"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——.
"It is an out-of-the-way place for a horse, too," said Sir Harry Danvers.
"But I assure you," insisted Mr. Watson, earnestly, that my groom, who is a capital judge, says it is the cleverest hack he ever mounted. It has won several trotting matches. It belonged to a sporting tradesman, now done up. The advertisement caught me."