesty’s service?’ asked the stranger of the Duke.
+
+‘I have not that honour.’
+
+‘Hum! Lawyer, perhaps?’
+
+‘Not a lawyer.’
+
+‘Hum! A gentleman, I suppose?’
+
+The Duke was silent; and so the stranger addressed himself to the
+anti-aristocrat, who seemed vastly annoyed by the intrusion of so low a
+personage.
+
+‘Going to London, sir?’
+
+‘I tell you what, my friend, at once; I never answer impertinent
+questions.’
+
+‘No offence, I hope, sir! Sorry to offend. I’m always respectful. Madam!
+I hope I don’t inconvenience you; I should be sorry to do that. We
+sailors, you know, are always ready to accommodate the ladies.’
+
+‘Sailor!’ exclaimed the acute utilitarian, his curiosity stifling his
+hauteur. ‘Why! just now, I thought you were a soldier.’
+
+‘Well! so I am.’
+
+‘Well, my friend, you are a conjuror then.’
+
+‘No, I ayn’t; I’m a marine.’
+
+‘A very useless person, then.’
+
+‘What do you mean?’
+
+‘I mean to say, that if the sailors were properly educated, such an
+amphibious corps would never have been formed, and some of the most
+atrocious sinecures ever tolerated would consequently not have existed.’
+
+‘Sinecures! I never heard of him. I served under Lord Combermere. Maybe
+you have heard of him, ma’am? A nice man; a beautiful man. I have seen
+him stand in a field like that, with the shot falling about him like
+hail, and caring no more for them than peas.’
+
+‘If that were for bravado,’ said the utilitarian, ‘I think it a very
+silly thing.’
+
+‘Bravado! I never heard of him. It was for his king and country.’
+
+‘Was it in India?’ asked the widow.
+
+‘In a manner, ma’am,’ said the marine, very courteously. ‘At Bhurtpore,
+up by Pershy, and thereabouts; the lake of Cashmere, where all the
+shawls come from. Maybe you have heard of Cashmere, ma’am?’
+
+‘“Who has not heard of the vale of Cashmere!’” hummed the Duke to
+himself.
+
+‘Ah! I thought so,’ said the marine; ‘all people know much the same; for
+some have seen, and some have read. I can’t read, but I have served my
+king and country for five-and-twenty years, and I have used my eyes.’
+
+‘Better than reading,’ said the Duke, humouring the character.
+
+‘I’ll tell you what,’ said the marine, with a knowing look. ‘I suspect
+there is a d--d lot of lies in your books. I landed in England last
+seventh of June, and went to see St. Paul’s. “This is the greatest
+building in the world,” says the man. Thinks I, “You lie.” I did not
+tell him so, because I am always respectful. I tell you what, sir; maybe
+you think St. Paul’s the greatest building in the world, but I tell you
+what, it’s a lie. I have seen one greater. Maybe, ma’am, you think I am
+telling you a lie too; but I am not. Go and ask Captain Jones, of the
+58th. I went with him: I give you his name: go and ask Captain Jones, of
+the 58th, if I be telling you a lie. The building I mean is the
+palace of the Sultan Acber; for I have served my king and country
+five-and-twenty years last seventh of June, and have seen strange
+things; all built of precious stones, ma’am. What do you think of that?
+All built of precious stones; carnelian, of which you make your seals;
+as sure as I’m a sinner saved. If I ayn’t speaking the truth, I am not
+going to Selby. Maybe you’d like to know why I am going to Selby? I’ll
+tell you what. Five-and-twenty years have I served my king and country
+last seventh of June. Now I begin with the beginning. I ran away from
+home when I was eighteen, you see! and, after the siege of Bhurtpore, I
+was sitting on a bale of silk alone, and I said to myself, I’ll go and
+see my mother. Sure as I am going to Selby, that’s the whole. I landed
+in England last seventh of June, absent five-and-twenty years, serving
+my king and country. I sent them a letter last night. I put it in the
+post myself. Maybe I shall be there before my letter now.’
+
+‘To be sure you will,’ said the utilitarian; ‘what made you do such a
+silly thing? Why, your letter is in this coach.’
+
+‘Well! I shouldn’t wonder. I shall be there before my letter now. All
+nonsense, letters: my wife wrote it at Falmouth.’
+
+‘You are married, then?’ said the widow.
+
+‘Ayn’t I, though? The sweetest cretur, madam, though I say it before
+you, that ever lived.’
+
+‘Why did you not bring your wife with you?’ asked the widow.
+
+‘And wouldn’t I be very glad to? but she wouldn’t come among strangers
+at once; and so I have got a letter, which she wrote for me, to put in
+the post, in case they are glad to see me, and then she will come on.’
+
+‘And you, I suppose, are not sorry to have a holiday?’ said the Duke.
+
+‘Ayn’t I, though? Ayn’t I as low about leaving her as ever I was in my
+life; and so is the poor cretur. She won’t eat a bit of victuals till
+I come back, I’ll be sworn; not a bit, I’ll be bound to say that; and
+myself, although I am an old soldier and served my king and country for
+five-and-twenty years, and so got knocked about, and used to anything,
+as it were, I don’t know how it is, but I always feel queer whenever I
+am away from her. I shan’t make a hearty meal till I see her. Somehow or
+other, when I am away from her, everything feels dry in the throat.’
+
+‘You are very fond of her, I see,’ said the Duke.
+
+‘And ought I not to be? Didn’t I ask her three times before she said
+_yes_? Those are the wives for wear, sir. None of the fruit that falls
+at a shaking for me! Hasn’t she stuck by me in every climate, and
+in every land I was in? Not a fellow in the company had such a wife.
+Wouldn’t I throw myself off this coach this moment, to give her a
+moment’s peace? That I would, though; d----me if I wouldn’t.’
+
+‘Hush! hush!’ said the widow; ‘never swear. I am afraid you talk too
+much of your love,’ she added, with a faint smile.
+
+‘Ah! you don’t know my wife, ma’am. Are you married, sir?’
+
+‘I have not that happiness,’ said the Duke.
+
+‘Well, there is nothing like it! but don’t take the fruit that falls at
+a shake. But this, I suppose, is Selby?’
+
+The marine took his departure, having stayed long enough to raise in the
+young Duke’s mind curious feelings.
+
+As he was plunged into reverie, and as the widow was silent,
+conversation was not resumed until the coach stopped for dinner.
+
+‘We stop here half-an-hour, gentlemen,’ said the guard. ‘Mrs. Burnet,’
+he continued, to the widow, ‘let me hand you out.’
+
+They entered the parlour of the inn. The Duke, who was ignorant of the
+etiquette of the road, did not proceed to the discharge of his
+duties, as the youngest guest, with all the promptness desired by his
+fellow-travellers.
+
+‘Now, sir,’ said an outside, ‘I will thank you for a slice of that
+mutton, and will join you, if you have no objection in a bottle of
+sherry.’
+
+‘What you please, sir. May I have the pleasure of helping you, ma’am?’
+
+After dinner the Duke took advantage of a vacant outside place.
+
+Tom Rawlins was the model of a guard. Young, robust, and gay, he had a
+letter, a word, or a wink for all he met. All seasons were the same to
+him; night or day he was ever awake, and ever alive to all the interest
+of the road; now joining in conversation with a passenger, shrewd,
+sensible, and respectful; now exchanging a little elegant badinage with
+the coachman; now bowing to a pretty girl; now quizzing a passer-by; he
+was off and on his seat in an instant, and, in the whiff of his cigar,
+would lock a wheel, or unlock a passenger.
+
+From him the young Duke learned that his fellow-inside was Mr. Duncan
+Macmorrogh, senior, a writer at Edinburgh, and, of course, the father of
+the first man of the day. Tom Rawlins could not tell his Grace as much
+about the principal writer in ‘The Screw and Lever Review’ as we can;
+for Tom was no patron of our periodical literature, farther than a
+police report in the Publican’s Journal. Young Duncan Macmorrogh was a
+limb of the law, who had just brought himself into notice by a series
+of articles in ‘The Screw and Lever,’ in which he had subjected the
+universe piecemeal to his critical analysis. Duncan Macmorrogh cut
+up the creation, and got a name. His attack upon mountains was most
+violent, and proved, by its personality, that he had come from the
+Lowlands. He demonstrated the inutility of all elevation, and declared
+that the Andes were the aristocracy of the globe. Rivers he rather
+patronised; but flowers he quite pulled to pieces, and proved them to
+be the most useless of existences. Duncan Macmorrogh informed us that we
+were quite wrong in supposing ourselves to be the miracle of creation.
+On the contrary, he avowed that already there were various pieces of
+machinery of far more importance than man; and he had no doubt, in
+time, that a superior race would arise, got by a steam-engine on a
+spinning-jenny.
+
+The other ‘inside’ was the widow of a former curate of a Northumbrian
+village. Some friend had obtained for her only child a clerkship in
+a public office, and for some time this idol of her heart had gone on
+prospering; but unfortunately, of late, Charles Burnet had got into
+a bad set, was now involved in a terrible scrape, and, as Tom Rawlins
+feared, must lose his situation and go to ruin.
+
+‘She was half distracted when she heard it first, poor creature! I have
+known her all my life, sir. Many the kind word and glass of ale I have
+had at her house, and that’s what makes me feel for her, you see. I
+do what I can to make the journey easy to her, for it is a pull at her
+years. God bless her! there is not a better body in this world; that I
+will, say for her. When I was a boy, I used to be the playfellow in a
+manner with Charley Burnet: a gay lad, sir, as ever you’d wish to see
+in a summer’s day, and the devil among the girls always, and that’s been
+the ruin of him; and as open-a-hearted fellow as ever lived. D----me!
+I’d walk to the land’s end to save him, if it were only for his mother’s
+sake, to say nothing of himself.’
+
+‘And can nothing be done?’ asked the Duke.
+
+‘Why, you see, he is back in £ s. d.; and, to make it up, the poor body
+must sell her all, and he won’t let her do it, and wrote a letter like a
+prince (No room, sir), as fine a letter as ever you read (Hilloa, there!
+What! are you asleep?)--as ever you read on a summer’s day. I didn’t
+see it, but my mother told me it was as good as e’er a one of the old
+gentleman’s sermons. “Mother,” said he, “my sins be upon my own head. I
+can bear disgrace (How do, Mr. Wilkins?), but I cannot bear to see you a
+beggar!”’
+
+‘Poor fellow!’
+
+‘Ay! sir, as good-a-hearted fellow as ever you’d wish to meet!’
+
+‘Is he involved to a great extent, think you?’
+
+‘Oh! a long figure, sir (I say, Betty, I’ve got a letter for you from
+your sweetheart), a very long figure, sir (Here, take it!); I should be
+sorry (Don’t blush; no message?)--I should be sorry to take two hundred
+pounds to pay it. No, I wouldn’t take two hundred pounds, that I
+wouldn’t (I say, Jacob, stop at old Bag Smith’s).’
+
+Night came on, and the Duke resumed his inside place. Mr. Macmorrogh
+went to sleep over his son’s article; and the Duke feigned slumber,
+though he was only indulging in reverie. He opened his eyes, and a
+light, which they passed, revealed the countenance of the widow. Tears
+were stealing down her face.
+
+‘I have no mother; I have no one to weep for me,’ thought the Duke; ‘and
+yet, if I had been in this youth’s station, my career probably would
+have been as fatal. Let me assist her. Alas! how I have misused my
+power, when, even to do this slight deed, I am obliged to hesitate, and
+consider whether it be practicable.’
+
+The coach again stopped for a quarter of an hour. The Duke had, in
+consideration of the indefinite period of his visit, supplied himself
+amply with money on repairing to Dacre. Besides his purse, which was
+well stored for the road, he had somewhat more than three hundred pounds
+in his notebook. He took advantage of their tarrying, to inclose it and
+its contents in a sheet of paper with these lines:
+
+‘An unknown friend requests Mrs. Burnet to accept this token of his
+sympathy with suffering virtue.’
+
+Determined to find some means to put this in her possession before
+their parting, he resumed his place. The Scotchman now prepared for his
+night’s repose. He produced a pillow for his back, a bag for his feet,
+and a cap for his head. These, and a glass of brandy-and-water, in time
+produced a due effect, and he was soon fast asleep. Even to the widow,
+night brought some solace. The Duke alone found no repose. Unused to
+travelling in public conveyances at night, and unprovided with any of
+the ingenious expedients of a mail coach adventurer, he felt all the
+inconveniences of an inexperienced traveller. The seat was unendurably
+hard, his back ached, his head whirled, the confounded sherry, slight as
+was his portion, had made him feverish, and he felt at once excited
+and exhausted. He was sad, too; very depressed. Alone, and no longer
+surrounded with that splendour which had hitherto made solitude
+precious, life seemed stripped of all its ennobling spirit. His energy
+vanished. He repented his rashness; and the impulse of the previous
+night, which had gathered fresh power from the dewy moon, vanished. He
+felt alone, and without a friend, and night passed without a moment’s
+slumber, watching the driving clouds.
+
+The last fifteen miles seemed longer than the whole journey. At St.
+Alban’s he got out, took a cup of coffee with Tom Rawlins, and, although
+the morning was raw, again seated himself by his side. In the first
+gloomy little suburb Mrs. Burnet got out. The Duke sent Rawlins after
+her with the parcel, with peremptory instructions to leave it. He
+watched the widow protesting it was not hers, his faithful emissary
+appealing to the direction, and with delight he observed it left in
+her hands. They rattled into London, stopped in Lombard Street, reached
+Holborn, entered an archway; the coachman threw the whip and reins from
+his now careless hands. The Duke bade farewell to Tom Rawlins, and was
+shown to a bed.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+     _The Duke Makes a Speech_
+
+THE return of morning had in some degree dissipated the gloom that had
+settled on the young Duke during the night. Sound and light made him
+feel less forlorn, and for a moment his soul again responded to his high
+purpose. But now he was to seek necessary repose. In vain. His heated
+frame and anxious mind were alike restless. He turned, he tossed in his
+bed, but he could not banish from his ear the whirling sound of his late
+conveyance, the snore of Mr. Macmorrogh, and the voice of Tom Rawlins.
+He kept dwelling on every petty incident of his journey, and repeating
+in his mind every petty saying. His determination to slumber made him
+even less sleepy. Conscious that repose was absolutely necessary to
+the performance of his task, and dreading that the boon was now
+unattainable, he became each moment more feverish and more nervous; a
+crowd of half-formed ideas and images flitted over his heated brain.
+Failure, misery, May Dacre, Tom Rawlins, boiled beef, Mrs. Burnet, the
+aristocracy, mountains and the marine, and the tower of St. Alban’s
+cathedral, hurried along in infinite confusion. But there is nothing
+like experience. In a state of distraction, he remembered the hopeless
+but refreshing sleep he had gained after his fatal adventure at
+Brighton. He jumped out of bed, and threw himself on the floor, and in
+a few minutes, from the same cause, his excited senses subsided into
+slumber.
+
+He awoke; the sun was shining through his rough shutter. It was noon. He
+jumped up, rang the bell, and asked for a bath. The chambermaid did not
+seem exactly to comprehend his meaning, but said she would speak to the
+waiter. He was the first gentleman who ever had asked for a bath at the
+Dragon with Two Tails. The waiter informed him that he might get a bath,
+he believed, at the Hum-mums. The Duke dressed, and to the Hummums he
+then took his way. As he was leaving the yard, he was followed by an
+ostler, who, in a voice musically hoarse, thus addressed him:
+
+‘Have you seen missis, sir?’
+
+‘Do you mean me? No, I have not seen your missis;’ and the Duke
+proceeded.
+
+‘Sir, sir,’ said the ostler, running after him, ‘I think you said you
+had not seen missis?’
+
+‘You think right,’ said the Duke, astonished; and again he walked on.
+
+‘Sir, sir,’ said the pursuing ostler, ‘I don’t think you have got any
+luggage?’
+
+‘Oh! I beg your pardon,’ said the Duke; ‘I see it. I am in your debt;
+but I meant to return.’
+
+‘No doubt on’t, sir; but when gemmen don’t have no luggage, they sees
+missis before they go, sir.’
+
+‘Well, what am I in your debt? I can pay you here.’
+
+‘Five shillings, sir.’
+
+‘Here!’ said the Duke; ‘and tell me when a coach leaves this place
+to-morrow for Yorkshire.’
+
+‘Half-past six o’clock in the morning precisely,’ said the ostler.
+
+‘Well, my good fellow, I depend upon your securing me a place; and that
+is for yourself,’ added his Grace, throwing him a sovereign. ‘Now, mind;
+I depend upon you.’
+
+The man stared as if he had been suddenly taken into partnership with
+missis; at length he found his tongue.
+
+‘Your honour may depend upon me. Where would you like to sit? In or out?
+Back to your horses, or the front? Get you the box if you like. Where’s
+your great coat, sir? I’ll brush it for you.’
+
+The bath and the breakfast brought our hero round a good deal, and
+at half-past two he stole to a solitary part of St. James’s Park, to
+stretch his legs and collect his senses. We must now let our readers
+into a secret, which perhaps they have already unravelled. The Duke
+had hurried to London with the determination, not only of attending the
+debate, but of participating in it. His Grace was no politician; but the
+question at issue was one simple in its nature and so domestic in its
+spirit, that few men could have arrived at his period of life without
+having heard its merits, both too often and too amply discussed. He was
+master of all the points of interest, and he had sufficient confidence
+in himself to believe that he could do them justice. He walked up and
+down, conning over in his mind not only the remarks which he intended
+to make, but the very language in which he meant to offer them. As he
+formed sentences, almost for the first time, his courage and his fancy
+alike warmed: his sanguine spirit sympathised with the nobility of the
+imaginary scene, and inspirited the intonations of his modulated voice.
+
+About four o’clock he repaired to the House. Walking up one of the
+passages his progress was stopped by the back of an individual bowing
+with great civility to a patronising peer, and my-lording him with
+painful repetition. The nobleman was Lord Fitz-pompey; the bowing
+gentleman, Mr. Duncan Macmorrogh, the anti-aristocrat, and father of the
+first man of the day.
+
+‘George! is it possible!’ exclaimed Lord Fitz-pompey. ‘I will speak to
+you in the House,’ said the Duke, passing on, and bowing to Mr. Duncan
+Macmorrogh.
+
+He recalled his proxy from the Duke of Burlington, and accounted for
+his presence to many astonished friends by being on his way to the
+Continent; and, passing through London, thought he might as well
+be present, particularly as he was about to reside for some time in
+Catholic countries. It was the last compliment that he could pay his
+future host. ‘Give me a pinch of snuff.’
+
+The debate began. Don’t be alarmed. I shall not describe it. Five or six
+peers had spoken, and one of the ministers had just sat down when the
+Duke of St. James rose. He was extremely nervous, but he repeated to
+himself the name of May Dacre for the hundredth time, and proceeded. He
+was nearly commencing ‘May Dacre’ instead of ‘My Lords,’ but he escaped
+this blunder. For the first five or ten minutes he spoke in almost as
+cold and lifeless a style as when he echoed the King’s speech; but he
+was young and seldom troubled them, and was listened to therefore with
+indulgence. The Duke warmed, and a courteous ‘hear, hear,’ frequently
+sounded; the Duke became totally free from embarrassment, and spoke
+with eloquence and energy. A cheer, a stranger in the House of Lords,
+rewarded and encouraged him. As an Irish landlord, his sincerity could
+not be disbelieved when he expressed his conviction of the safety of
+emancipation; but it was as an English proprietor and British noble
+that it was evident that his Grace felt most keenly upon this important
+measure. He described with power the peculiar injustice of the situation
+of the English Catholics. He professed to feel keenly upon this subject,
+because his native county had made him well acquainted with the temper
+of this class; he painted in glowing terms the loyalty, the wealth, the
+influence, the noble virtues of his Catholic neighbours; and he closed a
+speech of an hour’s duration, in which he had shown that a worn subject
+was susceptible of novel treatment, and novel interest, amid loud
+and general cheers. The Lords gathered round him, and many personally
+congratulated him upon his distinguished success. The debate took
+its course. At three o’clock the pro-Catholics found themselves in
+a minority, but a minority in which the prescient might have well
+discovered the herald of future justice. The speech of the Duke of St.
+James was the speech of the night.
+
+The Duke walked into White’s. It was crowded. The first man who welcomed
+him was Annesley. He congratulated the Duke with a warmth for which the
+world did not give him credit.
+
+‘I assure you, my dear St. James, that I am one of the few people whom
+this display has not surprised. I have long observed that you were
+formed for something better than mere frivolity. And between ourselves
+I am sick of it. Don’t be surprised if you hear that I go to Algiers.
+Depend upon it that I am on the point of doing something dreadful.’
+‘Sup with me, St. James,’ said Lord Squib; ‘I will ask O’Connell to meet
+you.’
+
+Lord Fitz-pompey and Lord Darrell were profuse in congratulations; but
+he broke away from them to welcome the man who now advanced. He was one
+of whom he never thought without a shudder, but whom, for all that, he
+greatly liked.
+
+‘My dear Duke of St. James,’ said Arundel Dacre, ‘how ashamed I am
+that this is the first time I have personally thanked you for all your
+goodness!’
+
+‘My dear Dacre, I have to thank you for proving for the first time to
+the world that I was not without discrimination.’
+
+‘No, no,’ said Dacre, gaily and easily; ‘all the congratulations and all
+the compliments to-night shall be for you. Believe me, my dear friend, I
+share your triumph.’
+
+They shook hands with earnestness.
+
+‘May will read your speech with exultation,’ said Arundel. ‘I think we
+must thank her for making you an orator.’
+
+The Duke faintly smiled and shook his head.
+
+‘And how are all our Yorkshire friends?’ continued Arundel. ‘I am
+disappointed again in getting down to them; but I hope in the course of
+the month to pay them a visit.’
+
+‘I shall see them in a day or two,’ said the Duke. ‘I pay Mr. Dacre one
+more visit before my departure form England.’
+
+‘Are you then indeed going?’ asked Arundel, in a kind voice.
+
+‘For ever.’
+
+‘Nay, nay, _ever_ is a strong word.’
+
+‘It becomes, then, my feelings. However, we will not talk of this. Can I
+bear any letter for you?’
+
+‘I have just written,’ replied Arundel, in a gloomy voice, and with a
+changing countenance, ‘and therefore will not trouble you. And yet----’
+
+‘What!’
+
+‘And yet the letter is an important letter: to me. The post, to be sure,
+never does miss; but if it were not troubling your Grace too much, I
+almost would ask you to be its bearer.’
+
+‘It will be there as soon,’ said the Duke, ‘for I shall be off in an
+hour.’
+
+‘I will take it out of the box then,’ said Arundel; and he fetched it.
+‘Here is the letter,’ said he on his return: ‘pardon me if I impress
+upon you its importance. Excuse this emotion, but, indeed, this letter
+decides my fate. My happiness for life is dependent on its reception!’
+
+He spoke with an air and voice of agitation.
+
+The Duke received the letter in a manner scarcely less disturbed; and
+with a hope that they might meet before his departure, faintly murmured
+by one party, and scarcely responded to by the other, they parted.
+
+‘Well, now,’ said the Duke, ‘the farce is complete; and I have come to
+London to be the bearer of his offered heart! I like this, now. Is there
+a more contemptible, a more ludicrous, absolutely ludicrous ass
+than myself? Fear not for its delivery, most religiously shall it be
+consigned to the hand of its owner. The fellow has paid a compliment to
+my honour or my simplicity: I fear the last, and really I feel rather
+proud. But away with these feelings! Have I not seen her in his arms?
+Pah! Thank God! I spoke. At least, I die in a blaze. Even Annesley does
+not think me quite a fool. O, May Dacre, May Dacre! if you were but
+mine, I should be the happiest fellow that ever breathed!’
+
+He breakfasted, and then took his way to the Dragon with Two Tails. The
+morning was bright, and fresh, and beautiful, even in London. Joy came
+upon his heart, in spite of all his loneliness, and he was glad and
+sanguine. He arrived just in time. The coach was about to start. The
+faithful ostler was there with his great-coat, and the Duke found that
+he had three fellow-passengers. They were lawyers, and talked for the
+first two hours of nothing but the case respecting which they were
+going down into the country. At Woburn, a despatch arrived with the
+newspapers. All purchased one, and the Duke among the rest. He was
+well reported, and could now sympathise with, instead of smile at, the
+anxiety of Lord Darrell.
+
+‘The young Duke of St. James seems to have distinguished himself very
+much,’ said the first lawyer.
+
+‘So I observe,’ said the second one. ‘The leading article calls our
+attention to his speech as the most brilliant delivered.’
+
+‘I am surprised,’ said the third. ‘I thought he was quite a different
+sort of person.’
+
+‘By no means,’ said the first: ‘I have always had a high opinion of him.
+I am not one of those who think the worse of a young man because he is a
+little wild.’
+
+‘Nor I,’ said the second. ‘Young blood, you know, is young blood.’
+
+‘A very intimate friend of mine, who knows the Duke of St. James well,
+once told me,’ rejoined the first, ‘that I was quite mistaken about him;
+that he was a person of no common talents; well read, quite a man of the
+world, and a good deal of wit, too; and let me tell you that in these
+days wit is no common thing.’
+
+‘Certainly not,’ said the third. ‘We have no wit now.’
+
+‘And a kind-hearted, generous fellow,’ continued the first, ‘and _very_
+unaffected.’
+
+‘I can’t bear an affected man,’ said the second, without looking off his
+paper. ‘He seems to have made a very fine speech indeed.’
+
+‘I should not wonder at his turning out something great,’ said the
+third.
+
+‘I have no doubt of it,’ said the second.
+
+‘Many of these wild fellows do.’
+
+‘He is not so wild as we think,’ said the first.
+
+‘But he is done up,’ said the second.
+
+‘Is he indeed?’ said the third. ‘Perhaps by making a speech he wants a
+place?’
+
+‘People don’t make speeches for nothing,’ said the third.
+
+‘I shouldn’t wonder if he is after a place in the Household,’ said the
+second.
+
+‘Depend upon it, he looks to something more active,’ said the first.
+
+‘Perhaps he would like to be head of the Admiralty?’ said the second.
+
+‘Or the Treasury?’ said the third.
+
+‘That is impossible!’ said the first. ‘He is too young.’
+
+‘He is as old as Pitt,’ said the third.
+
+‘I hope he will resemble him in nothing but his age, then,’ said the
+first.
+
+‘I look upon Pitt as the first man that ever lived,’ said the third.
+
+‘What!’ said the first. ‘The man who worked up the national debt to
+nearly eight hundred millions!’
+
+‘What of that?’ said the third. ‘I look upon the national debt as the
+source of all our prosperity.’
+
+‘The source of all our taxes, you mean.’
+
+‘What is the harm of taxes?’
+
+‘The harm is, that you will soon have no trade; and when you have no
+trade, you will have no duties; and when you have no duties, you will
+have no dividends; and when you have no dividends, you will have no law;
+and then, where is your source of prosperity?’ said the first.
+
+But here the coach stopped, and the Duke got out for an hour.
+
+By midnight they had reached a town not more than thirty miles from
+Dacre. The Duke was quite exhausted, and determined to stop. In half an
+hour he enjoyed that deep, dreamless slumber, with which no luxury can
+compete. One must have passed restless nights for years, to be able to
+appreciate the value of sound sleep.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+     _A Last Appeal_
+
+HE ROSE early, and managed to reach Dacre at the breakfast hour of the
+family. He discharged his chaise at the Park gate, and entered the house
+unseen. He took his way along a corridor lined with plants, which led
+to the small and favourite room in which the morning meetings of May and
+himself always took place when they were alone. As he lightly stepped
+along, he heard a voice that he could not mistake, as it were in
+animated converse. Agitated by sounds which ever created in him emotion,
+for a moment he paused. He starts, his eye sparkles with strange
+delight, a flush comes over his panting features, half of modesty, half
+of triumph. He listens to his own speech from the lips of the woman he
+loves. She is reading to her father with melodious energy the passage
+in which he describes the high qualities of his Catholic neighbours. The
+intonations of the voice indicate the deep sympathy of the reader. She
+ceases. He hears the admiring exclamation of his host. He rallies his
+strength, he advances, he stands before them. She utters almost a shriek
+of delightful surprise as she welcomes him.
+
+How much there was to say! how much to ask! how much to answer! Even Mr.
+Dacre poured forth questions like a boy. But May: she could not
+speak, but leant forward in her chair with an eager ear, and a look of
+congratulation, that rewarded him for all his exertion. Everything was
+to be told. How he went; whether he slept in the mail; where he went;
+what he did; whom he saw; what they said; what they thought; all must be
+answered. Then fresh exclamations of wonder, delight, and triumph.
+The Duke forgot everything but his love, and for three hours felt the
+happiest of men.
+
+At length Mr. Dacre rose and looked at his watch with a shaking head. ‘I
+have a most important appointment,’ said he, ‘and I must gallop to keep
+it. God bless you, my dear St. James! I could stay talking with you for
+ever; but you must be utterly wearied. Now, my dear boy, go to bed.’
+
+‘To bed!’ exclaimed the Duke. ‘Why, Tom Rawlins would laugh at you!’
+
+‘And who is Tom Rawlins?’
+
+‘Ah! I cannot tell you everything; but assuredly I am not going to bed.’
+
+‘Well, May, I leave him to your care; but do not let him talk any more.’
+
+‘Oh! sir,’ said the Duke, ‘I really had forgotten. I am the bearer to
+you, sir, of a letter from Mr. Arundel Dacre.’ He gave it him.
+
+As Mr. Dacre read the communication, his countenance changed, and
+the smile which before was on his face, vanished. But whether he were
+displeased, or only serious, it was impossible to ascertain, although
+the Duke watched him narrowly. At length he said, ‘May! here is a letter
+from Arundel, in which you are much interested.’
+
+‘Give it me, then, papa!’
+
+‘No, my love; we must speak of this together. But I am pressed for time.
+When I come home. Remember.’ He quitted the room.
+
+They were alone: the Duke began again talking, and Miss Dacre put her
+finger to her mouth, with a smile.
+
+‘I assure you,’ said he, ‘I am not wearied. I slept at----y, and the
+only thing I now want is a good walk. Let me be your companion this
+morning!’
+
+‘I was thinking of paying nurse a visit. What say you?’
+
+‘Oh! I am ready; anywhere.’
+
+She ran for her bonnet, and he kissed her handkerchief, which she left
+behind, and, I believe, everything else in the room which bore the
+slightest relation to her. And then the recollection of Arundel’s letter
+came over him, and his joy fled. When she returned, he was standing
+before the fire, gloomy and dull.
+
+‘I fear you are tired,’ she said.
+
+‘Not in the least.’
+
+‘I shall never forgive myself if all this exertion make you ill.’
+
+‘Why not?’
+
+‘Because, although I will not tell papa, I am sure my nonsense is the
+cause of your having gone to London.’
+
+‘It is probable; for you are the cause of all that does not disgrace
+me.’ He advanced, and was about to seize her hand; but the accursed
+miniature occurred to him, and he repressed his feelings, almost with
+a groan. She, too, had turned away her head, and was busily engaged in
+tending a flower.
+
+‘Because she has explicitly declared her feelings to me, and, sincere
+in that declaration, honours me by a friendship of which alone I am
+unworthy, am I to persecute her with my dishonoured overtures--the twice
+rejected? No, no!’
+
+They took their way through the park, and he soon succeeded in
+re-assuming the tone that befitted their situation. Traits of the
+debate, and the debaters, which newspapers cannot convey, and which
+he had not yet recounted; anecdotes of Annesley and their friends, and
+other gossip, were offered for her amusement. But if she were amused,
+she was not lively, but singularly, unusually silent. There was only one
+point on which she seemed interested, and that was his speech. When he
+was cheered, and who particularly cheered; who gathered round him,
+and what they said after the debate: on all these points she was most
+inquisitive.
+
+They rambled on: nurse was quite forgotten; and at length they found
+themselves in the beautiful valley, rendered more lovely by the ruins of
+the abbey. It was a place that the Duke could never forget, and which he
+ever avoided. He had never renewed his visit since he first gave vent,
+among its reverend ruins, to his overcharged and most tumultuous heart.
+
+They stood in silence before the holy pile with its vaulting arches and
+crumbling walls, mellowed by the mild lustre of the declining sun. Not
+two years had fled since here he first staggered after the breaking
+glimpses of self-knowledge, and struggled to call order from out the
+chaos of his mind. Not two years, and yet what a change had come over
+his existence! How diametrically opposite now were all his thoughts, and
+views, and feelings, to those which then controlled his fatal soul! How
+capable, as he firmly believed, was he now of discharging his duty to
+his Creator and his fellow-men! and yet the boon that ought to have been
+the reward for all this self-contest, the sweet seal that ought to have
+ratified this new contract of existence, was wanting.
+
+‘Ah!’ he exclaimed aloud, and in a voice of anguish, ‘ah! if I ne’er had
+left the walls of Dacre, how different might have been my lot!’
+
+A gentle but involuntary pressure reminded him of the companion whom,
+for once in his life, he had for a moment forgotten.
+
+‘I feel it is madness; I feel it is worse than madness; but must I yield
+without a struggle, and see my dark fate cover me without an effort? Oh!
+yes, here, even here, where I have wept over your contempt, even here,
+although I subject myself to renewed rejection, let--let me tell you,
+before we part, how I adore you!’
+
+She was silent; a strange courage came over his spirit; and, with
+a reckless boldness, and rapid voice, a misty sight, and total
+unconsciousness of all other existence, he resumed the words which had
+broken out, as if by inspiration.
+
+‘I am not worthy of you. Who is? I was worthless. I did not know it.
+Have not I struggled to be pure? have not I sighed on my nightly pillow
+for your blessing? Oh! could you read my heart (and sometimes, I think,
+you can read it, for indeed, with all its faults, it is without guile) I
+dare to hope that you would pity me. Since we first met, your image
+has not quitted my conscience for a second. When you thought me least
+worthy; when you thought me vile, or mad, oh! by all that is sacred,
+I was the most miserable wretch that ever breathed, and flew to
+dissipation only for distraction!
+
+‘Not--not for a moment have I ceased to think you the best, the most
+beautiful, the most enchanting and endearing creature that ever graced
+our earth. Even when I first dared to whisper my insolent affection,
+believe me, even then, your presence controlled my spirit as no other
+woman had. I bent to you then in pride and power. The station that I
+could then offer you was not utterly unworthy of your perfection. I am
+now a beggar, or, worse, an insolvent noble, and dare I--dare I to ask
+you to share the fortunes that are broken, and the existence that is
+obscure?’
+
+She turned; her arm fell over his shoulder; she buried her head in his
+breast.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+    _‘Love is Like a Dizziness.’_
+
+MR. DACRE returned home with an excellent appetite, and almost as keen a
+desire to renew his conversation with his guest; but dinner and the Duke
+were neither to be commanded. Miss Dacre also could not be found. No
+information could be obtained of them from any quarter. It was nearly
+seven o’clock, the hour of dinner. That meal, somewhat to Mr. Dacre’s
+regret, was postponed for half an hour, servants were sent out, and the
+bell was rung, but no tidings. Mr. Dacre was a little annoyed and more
+alarmed; he was also hungry, and at half-past seven he sat down to a
+solitary meal.
+
+About a quarter-past eight a figure rapped at the dining-room window:
+it was the young Duke. The fat butler seemed astonished, not to say
+shocked, at this violation of etiquette; nevertheless, he slowly opened
+the window.
+
+‘Anything the matter, George? Where is May?’
+
+‘Nothing. We lost our way. That is all. May--Miss Dacre desired me to
+say, that she would not join us at dinner.’
+
+‘I am sure, something has happened.’
+
+‘I assure you, my dear sir, nothing, nothing at all the least
+unpleasant, but we took the wrong turning. All my fault.’
+
+‘Shall I send for the soup?’
+
+‘No. I am not hungry, I will take some wine.’ So saying, his Grace
+poured out a tumbler of claret.
+
+‘Shall I take your Grace’s hat?’ asked the fat butler.
+
+‘Dear me! have I my hat on?’
+
+This was not the only evidence afforded by our hero’s conduct that his
+presence of mind had slightly deserted him. He was soon buried in a deep
+reverie, and sat with a full plate, but idle knife and fork before him,
+a perfect puzzle to the fat butler, who had hitherto considered his
+Grace the very pink of propriety.
+
+‘George, you have eaten no dinner,’ said Mr. Dacre.
+
+‘Thank you, a very good one indeed, a remarkably good dinner. Give me
+some red wine, if you please.’
+
+At length they were left alone.
+
+‘I have some good news for you, George.’
+
+‘Indeed.’
+
+‘I think I have let Rosemount.’
+
+‘So!’
+
+‘And exactly to the kind of person that you wanted, a man who will take
+a pride, although merely a tenant, in not permitting his poor neighbours
+to feel the _want_ of a landlord. You will never guess: Lord Mildmay!’
+
+‘What did you say of Lord Mildmay, sir?’
+
+‘My dear fellow, your wits are wool-gathering; I say I think I have let
+Rosemount.’
+
+‘Oh! I have changed my mind about letting Rosemount.’
+
+‘My dear Duke, there is no trouble which I will grudge, to further your
+interests; but really I must beg, in future, that you will, at least,
+apprise me when you change your mind. There is nothing, as we have both
+agreed, more desirable than to find an eligible tenant for Rosemount.
+You never can expect to have a more beneficial one than Lord Mildmay;
+and really, unless you have positively promised the place to another
+person (which, excuse me for saying, you were not authorised to do) I
+must insist, after what has passed, upon his having the preference.’
+
+‘My dear sir, I only changed my mind this afternoon: I couldn’t tell
+you before. I have promised it to no one; but I think of living there
+myself.’
+
+‘Yourself! Oh! if that be the case, I shall be quite reconciled to the
+disappointment of Lord Mildmay. But what in the name of goodness, my
+dear fellow, has produced this wonderful revolution in all your plans in
+the course of a few hours? I thought you were going to mope away life on
+the Lake of Geneva, or dawdle it away in Florence or Rome.’
+
+‘It is very odd, sir. I can hardly believe it myself: and yet it must be
+true. I hear her voice even at this moment. Oh! my dear Mr. Dacre, I am
+the happiest fellow that ever breathed!’
+
+‘What is all this?’
+
+‘Is it possible, my dear sir, that you have not long before detected
+the feelings I ventured to entertain for your daughter? In a word, she
+requires only your sanction to my being the most fortunate of men.’
+
+‘My dear friend, my dear, dear boy!’ cried Mr. Dacre, rising from his
+chair and embracing him, ‘it is out of the power of man to impart to me
+any event which could afford me such exquisite pleasure! Indeed, indeed,
+it is to me most surprising! for I had been induced to suspect, George,
+that some explanation had passed between you and May, which, while
+it accounted for your mutual esteem, gave little hope of a stronger
+sentiment.’
+
+‘I believe, sir,’ said the young Duke, with a smile, ‘I was obstinate.’
+
+‘Well, this changes all our plans. I have intended, for this fortnight
+past, to speak to you finally on your affairs. No better time than the
+present; and, in the first place----’
+
+But, really, this interview is confidential.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+     _‘Perfection in a Petticoat.’_
+
+THEY come not: it is late. He is already telling all! She relapses into
+her sweet reverie. Her thought fixes on no subject; her mind is
+intent on no idea; her soul is melted into dreamy delight; her only
+consciousness is perfect bliss! Sweet sounds still echo in her ear, and
+still her pure pulse beats, from the first embrace of passion.
+
+The door opens, and her father enters, leaning upon the arm of her
+beloved. Yes, he has told all! Mr. Dacre approached, and, bending down,
+pressed the lips of his child. It was the seal to their plighted faith,
+and told, without speech, that the blessing of a parent mingled with the
+vows of a lover! No other intimation was at present necessary;’ but she,
+the daughter, thought now only of her father, that friend of her long
+life, whose love had ne’er been wanting: was she about to leave him? She
+arose, she threw her arms around his neck and wept.
+
+The young Duke walked away, that his presence might not control the full
+expression of her hallowed soul. ‘This jewel is mine,’ was his thought;
+‘what, what have I done to be so blessed?’
+
+In a few minutes he again joined them, and was seated by her side; and
+Mr. Dacre considerately remembered that he wished to see his steward,
+and they were left alone. Their eyes meet, and their soft looks tell
+that they were thinking of each other. His arm steals round the back of
+her chair, and with his other hand he gently captures hers.
+
+First love, first love! how many a glowing bard has sung thy beauties!
+How many a poor devil of a prosing novelist, like myself, has echoed
+all our superiors, the poets, teach us! No doubt, thou rosy god of young
+Desire, thou art a most bewitching little demon; and yet, for my part,
+give me last love.
+
+Ask a man which turned out best, the first horse he bought, or the one
+he now canters on? Ask--but in short there is nothing in which knowledge
+is more important and experience more valuable than in love. When we
+first love, we are enamoured of our own imaginations. Our thoughts are
+high, our feelings rise from out the deepest caves of the tumultuous
+tide of our full life. We look around for one to share our exquisite
+existence, and sanctify the beauties of our being.
+
+But those beauties are only in our thoughts. We feel like heroes,
+when we are but boys. Yet our mistress must bear a relation, not to
+ourselves, but to our imagination. She must be a real heroine, while our
+perfection is but ideal. And the quick and dangerous fancy of our race
+will, at first, rise to the pitch. She is all we can conceive. Mild and
+pure as youthful priests, we bow down before our altar. But the idol to
+which we breathe our warm and gushing vows, and bend our eager knees,
+all its power, does it not exist only in our idea; all its beauty, is
+it not the creation of our excited fancy? And then the sweetest of
+superstitions ends. The long delusion bursts, and we are left like
+men upon a heath when fairies vanish; cold and dreary, gloomy, bitter,
+harsh, existence seems a blunder.
+
+But just when we are most miserable, and curse the poet’s cunning and
+our own conceits, there lights upon our path, just like a ray fresh
+from the sun, some sparkling child of light, that makes us think we are
+premature, at least, in our resolves. Yet we are determined not to be
+taken in, and try her well in all the points in which the others failed.
+One by one, her charms steal on our warming soul, as, one by one, those
+of the other beauty sadly stole away, and then we bless our stars, and
+feel quite sure that we have found perfection in a petticoat.
+
+But our Duke--where are we? He had read woman thoroughly, and
+consequently knew how to value the virgin pages on which his thoughts
+now fixed. He and May Dacre wandered in the woods, and nature seemed to
+them more beautiful from their beautiful loves. They gazed upon the
+sky; a brighter light fell o’er the luminous earth. Sweeter to them the
+fragrance of the sweetest flowers, and a more balmy breath brought on
+the universal promise of the opening year.
+
+They wandered in the woods, and there they breathed their mutual
+adoration. She to him was all in all, and he to her was like a new
+divinity. She poured forth all that she long had felt, and scarcely
+could suppress. From the moment he tore her from the insulter’s arms,
+his image fixed in her heart, and the struggle which she experienced
+to repel his renewed vows was great indeed. When she heard of
+his misfortunes, she had wept; but it was the strange delight she
+experienced when his letter arrived to her father that first convinced
+her how irrevocably her mind was his.
+
+And now she does not cease to blame herself for all her past obduracy;
+now she will not for a moment yield that he could have been ever
+anything but all that was pure, and beautiful, and good.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+     _Another Betrothal_
+
+BUT although we are in love, business must not be utterly neglected, and
+Mr. Dacre insisted that the young Duke should for one morning cease to
+wander in his park, and listen to the result of his exertions during the
+last three months. His Grace listened. Rents had not risen, but it was
+hoped that they had seen their worst; the railroad had been successfully
+opposed; and coals had improved. The London mansion and the Alhambra had
+both been disposed of, and well: the first to the new French Ambassador,
+and the second to a grey-headed stock-jobber, very rich, who, having
+no society, determined to make solitude amusing. The proceeds of these
+sales, together with sundry sums obtained by converting into cash the
+stud, the furniture, and the _bijouterie,_ produced a most respectable
+fund, which nearly paid off the annoying miscellaneous debts. For the
+rest, Mr. Dacre, while he agreed that it was on the whole advisable that
+the buildings should be completed, determined that none of the estates
+should be sold, or even mortgaged. His plan was to procrastinate the
+termination of these undertakings, and to allow each year itself to
+afford the necessary supplies. By annually setting aside one hundred
+thousand pounds, in seven or eight years he hoped to find everything
+completed and all debts cleared. He did not think that the extravagance
+of the Duke could justify any diminution in the sum which had hitherto
+been apportioned for the maintenance of the Irish establishments; but
+he was of opinion that the decreased portion which they, as well as
+the western estates, now afforded to the total income, was a sufficient
+reason. Fourteen thousand a-year were consequently allotted to Ireland,
+and seven to Pen Bronnock. There remained to the Duke about thirty
+thousand per annum; but then Hauteville was to be kept up with this.
+Mr. Dacre proposed that the young people should reside at Rosemount, and
+that consequently they might form their establishment from the Castle,
+without reducing their Yorkshire appointments, and avail themselves,
+without any obligation, or even the opportunity, of great expenses, of
+all the advantages afforded by the necessary expenditure. Finally, Mr.
+Dacre presented his son with his town mansion and furniture; and as
+the young Duke insisted that the settlements upon her Grace should be
+prepared in full reference to his inherited and future income, this
+generous father at once made over to him the great bulk of his personal
+property amounting to upwards of a hundred thousand pounds, a little
+ready money, of which he knew the value.
+
+The Duke of St. James had duly informed his uncle, the Earl of
+Fitz-pompey, of the intended change in his condition, and in answer
+received the following letter:--
+
+
+‘Fitz-pompey Hall, May, 18--.
+
+‘My dear George,--Your letter did not give us so much surprise as you
+expected; but I assure you it gave us as much pleasure. You have shown
+your wisdom and your taste in your choice; and I am free to confess that
+I am acquainted with no one more worthy of the station which the
+Duchess of St. James must always fill in society, and more calculated to
+maintain the dignity of your family, than the lady whom you are about
+to introduce to us as our niece. Believe me, my dear George, that the
+notification of this agreeable event has occasioned even additional
+gratification both to your aunt and to myself, from the reflection that
+you are about to ally yourself with a family in whose welfare we must
+ever take an especial interest, and whom we may in a manner look upon as
+our own relatives. For, my dear George, in answer to your flattering and
+most pleasing communication, it is my truly agreeable duty to inform you
+(and, believe me, you are the first person out of our immediate family
+to whom this intelligence is made known) that our Caroline, in whose
+happiness we are well assured you take a lively interest, is about to
+be united to one who may now be described as your near relative, namely,
+Mr. Arundel Dacre.
+
+‘It has been a long attachment, though for a considerable time, I
+confess, unknown to us; and indeed at first sight, with Caroline’s rank
+and other advantages, it may not appear, in a mere worldly point of
+view, so desirable a connection as some perhaps might expect. And to
+be quite confidential, both your aunt and myself were at first a little
+disinclined (great as our esteem and regard have ever been for him), a
+little disinclined, I say, to the union. But Dacre is certainly the most
+rising man of the day. In point of family, he is second to none; and his
+uncle has indeed behaved in the most truly liberal manner. I assure you,
+he considers him as a son; and even if there were no other inducement,
+the mere fact of your connection with the family would alone not
+only reconcile, but, so to say, make us perfectly satisfied with the
+arrangement. It is unnecessary to speak to you of the antiquity of the
+Dacres. Arundel will ultimately be one of the richest Commoners, and I
+think it is not too bold to anticipate, taking into consideration the
+family into which he marries, and above all, his connection with you,
+that we may finally succeed in having him called up to us. You are of
+course aware that there was once a barony in the family.
+
+‘Everybody talks of your speech. I assure you, although I ever gave you
+credit for uncommon talents, I was astonished. So you are to have the
+vacant ribbon! Why did you not tell me? I learnt it to-day, from
+Lord Bobbleshim. But we must not quarrel with men in love for not
+communicating.
+
+‘You ask me for news of all your old friends. You of course saw the
+death of old Annesley. The new Lord took his seat yesterday; he was
+introduced by Lord Bloomerly. I was not surprised to hear in the evening
+that he was about to be married to Lady Charlotte, though the world
+affect to be astonished.
+
+I should not forget to say that Lord Annesley asked most particularly
+after you. For him, quite warm, I assure you.
+
+‘The oddest thing has happened to your friend, Lord Squib. Old Colonel
+Carlisle is dead, and has left his whole fortune, some say half a
+million, to the oddest person, merely because she had the reputation
+of being his daughter. Quite an odd person, you understand me: Mrs.
+Montfort. St. Maurice says you know her; but we must not talk of these
+things now. Well, Squib is going to be married to her. He says that he
+knows all his old friends will cut him when they are married, and so he
+is determined to give them an excuse. I understand she is a fine woman.
+He talks of living at Rome and Florence for a year or two.
+
+‘Lord Darrell is about to marry Harriet Wrekin; and between ourselves
+(but don’t let this go any further at present) I have very little doubt
+that young Pococurante will shortly be united to Isabel. Connected as we
+are with the Shropshires, these excellent alliances are gratifying.
+
+‘I see very little of Lucius Grafton. He seems ill.
+
+I understand, for certain, that her Ladyship opposes the divorce. _On
+dit_, she has got hold of some letters, through the treachery of her
+soubrette, whom he supposed quite his creature, and that your friend
+is rather taken in. But I should not think this true. People talk very
+loosely. There was a gay party at Mrs. Dallington’s the other night, who
+asked very kindly after you.
+
+‘I think I have now written you a very long letter. I once more
+congratulate you on your admirable selection, and with the united
+remembrance of our circle, particularly Caroline, who will write
+perhaps by this post to Miss Dacre, believe me, dear George, your truly
+affectionate uncle,
+
+‘FITZ-POMPEY.
+
+‘P.S.--Lord Marylebone is very unpopular, quite a brute. We all miss
+you.’
+
+
+It is not to be supposed that this letter conveyed the first intimation
+to the Duke of St. James of the most interesting event of which it
+spoke. On the contrary, he had long been aware of the whole affair; but
+we have been too much engaged with his own conduct to find time to let
+the reader into the secret, which, like all secrets, it is to be hoped
+was no secret. Next to gaining the affections of May Dacre, it was
+impossible for any event to occur more delightful to our hero than
+the present. His heart had often misgiven him when he had thought of
+Caroline. Now she was happy, and not only happy, but connected with
+him for life, just as he wished. Arundel Dacre, too, of all men he most
+wished to like, and indeed most liked. One feeling alone had prevented
+them from being bosom friends, and that feeling had long triumphantly
+vanished.
+
+May had been almost from the beginning the _confidante_ of her cousin.
+In vain, however, had she beseeched him to entrust all to her father.
+Although he now repented his past feelings he could not be induced to
+change; and not till he had entered Parliament and succeeded and gained
+a name, which would reflect honour on the family with which he wished to
+identify himself, would he impart to his uncle the secret of his heart,
+and gain that support without which his great object could never have
+been achieved. The Duke of St. James, by returning him to Parliament,
+had been the unconscious cause of all his happiness, and ardently did
+he pray that his generous friend might succeed in what he was well aware
+was his secret aspiration, and that his beloved cousin might yield her
+hand to the only man whom Arundel Dacre considered worthy of her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+     _Joy’s Beginning_
+
+ANOTHER week brought another letter from the Earl of Fitz-pompey.
+
+The Earl of Fitz-pompey to the Duke of St. James. [Read this alone.]
+
+‘My dear George,
+
+‘I beg you will not be alarmed by the above memorandum, which I thought
+it but prudent to prefix. A very disagreeable affair has just taken
+place, and to a degree exceedingly alarming; but it might have turned
+out much more distressing, and, on the whole, we may all congratulate
+ourselves at the result. Not to keep you in fearful suspense, I beg to
+recall your recollection to the rumour which I noticed in my last, of
+the intention of Lady Aphrodite Grafton to oppose the divorce. A
+few days back, her brother Lord Wariston, with whom I was previously
+unacquainted, called upon me by appointment, having previously requested
+a private interview. The object of his seeing me was no less than to
+submit to my inspection the letters by aid of which it was anticipated
+that the divorce might be successfully opposed. You will be astounded
+to hear that these consist of a long series of correspondence of Mrs.
+Dallington Vere’s, developing, I am shocked to say, machinations of a
+very alarming nature, the effect of which, my dear George, was no less
+than very materially to control your fortunes in life, and those of that
+charming and truly admirable lady whom you have delighted us all so much
+by declaring to be our future relative.
+
+‘From the very delicate nature of the disclosures, Lord Wariston felt
+the great importance of obtaining all necessary results without making
+them public; and, actuated by these feelings, he applied to me, both
+as your nearest relative, and an acquaintance of Sir Lucius, and, as he
+expressed it, and I may be permitted to repeat, as one whose experience
+in the management of difficult and delicate negotiations was not
+altogether unknown, in order that I might be put in possession of the
+facts of the case, advise and perhaps interfere for the common good.
+
+‘Under these circumstances, and taking into consideration the extreme
+difficulty attendant upon a satisfactory arrangement of the affair,
+I thought fit, in confidence, to apply to Arundel, whose talents I
+consider of the first order, and only equalled by his prudence and calm
+temper. As a relation, too, of more than one of the parties concerned,
+it was perhaps only proper that the correspondence should be submitted
+to him.
+
+‘I am sorry to say, my dear George, that Arundel behaved in a very
+odd manner, and not at all with that discretion which might have been
+expected both from one of his remarkably sober and staid disposition,
+and one not a little experienced in diplomatic life. He exhibited the
+most unequivocal signs of his displeasure at the conduct of the parties
+principally concerned, and expressed himself in so vindictive a manner
+against one of them, that I very much regretted my application, and
+requested him to be cool.
+
+‘He seemed to yield to my solicitations, but I regret to say his
+composure was only feigned, and the next morning he and Sir Lucius
+Grafton met. Sir Lucius fired first, without effect, but Arundel’s aim
+was more fatal, and his ball was lodged in the thigh of his adversary.
+Sir Lucius has only been saved by amputation; and I need not remark to
+you that to such a man life on such conditions is scarcely desirable.
+All idea of a divorce is quite given over. The letters in question were
+stolen from his cabinet by his valet, and given to a soubrette of his
+wife, whom Sir Lucius considered in his interest, but who, as you see,
+betrayed him.
+
+‘For me remained the not very agreeable office of seeing Mrs. Dallington
+Vere. I made known to her, in a manner as little offensive as possible,
+the object of my visit. The scene, my dear George, was trying; and I
+think it hard that the follies of a parcel of young people should really
+place me in such a distressing position. She fainted, &c, and wished
+the letters to be given up, but Lord Wariston would not consent to this,
+though he promised to keep their contents secret provided she quitted
+the country. She goes directly; and I am well assured, which is not the
+least surprising part of this strange history, that her affairs are in a
+state of great distraction. The relatives of her late husband are
+about again to try the will, and with prospect of success. She has been
+negotiating with them for some time through the agency of Sir Lucius
+Grafton, and the late _exposé_ will not favour her interests.
+
+‘If anything further happens, my dear George, depend upon my writing;
+but Arundel desires me to say that on Saturday he will run down to Dacre
+for a few days, as he very much wishes to see you and all. With our
+united remembrance to Mr. and Miss Dacre,
+
+‘Ever, my dear George,
+
+‘Your very affectionate uncle,
+
+‘Fitz-pompey.’
+
+
+The young Duke turned with trembling and disgust from these dark
+terminations of unprincipled careers; and these fatal evidences of
+the indulgence of unbridled passions. How nearly, too, had he been
+shipwrecked in this moral whirlpool! With what gratitude did he not
+invoke the beneficent Providence that had not permitted the innate seeds
+of human virtue to be blighted in his wild and neglected soul! With
+what admiration did he not gaze upon the pure and beautiful being whose
+virtue and whose loveliness were the causes of his regeneration, the
+sources of his present happiness, and the guarantees of his future joy!
+
+Four years have now elapsed since the young Duke of St. James was united
+to May Dacre; and it would not be too bold to declare, that during
+that period he has never for an instant ceased to consider himself
+the happiest and the most fortunate of men. His life is passed in the
+agreeable discharge of all the important duties of his exalted station,
+and his present career is by far a better answer to the lucubrations of
+young Duncan Macmorrogh than all the abstract arguments that ever yet
+were offered in favour of the existence of an aristocracy.
+
+Hauteville House and Hauteville Castle proceed in regular course. These
+magnificent dwellings will never erase simple and delightful Rosemount
+from the grateful memory of the Duchess of St. James. Parliament, and
+in a degree society, invite the Duke and Duchess each year to the
+metropolis, and Mr. Dacre is generally their guest. Their most intimate
+and beloved friends are Arundel and his wife, and as Lady Caroline now
+heads the establishment of Castle Dacre, they are seldom separated.
+But among their most agreeable company is a young gentleman styled by
+courtesy Dacre, Marquess of Hauteville, and his young sister, who has
+not yet escaped from her beautiful mother’s arms, and who beareth the
+blooming title of the Lady May.
+
+[Illustration: coverplate]
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Young Duke, by Benjamin Disraeli
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