The crowd in the door-way soon stopped her progress, and turning to her companion, she observed,
"I wonder how many private couriers Lady Borrowdale keeps in pay, to bring over the newest fashions from Paris. Have you seen her to-night? did you ever behold any thing like the magnificence of her gown?"—"I think," replied Lord Arlingford, "that she is a very fine-looking person, and in her youth must have been perfectly beautiful; but I did not observe her gown." The subject seemed to inspire Lord Arlingford, who broke throughthe usual briefness of his sentences as he continued, "And her manner, I think, is excellent; there is so much dignity in it, united with so much courtesy; and she is never, I am told, capricious, or forgetful of good-breeding."
"Why, my dear Lord Arlingford, this is an oration—you are quite eloquent! But you cannot really like that old-fashionedmanièreof curtseying."
"Indeed I am serious; I like it very much: and if I were to point out the person whose manners I should like to see any one I loved adopt, in public at least—for I have not the honour of her intimate acquaintance—it would be Lady Borrowdale's."
"How singular you are! Really, if you entertain such opinions as these, we must expel you from our circle. But if you are determined to be extraordinary, I suppose you will tell me that you cannot bear any thing that is younger or more modern."
"Pardon me; there is Lady Georgina Melcombe, and the Ladies Fitzmaurice, and their cousins, the Ladies Partington, and manyothers, who look as if they were every thing which the young and lovely ought to be,—unaffected, cheerful, and courteous."
"Oh, this is worse and worse; you are becoming quite insufferable. But do tell me who is that person there, whose appearance is so particular, and who has so extraordinary an air—is he a foreigner?"
"No—that is Lord Albert D'Esterre. Are you not acquainted with him? He is a very charming person,—full of talent, and very handsome, as you see. But I forget—you cannot well recollect him, for he went to the Continent as a boy, and is only lately returned."
"True; I remember—I hear he is likely to distinguish himself—pray present him to me."
The presentation took place; and, after a few words, including an invitation to Lord Albert to hersoirées, Lady Tilney passed on with Lord Arlingford to where the Duchess of Hermanton was standing.
To have taken pains thus to seek one whomshe affected to despise, whose manners and right to fashion she was perpetually calling in question, might argue great inconsistency; but in this instance Lady Tilney's wishes to be well with the Duchess of Hermanton, far from being the result of any thing like the contradiction of a settled principle, were the absolute fruits of it, and were influenced by a feeling of fear—if she would have confessed it—by an apprehension that that really amiable person, possessing the envied superiority of united rank and birth and talent, should assume her proper place in society, and overthrow the false rule to which Lady Tilney herself laid claim. It was therefore conciliation rather; and, as she addressed the Duchess, she put on her sweetest smiles, and laid aside those indescribable airs which were displayed when she intended to scorn or crush; and, while uttering those nothings which form the sum and substance of what is said on such occasions, her manners were almost servile. The simplicity of unquestioned superiority is one of its most sure characteristics; and the Duchess ofHermanton's mode of receiving this homage was unaffected and courteous. But as the two persons had little similarity in their natures, the conference lasted only sufficiently long for Lady Tilney to preserve that degree of familiarity in acquaintance, which she determined should prevent her being a stranger to one too independent and distinguished to be altogether passed over.
Meanwhile, Lord Arlingford having profited by the opportunity to quit Lady Tilney, now joined Lady Georgina Melcombe and some of the persons standing together in another part of the room; and Lady Tilney, thus left alone, had, for a few moments, leisure to behold the splendour of the apartments and of the persons met in them. In her heart she could not but acknowledge that whatever London could boast as being most distinguished was present, and that the good and great predominated; but it wasnot exclusive—that is, it was an assembly constituted of almost all those whose rank entitled them to be on the list of Lady Feuillemerte's visitors.
It was numerous, therefore, which is the very essence of an assembly; for what is so insipid as public receptions where the members are few, the rooms half filled, and the scene unenlivened by those circumstances which a diversity of ages, characters, and dresses cast around?
Here all met the society which best accorded with their tastes. The politician, the courtier, the man of fashion, found here their associates and their amusement, each in their different sphere, as they retired from the rest to discuss some present topic of public interest, or glided through the throng with that easy politeness which breathed of the atmosphere they inhaled in the presence of their Sovereign, paying the well-timed compliment as they passed, or displaying the refinement of wit and repartee in their short and animated conversations.
Here, too, amidst the younger and fresher forms, beauties of former days still shone in the dignity of their manners, and of that air and carriage which the fashion of their time had rendered a portion of themselves; which lent a grace to their every movement, andmight well have afforded a school of manners and propriety of outward bearing for the young who mingled with them—in counteraction of the oblivion and extermination of all manners, which the prevailing system of thesoi-disantmembers oftonwould have enforced.
Such, at least, were the external features of an old-fashioned assembly—in its moral character the advantages were no less. Its honest and avowed purpose was the interchange of those courtesies which render life agreeable, and the preservation of those general guards in society which, as checks to profligacy, are more useful than abstract theories of ethics, or codes of moral laws. People, unless lost, sin not so blindly in mixed communities—one individual forms a restraint on the others—children stand in awe of parents, and these, in their turn, acknowledge a wholesome control in the presence of their offspring—the good are a terror to the evil (for an alloy will ever exist); while the one and the other mutually afford examples of imitation, or beacons of danger to be avoided, which every individual may, ifthere be the will, turn to profit, in the correction of some temper, the curbing of some excess, the chastening of some wish, or the abandonment of some folly.
The more intimate associations in life are not here spoken of; but these in characters of the same description as Lady Feuillemerte's, would doubtless be founded on the same basis, and have the same objects in view; for whether in the cherishing of natural affections, the formation of those friendships which spring up in the domestic circle, the cultivation and exercise of talents which give a charm to existence, or the acquirement of more important attainments, the system which holds out examples, and affords restraint, will ever be best.
The "société choisie," however, which Lady Tilney desired to form, was, in its nature, the very reverse of what has been described. Its exclusive character was to consist, not in the selection of what was amiable in nobility, or virtuous in talent; it was not to be the circle drawn within a narrower circumference, for amore perfect enjoyment of private friendship, or the cultivation of more intellectual pursuits than the wide range of fashionable life could afford; it was not to be retirement from the busier throng, for the purposes of a more rational and purer existence; but it was to consist of those whose follies in the pursuit of pleasure, and whose weakness in the indulgence of all the empty toys of life, had given them a distinction above their fellows; of those who judged immorality, when burnished by the tinsel of superficial acquirements, as venial error;—of those, in short, who were either senseless or wicked enough to consider life but a bubble, to be blown down the current, according to the dictates of the will, and whose daily existence testified, that they were alike without a thought or a fear for the morrow's eternity. Such were to be its members, and its seclusion from the general eye of the world, its secession from all others but—; its rigid law, that unmarried women were not eligible to its chosen meetings—for what purpose, and to what end were these? If forvanity of distinction, merely, it was weak; if for the purpose of indulging in pursuits and conversation, which would receive a check in a society less selected for the object—it was wicked. In whichever point of view, a society so constituted must be demoralizing, for assuredly it would have the character of being, if it even were not, really vicious—and its example would have a contaminating effect in the corruption of morals, and the overthrow of the barriers of domestic peace.
It cannot be said that these were the reflections of Lady Tilney, as she stood for the few moments alone in the crowd at Lady Feuillemerte's. It would be injustice to her to suppose that they were, or that she contemplated in the formation of a coterie, according to her own peculiar prejudices, any of the evils with which the system was sure to be pregnant. It is thus, however, with all reforms, entered upon for private ends; the individual sees but the accomplishment of his own and his immediate associates' views, in what is to be overturned; and the fatal result accruing to thecommunity, even if clearly distinguished, are at the moment but as dust in the balance of self.
It is more probable that, as Lady Tilney gazed on the mingled group around her, blind to the demerits of her projected revolution of society, and proud of influence, which over a certain portion of the London world she had succeeded in establishing, she became firmer in her purpose; and as her eye fell on one individual after another, whose manners, mode of life, dress, or very name were disagreeable to her, or proved them wanting in the stamp of ideal fashion, the necessity of the measure she contemplated she conceived became more and more imperative. Whatever might have been Lady Tilney's reflections, she was not long suffered to indulge them. In the tide which passed before her appeared Lord Rainham, unattended however, as previously, by the Comtesse Leinsengen: Lady Tilney therefore awaited his address, without any appearance of recurrence to her professed distaste for royalty.
"A marvel, I declare!" were the opening words of a speech already polished,usque ad unguam, before Lord Rainham ventured to give it utterance.—"Behold Lady Tilney without a crowd of worshippers at her feet!—Explain me this phenomenon, and say, have you been cruel to your slaves, and are they gone themselves, or have they forgotten their allegiance? Such things have been, though they ought not to be—and yet methinks you would find it sufficiently dull, if all things were as they ought to be, would you not? tell me the truth, and give me your confidence; I have long wished to have the confidence of a handsome woman, and I promise youindulgentia plenaria."
"No, not for the world!—I hold it to be quite a false maxim to have any confidants: besides I have nothing to confide."
"You are too wise to be so handsome," said Lord Rainham abruptly, "and so good night; for since you will not parley with me, 'tis in vain I linger;" and as he turned away, words of freshimpromptuonsome other subject began audibly to escape his lips.
"In your orisons be all my sins remembered," whispered Mr. Ombre as he passed, and again found himself at Lady Tilney's side. "It is high time such bookworms as I should retire into our cells; so, lady sweet, good night.—You know it is not I who speak, but he, who would have been blest, could he have poured all his sweetest lays into that gentle ear." Lady Tilney considered the homage of talent as peculiarly her own, and would gladly have retained the speaker; but gliding with the gentle undulation of some shadowy form towards the door, he escaped the infliction of a penalty, which even the syren smiles which were his reward could hardly at times repay.
It was now growing late—the assembly was breaking up, and Lady Tilney looked anxiously for somecavalierto attend her to her carriage: but this was not a point of easy settlement. In degree he must be either of rank, or a dependent—one who was her equal, orone on whom she might confer distinction by her choice of his services. Neither such requisites, however, were to be found in the group around, and Lady Tilney, whilst feeling yet more and more the necessity of an exclusive circle, where such predicaments would be avoided, was doomed still further mortification in the approach of Colonel Temple, a person whom she hardly ever considered recognizable, and whose offer of assistance, made evidently with sarcastic reference to her being alone, came in a shape particularly offensive to her.
"Will you allow me to have the honour of calling your carriage," he said, addressing her with easy familiarity; "or if you are going to walk through the rooms, allow me to escort you?" (offering his arm).
"No," said Lady Tilney, in a manner that might have awed any one else; "I am going away immediately."
"Well, then, let me call your carriage," he replied, with a tenacity that nothing could evade—whilst Lady Tilney continued to move on, terrified lest she should be seensoattended.
This apparent anxiety to avoid him, was, however, with Colonel Temple, the surest incitement to a continuance of his proffered attentions. It might not have been exactly consistent with the general, high breeding and politeness which distinguished Lady Feuillemerte's assemblies, for any one to have acted under this influence perhaps; but Col. Temple was a character known to all the world as such, and privileged to do things which no one else did. He was a man, too, of family, and felt his situation in society, in the midst of all his eccentricities. His want of refinement had its compensation in an honesty of disposition quite at variance with the measured forms of fashionable exclusiveness, but which made him generally beloved; while his shrewd sense, mixed with a certain vein of sarcastic humour, always penetrated the littleness of vanity, and often inflicted on it its severest wounds.
Lady Tilney, from repeated slights, was a darling object of his attacks, and could she without compromise have purchased immunity from their never-failing and successfularrogance, by an honourable truce, she would gladly have done so. But Col. Temple wastooarrogant,toopresumptuous, to be checked by any defiance of ultra fashion—too independent, too high-spirited, to suffer a cold and haughty recognition, in place of the politeness and courtesy due to him as a gentleman, and thus this warfare had become interminable.
Enjoying his triumphs in the way in question, he followed Lady Tilney from room to room—even to the steps of her carriage, assuring her as they proceeded, that her apprehensions of being detected in his society were compliments to him beyond price; he was aware that, to be of importance, the next thing to being liked, was being feared—and bidding her be sure to send him a card for her next choicesoirée, he handed his victim into her carriage, under a thousand half-pronounced inuendos upon his insufferable vulgarity, and the awful anathema of future exclusion.
Ifany circumstance had been wanting to give strength to Lady Tilney's resolves on the momentous question of social reform, the occurrences at Lady Feuillemerte's were in themselves sufficient—at least, they formed an addition to that kind of plausible excuse, sought for on all occasions where the will is previously set on a particular line of conduct, but which, without a pretext, it would hardly be safe for the individual to adopt.
The motley and unkindred assemblage of the previous evening, with its royal restraints, its want of organization in its inferior members, and the consequent offences experienced by those of higher order—for Lady Tilney, although she did not divulge the stain inflicted by Colonel Temple's assiduities, yet felt it deeply,—were points she dwelt upon to hercolleagues in the following morning with that extreme pathos and eloquence which the sufferings of self never fail to produce, and which could not but enforce on her auditors conviction of the necessity of the measures she proposed.
Closeted, therefore, with the leading characters in her own peculiar circle, the final arrangements for thatsociété choisiewhich was to eclipse courts and banish sovereigns, to school rank, and bring to maturity all the yet unripened follies of asoi-disant ton, were at length concluded. The lists were full—the doors were closed to all but the secret representatives of the system, and the anathema went forth. Strange that St. James's did not shake from its foundation, England's sovereign resign his sceptre, and her lengthened line of nobility crouch in the dust, under the awful denunciation of such an ascendancy. But though this were not so—yet must the loyalty of many a high-born subject, and the purity of many a noble and virtuous mind, have been outraged, when the results of a system at onceso contemptuous and immoral began to be developed.
It will be remembered that Lady Tilney had already fixed on the evening of Lady Borrowdale's assembly as a fitting occasion for the display of her own undivided rule in the empire of fashion. Her cards had been issued for that purpose, and these were now followed by injunctions through various channels, requiring an early attendance—since the two syrens of the day, Pasta and Sontag, it was whispered, were engaged to give additional effect to the opening charms of exclusiveness, and render the blow struck at the existing state of society at once decisive.
Lady Borrowdale's apartments, it was decreed, should possess only thecanailleof the fashionable world, and royalty be doomed to oblivion there, in the surpassing lustre which Lady Tilney's circle would display. To the authority that called for this ready obedience, none of the satellites of Lady Tilney's court were ever known to offer resistance;—and though the chiefs of her party alone knew thereal object of the summons, yet the uninitiated hastened to obey it with the same alacrity as their superiors, satisfied that in so doing they were best consulting their views of advancement to the distinction courted by them, as well as securing a greater license in the indulgence of those follies and errors which made the sum of their daily occupation.
To tell of the decoration of the apartments, of the splendour and luxury which reigned around the mansion of Lady Tilney, to dwell on externals, would be to repeat descriptions a thousand times given, and tend to no developement of import. A plant, under the fairest guise of colour or of form, sometimes contains within its fibres the deadliest poison; and in the scorching plains of the East, the upas-tree extends an alluring shade over the exhausted and unconscious traveller, who is soon to sink beneath its deadly atmosphere. But what would it profit were the naturalist to dwell only on the pencilling and texture of the one, or the traveller describe vaguely the outspreading branches and inviting coolness ofthe other, and yet neglect to record the noxious qualities and inherent dangers of each. The plant and its virtues, not the scene in which it is to be found, must first be recognised and known, if escape from its contagion be intended;—and it is to the habits and system of a people, not to the country they inhabit, that we must look, rightly to understand the manner in which their lives are passed.
To a casual observer, Lady Tilney's assembly presented no distinguishing external marks at variance with received habits or customs. The rooms were not darkened, the servants passed through the apartments at intervals in the performance of their respective duties without constraint: the company, however, was less numerous, and more scattered and divided into detached parties. The conversation, with the exception of Lady Tilney herself, was carried on in a low tone, scarcely audible but to the individual addressed; the different members of the coterie, when they moved about,seemed to do so under certain measured and stated paces.
It was not, however, the step and air of real dignity of fashion, but rather the mincingminauderieofdes petites maîtresses. Whatever was done or spoken (when for a moment some general observation was hazarded), appeared as if performed by rule, and under apprehension of drawing down ridicule, which at once went to destroy all natural grace of speech or demeanour. This sentiment attached more particularly to the younger and newer noviciates, who felt that an unguarded expression, or a movement at variance with the prescribed forms of the circle, would render them the objects of the malicious remarks and sneers of the more experienced—an uneasy restraint, therefore, was often the consequence; and had it not been, that to form part of so chosen a society, and under Lady Tilney's roof, was in itself an indescribable satisfaction—some who were there might have been suspected of suffering considerableennui, and of being ready to admit, by the suppressed and ill-concealed yawn, thatalthough the honour of exclusiveness was great, the pleasure was certainly small.
Not so, however, with the more initiated—these appeared by habit to take the part at once most to their tastes; to select the companion most agreeable to them; to remain under the eye of observation, or retire from it, as they chose, with indifference;—for it was not only inwhatwas done or said, but in themanner, also, that the distinguishing characteristics of this coterie were to be detected. All things were lawful—but then under outward forms (not however of propriety always, or of morality), but of convention; and whoever attained fulfilment of these, had the privilege, theindulgentia plenaria, as proposed by Lord Rainham, to sin with impunity.
When it was said, therefore, that an assembly composed as the present differed not in its appearance from others passing under the same generic name, it was premised to be only under the impression of a first view;—a more intimate acquaintance with many of its laws and practices, so opposed to received customsin the world, could not in the end fail to astonish! And first the observer (the moral observer is meant) would have been struck by the discovery, that the young and beautiful in this magic circle were all married women, and that the person who individually (for the number was rarely more than singular) paid his assiduous court, leant over the chair, and whispered into the ear of the fair whom he selected or was selected by, was no aspirant to her hand in marriage, no relative—neither was he her husband—but a member of the privileged society, which was alone sufficient.
His astonishment would have been yet stronger on discovering that for a season, till mutual convenience, or disagreement dissolved their familiar acquaintance, each party, similarly paired, invariably met, conversed, and retired at the same time, when the circle broke up, or when they quitted it, apparently on the same footing of intimacy which the most holy ties could have sanctioned; while those whom such a tie actually bound to them were themselves pursuing a similar career.
Had the conversation which for the most part occupied this portion of thesociété choisiebeen reported, or reached the ear, it is possible a considerate mind might have thought, notwithstanding the singularity of a system which excluded the unmarried from scenes of amusement, that it was well they formed no portion of it; but still, in an escape from its early influence, enjoyed the opportunity of attaining to a degree of moral principle, and feminine decorum, which must otherwise have been swept away in the general license.
This, however, can unfortunately be said only of the one sex—the unmarried in the other, provided their attainments were of the kind to authorize admission, were not on the excluded list; and the young, well-principled, and ingenuous perhaps at their outset, might, in the examples constantly before them, have found incentive to conduct, which at a future day they would discover to have been the great bane and poison of their existence.—Of these the person who entered Lady Tilney's apartments when the coterie had nearlyassembled, and who was new to most of them, offered an instance, for whom the liveliest fears with justice might have been entertained.
Young, strikingly handsome, talented, of high rank, of widely extended interest, and possessing all the means of gratifying every wish, to what dangers was not Lord Albert D'Esterre exposed, in such a scene as has been described, and on which he was from that evening to play a part! He seemed, with the impulse of natural politeness, to look around for Lady Tilney, as he entered, as if he would pay his first homage to her, whose self and not her house he visited; in a manner directly the reverse of that false refinement of modernton, which seeks a display of itssavoir vivre, in a pointed indifference to all the received forms of society.
Before he had reached the second room he was met by Lady Tilney, with a greater degree of courtesy andempressementthan was usual in her receptions; and his address was listened to with more complacency and patience than generally marked her mannertowards any one.—"Who is he?" passed in whispers round the circle amongst those to whom he was unknown.—"Did you hear his name announced?"—"No! I have seen him somewhere before, I think—is it not Lord Albert D'Esterre, Lord ——'s son?"
"Ah true, it is! but what an extraordinary lengthy speech he is making—surely Lady Tilney must be ready to expire under its duration."—"Not under its dulness, I am certain," said Lord Glenmore, as he caught Lady Baskerville's remark to Lord Rainham, "for, D'Esterre is too clever ever to say a dull thing." "Or ever do a wise one, perhaps," added Lord Rainham in his most caustic manner.
"Did you hear Rainham?" whispered Spencer Newcombe to Ombre; "there was no time for gestation there—it was really well said."—"Then, if so," replied his neighbour, "we may 'for once a miracle accept instead of wit.'"
"No; I do not allow of miracles now a days," said Lord Rainham, turning sharply round, having overheard the remark appliedto him: "I do not believe in miracles—not even in the resurrection of the Glacier man—do you, Ombre?" The laugh was with the latter speaker; but Mr. Ombre thought that, in fact, miracles had not ceased when Lord Rainham could thus improvise two good things without incubation; and so he whispered into the ear of his friend Spencer Newcombe, as Lord Rainham moved away.
While Lord Albert D'Esterre was thus affording subject of remark to the coterie, and their observations in turn made matter of ill-natured review among themselves, he was addressing his courteous excuse to Lady Tilney for having disobeyed her commands, in arriving so late. Lady Baskerville was probably right in her conjecture, that Lady Tilney felt considerably bored by his doing so, and making reference to injunctions which she had forgotten the moment they were given, because certain they would be generally obeyed, and Lady Borrowdale's assembly be left untenanted by all her early visitors.
She heard him, however, with smiles andoutward complaisance; for Lord Albert was of consequence enough in a political way, at least, for Lady Tilney to court; and as she assured him that he was still in good time, and that the Sontag had not yet sung, presented him to several persons, whom, she remarked, would be almost strangers to him after so long an absence from England.
In all, however, that Lord Albert had said, he had been sincere; and in his manner towards the different persons he was made known to, there was a genuine distinguished air of high breeding and politeness, as much at variance with the manners, as his ingenuousness was with the minds and dispositions of those who figured in the moral masquerade before him. Although fresh in this scene, and therefore without contamination, he was powerful, and, therefore, worth appropriation; and what was consideredoutréand toomanièrein his address, was partially overlooked at the moment, as certain to give way under the powerful influence of better examples.
The Sontag now came forward and pouredher liquid notes mellifluous through the assembly. Every body was in raptures—indiscriminate raptures;—for though raptures were generally obsolete, there were a few short seasons for a few new things in which it was permitted to be rapturous; but woe to the unhappy individual who, ignorant of the mark, gave way to these ebullitions at unallowed times, or beyond the peculiar limits prescribed byton.
When theariawas concluded, however, the remarks among the younger votaries of fashion were principally directed to the figure and appearance of the singer, rather than to her performance. Leslie Winyard admired her foot; Lady Boileau her eyes; Lord Gascoyne saw indescribable beauty in the delicacy of her waist; and Lord Tonnerre declared her neck to be as fine drawn and as perfect as that of a race-horse—a simile which was perhaps the only figure of speech the latter lord could have hazarded, consistently with his knowledge of any subject. These by turns approached the singer, and as they addressed her with an air offamiliar condescension, seemed in their ungentle gaze to seek an opportunity of confirming their previous judgments; which, according to the result, were signified in the presence of the persons by a look, or a whisper, to one another.
If a few ventured an observation on what they had been listening to, it was in a tone either of indiscriminate praise, founded on some one's opinion in their own circle from whose decree there was no appeal; or else, measuring things in themselves admitting not of parallel, by one another, they drew an unfair comparison between the powers of Sontag and of Pasta; just in the same way as a pseudo connoisseur would measure the merits of Paul Veronese or Tintoretto by those of Raphael.
"I am surprised you waste so much time in this discussion," said Mr. Ombre, who was standing near the parties debating on the latter point; "there can be no question as to the merits of the case—Sontag is new."
"Is she not enchanting?" asked Lady Tilney, addressing Lord Albert D'Esterre, whohad been listening with the utmost attention—"quite perfection!" He smiled; "I do not know that I ever heard or saw any thingquite perfect; at all events, I prefer Pasta."
"Well, you surprise me!" replied Lady Baskerville; "there is such brilliancy—such lightness, such fluency in the Sontag."
"But there is more depth, more pathos, more poetry in Pasta. Nevertheless I admire Mademoiselle Sontag; and because I prefer one, I am not deaf to the powers of another singer—a feeling of the sublime does not exclude the lesser sense of the beautiful."—"What a prosing, sententious popinjay; ay!" whispered Lord Baskerville to Lady Ellersby.
"But he is very handsome," she answered.
"I know not what you ladies may esteem handsome" (and here Lord Baskerville put himself in his best possible form, and bent his cane against the ground); "but I can see nothing in that stiff conceited face and figure to call handsome; and I would not be doomed to listen to his affected pretensions for half an hour together on any condition whatever—no,not to hear Sontag sing three songs consecutively—beautiful, charming, dear as she is!"
"Does beauty enter in at the ears?" asked Spencer Newcombe.
"Not exactly; but it goes a great way towards making what does enter there agreeable," replied Lord Baskerville.
"What do you say, Sir Henry D'Aubigne," addressing that celebrated artist: "is not the Sontag exceedingly lovely?"
"Indeed I have not yet had an opportunity of judging," was Sir Henry's discreet reply; for he gave offence to none. "There is considerable grace and play of countenance certainly; a fine-cut eye; and on the whole I should say she was a very pretty creature. But really, in this land of beauty, (looking round him as he spoke), one may be allowed to be difficult, and where there is so much to dazzle, confess oneself unable to decide."
"Sir Henry is almost as graceful in his speech as in his portraits; I wish I were such a poet!" sighed Mr. Ombre, "and then I might hope to turn all the ladies' hearts, for theyaccept your homage, but will not mine, although I never flatter."
Thus did the poet and the painter mutually pay their allotted fealties to the sovereigns ofton, when the whisper ran round the room that the Sontag was again about to sing.
During the performance, Lord Albert D'Esterre was standing at the back of Lady Hamlet Vernon's chair, addressing to her, at intervals, his conversation on the merits of the singer.
"I am told," said Lady Hamlet Vernon, when the music ceased, "that the Sontag is very like Lady Adeline Seymour. You will know, Lord Albert D'Esterre?" Lord Albert coloured.
"I do not see the least resemblance to my cousin;" and then he added: "I was not aware that Lady Adeline had the advantage of your acquaintance."
"I have not the pleasure of her's neither—I hear she is a most delightful person!" Lord Albert again coloured, and felt his heart beat quicker at the mention of a name so dear to him.
"Is Lady Dunmelraise expected in town this year?" continued Lady Hamlet Vernon; "I understand she has very bad health. A very intimate friend of mine, from whom I sometimes receive a letter, Mr. George Foley—you may perhaps know him—and who is at present staying at Dunmelraise, informs me that she is far from well."
Lord Albert D'Esterre found himself irresistibly drawn towards Lady Hamlet Vernon, by the circumstance of her knowledge of Lady Adeline Seymour, and they continued for a long while in conversation—till interrupted by Lord Rainham, who, quitting the circle of the political characters of the day, with whom he had been in apparently close discussion, addressed Lady Hamlet Vernon on some other topic, and Lord Albert turned aside.
"Tell me what is your real opinion of the person you have been conversing with?" said Lord Rainham, in a low voice, while his small quick eye followed Lord Albert; "is he clever? has he talent—tact, or any other serviceable quality?"—"I hardly know how to answer inquiriesof such depth," answered Lady Hamlet Vernon, smiling; "had you asked me if he were agreeable, I could have answered yes. But to what do your questions tend—are they general or particular; or are they political, or what?"
"Oh, I mean, is he like other people, like other young men—empty—and conceited?—or has he wherewithal to make his conversation endurable—worth listening to—point—repartee—subject—does he talk of people or of things?"
"Of both. But shall I add another to your list of inquiries—To what side of the question does he lean? Does not this sum up all you would know from me? And what if I should tell you—I know nothing about the matter?"
"Psha! well: that may be too—whatdoyou think—?"
"Why I think him very handsome."
"Aye, may be so; I dare say he is—but—"
"But has he avowed his political creed? will he support your favourite measures, or oppose them? I know that is all you wish me to say," replied Lady Hamlet Vernon.
"Why, to be sure, one judges in these days of a man's sense a little by his politics—one learns whether he thinks at all, or follows his interests."
"Oh, you all do that, my dear lord. But come; I will tell you what I think of Lord Albert D'Esterre: I think he is worth winning—and—"
"You will try," said Lord Rainham.
"Fi donc!—now I will tell you no more." And Lady Hamlet Vernon left the foiled diplomatist to lament the failure of his mission, and learn to play his part better for the future.
The evening, or rather the night, was wearing fast away; the Sontag had sung three times, and those who had formed part of Lady Tilney's firstsoirée choisiewere soon to be left in possession only of the recollections—no—not the recollections—the life of the aggregate assembled there would banish such an exercise of mental powers—but in possession of the fact, that they had been of the chosen number; that theyhadheard the favourite of the hour,notin the too-frequented Opera, but in the privacyof the drawing-room; and that they alone could justly, therefore, weigh her merits, and determine her defects.
In follies such as these a large portion of Lady Tilney's associates were sure to find gratification on the morrow. And it might have been well had all contented themselves with these, so comparatively harmless, although such worthless, fruits ofexclusive ton; but it may be feared that, with some, the result of that evening, and the prospect of others to succeed it of the same kind, held out objects of a far different complexion, which a sure immunity from censure, and a complete freedom from obnoxious comparisons, successfully tended to promote.
Lord Albert D'Esterre had turned away from a group of young men with whom he had been conversing, and whose discourse, assuming a tone and character equally indelicate and revolting to his feelings, he thus endeavoured to avoid, when he found himself near Lady Boileau.
"Lord Albert D'Esterre," she said, addressing him, "if you will excuse an invitation sodestitute of form, will you do Lord Boileau and myself the pleasure of dining with us on Saturday—I will send you a card." Lord Albert bowed with courtesy, and expressed himself sorry that he was already engaged, and, after some conversation of little interest, as Lady Boileau's carriage was announced, she left the room. Leslie Winyard, with the familiarity of one well acquainted, whispered in Lord Albert's ear—
"You haveéchappéd bellefrom that."
"What do you mean?" asked the latter.
"Why, I mean that you have escaped a most uncomfortable concern by just refusing the invitation to the Boileaus."
"I thought I heard you say to Lady Boileau but now that you would be delighted to wait upon her."
"Oh yes, certainly, onesaysthose sort of things; and if nothing better occurs, onedoesthem;—but it does not always follow: for instance, if any one were to ask me whom I liked better, or if you, or some equally pleasantperson, were to propose our dining together at Crockford's—"
"I am not a member of Crockford's," said Lord Albert D'Esterre, gravely.
"Oh! but your name is down, andyouare certain of being admitted on the next ballot, and—" Lord Albert attempted to reply, but Leslie Winyard continued, "and, as I was telling you, if a pleasant dinner was prepared at Crockey's, I should, of course, not starve myself at the Boileaus."
"I confess myself at a loss to comprehend what you mean."
"Well then, some day go and try; find yourself frozen in rooms where the fire is lit only five minutes before the hour of your expected arrival—starve at the hands of the very worst cook in England,—and then, when you hear that my Lady spends twelve guineas on a new bonnet, squanders thousands on her journies to Paris, and ruins Boileau in articles for her toilette,marvel—but the thing is so."
"Is it possible?" Lord Albert continuedsaying to himself; as the person who had been talking to him turned away, half in derision of his unsophisticated expressions and manner of receiving what he said,—"is it possible that so much refinement of duplicity can exist, for an end so trivial—where the gratification of the spirit of falsehood, or the indulgence of an ill-bred impertinence, is the only object?"
Whilst thus musing, and preparing to leave a scene which, as he became more acquainted with the actors, appeared little suited to his tastes or modes of thinking, he saw Lady Hamlet Vernon approach the door unattended. A recollection that she alone, in the manner she spoke of Lady Adeline Seymour, had seemed to have any sentiment in common with himself, made him move towards her, and inquire if he could be of any service in seeing her to her carriage.
"I do not know if it is up," was her reply, "but perhaps you will have the goodness to ask." He did so, and in the interval, before it was announced, they continued conversing. "Je vous félicite," said Lord Rainham,addressing Lady Hamlet Vernon in a low tone as he passed, and looking significantly at the same time at Lord Albert D'Esterre.
"There is no cause," she replied, "I am waiting for my carriage, and I think it will never come."
"Discrète," answered Lord Rainham, as he moved towards the door, and signalled what he had observed to Leslie Winyard, whose answering nod expressed concurrence in his suspicions.
It was long before Lady Hamlet Vernon's carriage arrived, and she continued talking with Lord Albert on various topics; the societies of Paris and Vienna, compared with that of London; the state of the Opera, and the prevalent bad taste of music on the Continent. She inquired for many who in their exile in this country had been known to her, and with whom, in the splendour of restored rank and fortunes, she found Lord Albert had lived on terms of close intimacy. In speaking of them he seemed to dwell with pleasure on their recollection of the servicesrendered them in England, as a bright trait in the human character, which betokened feelings that it was plain to see were in accordance with his own generous and noble nature—and which had formed the basis of that familiar intercourse in which he had lived with them. Although the reverse of this picture has been ascribed to too many foreigners, who have with justice been accused of ingratitude, it ought not therefore to be recorded that all were subject to such condemnation. Lord Albert knew otherwise.
As he extolled their characters and perfections, and spoke of the charms which their society had always possessed for him, Lady Hamlet Vernon listened with increased attention, as if she would have gathered from his discourse the individual sources of that satisfaction, which he professed in so lively a manner to have found. "You are warm and enthusiastic in your eulogiums," she said: "I hope that in England, also, you may find those whom, with the same reasons, and an equalardour of attachment, you will be disposed to admit to your friendship."
There was something in the tone in which these words were addressed to him, that made Lord Albert D'Esterre for a moment fix his eyes on the speaker; but they were as quickly withdrawn, when he saw Lady Hamlet Vernon blush, apparently confused, and then pluck a flower from a vase near her, while she endeavoured to hide her face by inhaling the perfume. There was an awkwardness in the pause which ensued, which neither seemed at the moment able to surmount; when fortunately Lady Hamlet Vernon's carriage was called, and as Lord Albert handed her to it, he received an invitation to her house in the evening, when Lady Tilney'scoteriewere to assemble there.
Thenewspapers of the following morning had devoted columns to the description of Lady Borrowdale's entertainment, and the numbering of the distinguished persons assembled there; the dresses, the apartments, the decorations, the viands, and every minute arrangement, were all detailed with an accuracy which an eye-witness of the scene would readily have acknowledged, and which none but an eye-witness could possibly have succeeded in giving.
In a far less conspicuous and pretending manner, did the announcement figure in the same paper, that "Lady Tilney yesterday evening received a select circle of her friends at her house in —— Street, where the Sontag gave several specimens of her unrivalled talents." An uninstructed reader would have been misled bythese harbingers of public events; and from the tone of the respectiveaffichésfeel justified in the conclusion, that the one must have been the production of Lady Borrowdale's own pen, or at least from her dictation, while the other appeared naturally as the result of that publicity, to which the actions of the great are always subjected. But this would have been far from the fact, or rather the very opposite to it; it was to the milliners, the confectioners, the musicians, themaître d'hotel, and the other individuals interested in affording publicity to the dresses and entertainments of their employers, that the long and circumstantial details of Lady Borrowdale's, or any other great assembly, are to be attributed; free from any petty interference, or the gratification of a silly vanity on the part of the principals themselves.
That this was the fact, was a circumstance which could not escape Lady Tilney; and aware that such evidence, if it reached the public eye, would destroy at once all the sacredness of her selectcoteries, and thecharms of thesociété choisiewhich she was labouring to form, she determined on suppressing it, and issued orders, not to be disobeyed with impunity, for the effectual prevention of any announcement of whom the circle consisted of on the evening in question, and of its proceedings, with the exception that it excelled all other of the same date, by the possession of Sontag's inimitable powers. A mystery, which suited well with the ideas of Lady Tilney and of her friends on the subject of exclusiveton, would thus, she conceived, be thrown over their actions, and the rites of the supreme deity of fashion impenetrably veiled from the prying, inquisitive eye, and vulgar imitation of its pretending votaries.
Humility is a duty of as especial injunction in the sacred volume, as its opposite is of strict prohibition; and let it not surprise, therefore, that Lord Albert D'Esterre, young in the world's masquerade, and imbued with feelings, which if not religiously grounded, were at least, from their purity, analogous to the moral doctrine which religion teaches, should be struck,as he perused the two paragraphs, by the apparent vanity of the one compared with the unostentatious wording of the other, and drew his inferences accordingly.
"What silly pomp in Lady Borrowdale; how unworthy her rank—how positively little, thus to set forth the splendour of her entertainment, which is worth nothing when it loses the character of being a natural consequence of her station in society. What could be more brilliant than Lady Tilney's assembly; and yet there is no parade—nocatalogue raisonnéeof all that was seen, done, or said in her drawing-rooms—how much more like a woman of real fashion."
Had Lord Albert D'Esterre been acquainted with the actual truth, in all probability the opinion which he passed on this trivial circumstance, as he took his breakfast, would have been the very reverse of what it was; and, however he might hold cheap any silly ostentatious display of wealth or rank, he would certainly have been more ready to overlook Lady Borrowdale's carelessness whether herassembly was reported accurately, or not at all, than he would have been to forgive Lady Tilney's over-anxiety and ultra,tonism (if such a word may be coined), to screen the names and numbers of her guests, and give celebrity to the coterie by making it a matter of secrecy and of injunction to her domestics.
The mornings of Lord Albert, however, were generally passed in reflections of much more use and importance than such as newspaper subjects could furnish. During the whole of his residence abroad, his time had been employed in acquirements of a solid kind. He had studied men and things—had made himself acquainted with the constitutions, governments, resources, and political importance of all the great European states; had lived amongst their inhabitants for the purpose of acquiring that accurate knowledge of their habits and dispositions, which tends so much to a just appreciation of the line of policy to be observed towards them, and which must ever be influenced by an acquaintance with national character.
While receiving their instructions he had formed friendships with some of their most distinguished literati in all the different branches of knowledge, and had returned to England fully prepared for the commencement of that public career to which his inclination led him; and in which, amongst those who knew him intimately, and could appreciate his abilities, he was justly expected to shine.
The habit of occupation which he had formed whilst thus pursuing his studies on the Continent, did not desert Lord Albert D'Esterre, even in the noise and bustle of London society, in the midst of which he now found himself; but in the mass of business which now fell upon him in consequence of his taking possession of his large estates, in the conferences of lawyers and agents, in the answering of letters on these matters of varied interest which now occupied him, and in the attentions to those minor cases of life, the etiquettes and forms of the world, he still found leisure for serious and studious application; nor indulged in the idleness of fashion till the duties of the morninghad been performed, when alone he availed himself of them, for the purpose of relaxation and the unbending of his mind.
It was the morning after Lady Tilney's soirée, and when he had gone through his usual course of occupations, that Lord Albert recollected, with what would be called old-fashioned politeness, "the propriety of leaving his cards with the persons to whom he had been presented the preceding evening, and more particularly with Lady Tilney herself; and he determined to do so on his way to the Park. On arriving at Lady Tilney's door he was informed that she was at home (for his name was already on the list of those who had the entrée), and he was preparing to dismount when he saw the carriage of the Countess Leinsengen drive up. She bowed to him, and he was presently at theportièreto hand her out; and offering her his arm, conducted her to Lady Tilney's boudoir. "Comment ça va-t-il chère Comtesse," said the former addressing her; "I congratulate you on possessing de acquaintance of de only polite Englishman Ihave ever known—Dare is milor Albert D'Esterre had vraiement de galanterie to get off his horse and conduct me from my carriage. N'est-ce pas merveilleux in dis country!"
Lord Albert bowed to the compliment; but added: "I am sure Lady Tilney will not allow such a cruel sentence on our nation to pass even your lips, Comtesse; and will agree with me, that though a few may have taken up a false system, and assumed an air of disregard to the courtesies of life, yet it is only such as seek for distinction by false means, and by doing the reverse of what others do: we cannot, therefore, allow the censure to be general on us all; indeed, I do my sex but justice I hope, when I say, that they are in this country invariably the friends and supporters of women, and—" "Oh yes; perhaps if one tumble down, or break one's leg, or meet vid any personal danger or affront, dis may be so; but dese affairs do not arise every day: and for de little cares of de men,les petits soins, I never knew one of your country men who knew vat dey meant."
Lord Albert smiled at the manner in which the argument in favour of his politeness was maintained; but perceiving Lady Tilney little inclined to keep up a conversation on the subject of national manners, he refrained from drawing the comparison, which would have been just, between a natural politeness, arising as much from feeling and imbued delicacy of sentiment, as from habit, and the mere outward forms of courtesy and etiquette, which in those most profuse of them have seldom any thing of sincerity.
"Well, I suppose ve must go to dat tiresome Almack dis evening. You go?" said the Comtesse Leinsengen, addressing Lady Tilney; "for my part I tink I shall viddraw my name."
"Oh, certainly I shall go," replied the latter, "for it is absolutely necessary you know, my dear Comtesse, that some of us should be there; and besides I am of opinion that as people must have something to keep them quiet, and whichthey think recherché, Almack's is as good as any thing else, andtherefore I shall support it—In regard tous, I agree perfectly with you, it ispassée, and no longer what was intended." The Comtesse shrugged her shoulders: "You will be at Almack's to-night," said Lady Tilney, turning to Lord Albert D'Esterre, "although we are giving it such a bad name, will you not?"
"Your hours of admission are limited you know, and I scarcely think I can get away in time from ——"
"There is no debate of consequence, is there?" rejoined Lady Tilney with earnestness—"I may forget, but should there be, of course——"
"I did not mean from the house," continued Lord Albert, "but I am going to dine where I shall meet Baron H.; I have known him on the continent, and his conversation is so very interesting."—"And so very long," added the Comtesse Leinsengen, interrupting him, and with a look which was intended to repay many discussions she had been constrained to endure at Lady Tilney's hands; "I wonder he ever finds people to listen to him."—"But wheredo you dine," said Lady Tilney, seeming to disregard the opinion just uttered. "I know Barnette, and he is very agreeable, very clever, but I wonder he allows himself to be sofétédby people so little known in the world. I shall be happy, I am sure—"
"I am to meet him at the Miss D.'s," replied Lord Albert, interrupting her, and who felt thatthiswas the point he was called upon to answer, and not that of who were or who were not known in Lady Tilney's estimation.
"And do you really visit them?" said the latter with great surprise, "are you notennuyéto death at their parties?"
"Ennuyé!no—but then I must premise that I never am so under any circumstances."
"Ah,bon!do tell me how that is, Milor," said the Comtesse Leinsengen, "precisely, do tell me how you avoid infection from dat prevalent disease of your island, datboreyou call it."
"Oh, I always do what I like," replied Lord Albert with a smile.
"Cela ne fait rien à l'affaire, one do not always know vat von like."
"I have nothing to reply to that; but for myself, if I do not find exactly what I like I always endeavour to extract entertainment from the persons or place, where, or with whom I may chance to be."
"Par exemple, at the Miss D.'s, what can you find at their horrible conversaziones to keep you awake," asked Lady Tilney, "c'est un ennui à périr, it makes me yawn to think of it."
"Oh, he goes to do penance for his sins, and purchase indulgence for dose to come, n'est ce pas, Milor?"
"Neither, I assure you; I was really more entertained during asoiréethere last week than I have been since my return to England."
"Ah, le beau compliment! de grâce do not avow it," said the Comtesse.
Lady Tilney looked amazed at these opinions, like one in doubt if she had not with too much precipitation admitted an enemy within the camp, in the person of Lord Albert; and whilst canvassing the necessity of retrieving her error, by his future exclusion, and atthe same time the policy of retaining one of his interest and promise in her circle, with a view to his reform, she directed her enquiries to him in a tone almost dictatorial, as to the ground of his faith in the merits of the society he had been extolling. "Will you tell me, Lord Albert, of whom are these parties generally composed? I have yet to learn that there are distinguished individuals capable of creating such great interest apart from what is generally termed the society of London; or, I must conclude—but I will not do that hastily—that you yourself have imbibed ideas quite foreign to propriety, and have given way to associations quite unfitting your situation in the world."
Lord Albert in his turn seemed astonished at these categories, but answered with perfect ease: "I have found at the Miss D.'s many whom I meet elsewhere and, every where; but my chief attraction is the number of talented persons who are often assembled in the circle, and whose conversation affords me the greatest interest, and much instruction."
"One do not go into society to be instructed," said the Comtesse Leinsengen with a sneer.
"Surely not," added Lady Tilney, "clever people are well in their way,—I mean your really learned persons—men who have read, travelled, written all their lives, but then it is in one's own apartment in the morning that they are sufferable. I know but very few indeed, who are presentable, or who have the true talent of turning their powers to account, without torturing one to death with their learning; and then without great circumspection they become familiar, and one is obliged to take so much trouble, and be so much on one's guard, to keep them in their place. Be assured, Lord Albert, you will find this to be the case," continued Lady Tilney, "if you give unlimited encouragement togens de ce grade—There is but one subject on which you may listen to them, I mean politics; but how few there are of the class who are enlightened enough to speak on that subject. We have, it is true, D— and B— C—, and the Count K—,sometimes with us; and among our own countrymen, we have M— and a few others, but—"
The Countess Leinsengen's impatience was here manifested by the usual shrug of her shoulders, and as she perceived Lady Tilney embarking on the interminable ocean of politics, turning quickly to Lord Albert she enquired,
"But who may be de very clever persons, Milor, who give you so much amusement in dis very charming society?"
"Where there are so many to name, it is hard to select," replied Lord Albert; "but there was the great traveller, who has been further into the interior of Africa than any one has yet penetrated. His descriptions of deserts, and skies, and camels, conveyed me beside him in his pilgrimage; the trackless sands in which no insect can find subsistence; the well by which the caravan halted, the only visible friend of the traveller throughout the vast desert; the wide canopy of starry heavens, spread out above; those heavens and those stars, of whose clear brightness we inthese cloudy regions have but a faint idea; the varied and picturesque garb of guides and guards; the meekness of the patient camel; the silence of the march, unless some alarm from the fierce and wandering tribes of the country disturbed its tranquillity; and then the noise, and gesticulation, and activity, which accompanied the pitching of the tents for the night's or noon's repose, were circumstances all described and dwelt upon by the traveller, with a nervous strength and accuracy of delineation which nothing but original description can give, and which came to me with so much force and truth, and such beauty of imagery, that I thought, as he spoke, travelling was the only delightful way of passing one's life."
Lady Tilney and the Comtesse Leinsengen exchanged looks, while Lord Albert was thus giving way to the natural feelings of a mind yet untinctured with the follies of fashion, and which saw no degradation to his rank in seeking and finding amusement in the society of enlightened persons.
"Tell me," at length asked Lady Tilney,with an expression something like contempt, "had you nochangement de décoration; was all your talk about camels, and deserts, and wells, and stars?"—"Ah," cried the Comtesse Leinsengen, "avouez moi, Milor, que la nouvelle du jour vaut been mieux." Lord Albert smiled, and allowed that this was amusing too in its way; but he added,
"We had a change of divertissement I assure you, after dinner;Il cantar che nel' anima si sentetook the place of conversation for a time, and Mr. M—"
"Oh he is well enough," said Lady Tilney, "in his place, and sings charmingly;" (for the person in question was the Anacreon of her party, and sometimes tuned his lays to subjects on which party feeling and political animosity loved to cast derision)—"he is well enough."—"And sings, do you not think," rejoined Lord Albert, "divinely? I have heard others sing finely—sweetly—scientifically—even feelingly; but such lightness, such magic bursts of imagery, such painting of sounds, I never heard but in his song."
"And you have heard de Sontag: you heard her dis last evening?"
"Oh yes, often; I heard her at Vienna before she came to England."
"Well, and you prefer dis little gentleman—tout les gens sont respectables;" and she sneered, as if in contradiction to the words.
"Perhaps the parties will not bear a comparison," added Lady Tilney, jealous of one whom she patronized, and whose merits she had in a measure acknowledged; and then, turning to Lord Albert, she continued—
"You must not mistake me, my dear lord; I have no objection to thesort of thingyou have been describing. I honour talent, and delight in conversation; but then it must be on a proper footing; in circles where those persons who talk, and talk very well I dare say, should be under restraint; where they would feel themselves debarred entirely fromunduelicense, and a consideration that they formed part of the society, and where they would appear in their true characters—to direct and amuse others when called upon; just as actors and singerscome upon the stage to play their parts, and then retire. Now in the circle you allude to all this necessary distinction is overthrown at once—every one there, from the nature of things, considers himselfpair et compagnonof the company, and behaves accordingly. In small rooms—"
"On meurt de chaud au de froid, par parenthèse," interrupted the Comtesse, who dreaded one of Lady Tilney's long discussions; "for dere is one moment a thorough air, and de next all is shut up, and one fries vid de fire; but dat is always de case where dere is nopoêlestove—However, adieu ma belle; I must go and leave you and Milor dere to settle all de points about dat société which he likes so much—adieu—au revoir, Milor, je vous salue."
Lord Albert would have followed his natural impulse of politeness, and handed the Comtesse Leinsengen to her carriage; disposed, perhaps, also to escape further conversation with Lady Tilney on topics where they seemed to hold no ideas in common. This, however, he was not permitted to do, the Comtessedeclining his offered arm, saying she should never be forgiven if Lady Tilney were deprived of the triumph of converting him from his errors;—and closing the door, as she insisted on his remaining, Lord Albert was left tête-à-tête with Lady Tilney.
"Do you not think she is terribly gone off this year?" said the latter.
"I do not know if I understand you. If it be that her beauty is gone off, I should say yes—but I never heard shewashandsome."
"No?" asked Lady Tilney, with an expression of satisfaction; "but she is surely verydistinguélooking."—"She has the advantage of that species of polish which the world gives," was Lord Albert's reply; "but this often covers an unpolished mind—and I am not sure it is the first thing I should look for."
"I like nature as much as you can do, my dear lord; I ever stood up for that liberty and freedom attendant on persons not quitefait au feu; but I must confess that I like to have them a little dressed,not perfectly raw."
How far Lord Albert might have found itpossible to agree with Lady Tilney in this new question, so suddenly started, it was not left him to discover; for at that moment fresh visitors were announced—and, as they entered, Lord Albert prepared to depart. Not, however, till Lady Tilney—who, spite of what she called his false theories, saw he was a person by no means to be hastily rejected—had bidden him to her box at the Opera on Saturday evening. "I am determined to be at the rising of the curtain," she said, "to hear the Sontag—only it is so difficult to be in time. Were you ever in time in your life?"—
"Yes, I have," answered Lord Albert, smiling.
"Then be at the verypremier congé d'archeon Saturday," added Lady Tilney, as he bowed to her and left the apartment; glad to have gotten over a visit of ceremony, where, from the tone of conversation which had passed, he augured that little in future would be found consonant to his ideas or his tastes.
As he rode from the door, Lord Albert turned his horse towards the Park. It wasone of the first Spring days that had shone in the early year, and all the gayest of London seemed hastening to enjoy its genial influence.—Yes, even the weary and theblazéin life's crooked paths appeared for a moment to acknowledge the charm which the brilliancy of the scene and the brightness of the atmosphere combined to form. Smiles were in every face and cheerfulness in every movement.
Than the throng of Hyde Park there is perhaps no promenade in Europe more dazzling; none where more magnificence of equipage, or more beauty of human form is displayed; and it is difficult for the young, and the handsome more particularly, not to feel intoxicated as they enter on a stage where the whole appearance is so fair, and where a consciousness of personal charms assures them they must themselves shine.—It is not probable that Lord Albert D'Esterre, philosophical as he has just appeared while discoursing with Lady Tilney, was altogether free from feelings so natural to his years, or from that species of vanity which seeks a display of personal beauty, or whatever other quality may best glitter in such a scene.