“An agreeable inundation,” murmured Lord Lilburne. “Three at a time: he takes your house for Trinity College.”
A loud, clear voice, however, declined the invitation; the horses were heard pawing without. Arthur seized his hat and whip, and glanced to his mother and uncle, smilingly. “Good-bye! I shall be out till dinner. Kiss me, my pretty Milly!” And as his sister, who had run to the window, sickening for the fresh air and exercise he was about to enjoy, now turned to him wistful and mournful eyes, the kind-hearted young man took her in his arms, and whispered while he kissed her:
“Get up early to-morrow, and we’ll have such a nice walk together.”
Arthur was gone: his mother’s gaze had followed his young and graceful figure to the door.
“Own that he is handsome, Lilburne. May I not say more:—has he not the proper air?”
“My dear sister, your son will be rich. As for his air, he has plenty of airs, but wants graces.”
“Then who could polish him like yourself?”
“Probably no one. But had I a son—which Heaven forbid!—he should not have me for his Mentor. Place a young man—(go and shut the door, Camilla!)—between two vices—women and gambling, if you want to polish him into the fashionable smoothness. Entre nous, the varnish is a little expensive!”
Mrs. Beaufort sighed. Lord Lilburne smiled. He had a strange pleasure in hurting the feelings of others. Besides, he disliked youth: in his own youth he had enjoyed so much that he grew sour when he saw the young.
Meanwhile Arthur Beaufort and his friends, careless of the warmth of the day, were laughing merrily, and talking gaily, as they made for the suburb of H——.