“Well, indeed, they are handsome,” said O'Reilly, with an honest satisfaction, “and that's exactly why I thought the advice was good. 'Take them abroad,' they said; 'take them into Germany and Italy—but more especially Italy'—for they say there's nothing like Italy for finishing young ladies.”
“That is certainly the general impression!” said his Lordship with the barest imaginable motion of his nether lip.
“And here we are, but where we're going afterwards, and what well do when we're there, that thief of a Courier we have may know, but I don't.”
“So that you gave up business, O'Reilly, and resigned yourself freely to a life of ease,” said my Lord, with a smile that seemed to approve the project.
“Yes, indeed, my Lord; but whether it's to be a life of pleasure, I don't know. I was in the provision trade thirty-eight years, and do you know I miss the pigs greatly.”
“Every man has a hankering of that sort. Old cosmopolite as I am, I have every now and then my longing for that window at Brookes's, and that snug dinner-room at Boodle's.”
“Yes, my Lord,” said O'Reilly, who hadn't the faintest conception whether these localities were not situated in China.
“Ah, Twining, never thought to see you here,” called out his Lordship to a singularly tall man, who came forward with such awkward contortions of legs and arms, as actually to suggest the notion that he was struggling against somebody. Mr. O'Reilly modestly stole away while the friends were shaking hands, and we take the same opportunity to, present the new arrival to our reader.
Mr. Adderley Twining was a gentleman of good family and very large fortune, whose especial pleasure it was to pass off to the world for a gay, light-hearted, careless creature, of small means, and most lavish liberality. To be, in fact, perpetually struggling between a most generous temperament and a narrow purse. His cordiality was extreme, his politeness unbounded; and as he was most profuse in his pledges for the present and his promises for the future, he attained to a degree of popularity which to his own estimation was immense. This was, in fact, the one sole self-deception of his very crafty nature, and the belief that he was a universal favourite was the solitary mistake of this shrewd intelligence. Although a married man, there was so constantly some “difficulty” or other—these were his own words—about Lady Grace, that they seldom were seen together; but he spoke of her when absent in terms of the most fervent affection, but whose health, or spirits, or tastes, or engagements unhappily denied her the happiness of travelling along with him. Whenever it chanced that they were together, he scarcely mentioned her.
“And what breeze of fortune has wafted you here, Twining?” said his Lordship, delighted to chance upon a native of his own world.