"I don't k-n-o-w t-h-a-t," I rejoined, imitating Meyler. "Some of his impulses are particularly good, I assure you."
Two days after the cap had made its appearance, Meyler's regimentals came home, with yellow facings; the ugliest, most vulgar-looking things, which could well be imagined. Meyler too had anything but the air militaire which ought to have set them off and made the best of them. He was a little, quiet hero of the old school, with the most beautifully delicate white hands, and he always wore silk stockings, nankeen breeches, and small knee-buckles. At last arrived a letter from the great commander-in chief, Lord Palmerston. I have not a copy of his lordship's letter, so I do not mean to say that what follows is verbatim; though the said epistle was shown to me at the time and my memory is not apt to be treacherous.
"MY DEAR MEYLER,—It really is incumbent on us, as a matter of glory as well as honour, to attend to our Regimental duties, and, as I understand your tailor has carried home your handsome regimentals, with bright yellow facings, I trust you will accompany me into Hampshire next Tuesday, for the purpose of drawing our men out in a line, and making them go through their manoeuvres, &c.
"Yours, dear Meyler, very truly,
"PALMERSTON."
Meyler, having perused the above letter, began by equipping himself in his bran-new, bright red and yellow regimentals, and, having placed himself opposite his large swing-looking glass for about a quarter of an hour, the next thing he did was to throw off his gay uniform in a passion, and then he sat down and addressed the following answer to Viscount Palmerston:
"MY DEAR LORD PALMERSTON,—Unfortunately I happen to be subpoenaed at the House of Commons for Tuesday night, which is what I regret, of course, infinitely; but, be assured, I will not fail to distinguish myself in arms as soon as I have disposed of the Catholic Bill. In the meantime believe me very truly yours,
"RICHARD MEYLER."
"Do you know that Lord Worcester is expected to bring home the next despatches?" said Fanny to me one night when we met in our opera-box.
"It is all the same to me," I replied, "since he could be so selfish and vilely shabby as to acquaint his father I had written to him. I shall never respect or like him again."
"Yet," said Fanny, "I have this morning received a letter from his lordship, who writes of you in a very tender style. 'A friend of mine,' says his lordship's letter, 'saw my sweet, darling Harriette in Hyde Park, looking lovely. God bless her! What would I give, but to see her pass this moment, even though she refused to acknowledge me.'"
"Oh, that's enough," said I, interrupting Fanny, "I am quite in a fidget, and cannot guess what Meyler is about, that he does not visit us to night as usual. I understand he is going to the Duke of Devonshire's dress party, and the idea torments me wretchedly."
I turned many an anxious glance towards the Duchess of Beaufort's box in vain, as well as towards the door of my own. The curtain dropped, without our having seen anything of Meyler.