“Indeed, my lord, I never saw your lordship look better.”
“There you lie. I looked better last year—I looked better the year before—and I looked better and better every year back to the age of twenty-one! But I’m not talking of looks, no man with money wants looks. I am talking of feelings. I feel better. The gout is almost gone. I have been quiet now for a month—that’s a long time—time wasted when, at my age, I have so little time to waste. Besides, as you know, I am very much in love!”
“In love, my lord? I thought that you told me never to speak of—”
“Blockhead! what the deuce was the good of speaking about it when I was wrapped in flannels! I am never in love when I am ill—who is? I am well now, or nearly so; and I’ve had things to vex me—things to make this place very disagreeable; I shall go to town, and before this day week, perhaps, that charming face may enliven the solitude of Fernside. I shall look to it myself now. I see you’re going to say something. Spare yourself the trouble! nothing ever goes wrong if I myself take it in hand.”
The next day Lord Lilburne, who, in truth, felt himself uncomfortable and gene in the presence of Vaudemont; who had won as much as the guests at Beaufort Court seemed inclined to lose; and who made it the rule of his life to consult his own pleasure and amusement before anything else, sent for his post-horses, and informed his brother-in-law of his departure.
“And you leave me alone with this man just when I am convinced that he is the person we suspected! My dear Lilburne, do stay till he goes.”
“Impossible! I am between fifty and sixty—every moment is precious at that time of life. Besides, I’ve said all I can say; rest quiet—act on the defensive—entangle this cursed Vaudemont, or Morton, or whoever he be, in the mesh of your daughter’s charms, and then get rid of him, not before. This can do no harm, let the matter turn out how it will. Read the papers; and send for Blackwell if you want advice on any new advertisements. I don’t see that anything more is to be done at present. You can write to me; I shall be at Park Lane or Fernside. Take care of yourself. You’re a lucky fellow—you never have the gout! Good-bye.”
And in half an hour Lord Lilburne was on the road to London.
The departure of Lilburne was a signal to many others, especially and naturally to those he himself had invited. He had not announced to such visitors his intention of going till his carriage was at the door. This might be delicacy or carelessness, just as people chose to take it: and how they did take it, Lord Lilburne, much too selfish to be well-bred, did not care a rush. The next day half at least of the guests were gone; and even Mr. Marsden, who had been specially invited on Arthur’s account, announced that he should go after dinner! he always travelled by night—he slept well on the road—a day was not lost by it.
“And it is so long since you saw Arthur,” said Mr. Beaufort, in remonstrance, “and I expect him every day.”