"Good morning, to you, my sweet, comical lady," said Bankhead, and left the house.
In about two months we all grew tired of Brighton, except Fanny, who had never been happier than while galloping over the Downs with the first man she had really loved; perhaps the first who had treated her with the respect and kindness her very excellent and benevolent qualities so well deserved.
I often heard from Fred Bentinck, as well as from His Grace of Leinster. The latter joined me in London towards the end of November. I had only been settled there a few days, when I was surprised by a visit from the young Marquis of Worcester, whose very existence I had almost forgotten.
He expressed his gratitude for being admitted and sat with me for two hours, when our tête-à-tête was interrupted by Leinster. He then took his leave, having conversed only on indifferent subjects, without once touching on the passion Lord Deerhurst and several others had assured me that he entertained for me.
Leinster appeared much annoyed at the reappearance of Worcester and talked of going to Spain.
"I am a great fool," said His Grace, "and travelling may make me wiser."
I shook my head.
"At all events," continued His Grace, "I shall be out of the way of seeing Worcester make love to you. I am no match for him, being of a colder and less romantic turn. Worcester would go to the devil for you, and will make you love him, sooner or later. I cannot contend with him, and therefore I have almost decided to go with my brother, Lord Henry, and young FitzGibbon to the Continent."
"In the meantime," said I, "you really are wrong to tease yourself about Lord Worcester, who never makes love to me: and this morning he talked of nothing but riding and Lord Byron's poetry and music. He did not even offer to shake hands with me, and, when I held out my hand for that purpose, he seemed to shake and tremble, as though it had been something quite unnatural."
"When are you to see him again?"