“Of which I am bitterly aware,” I sighed. “But I require a man, my lord, not a name and a suit of clothes.”
The delightful old barbarian did not apprehend my meaning, I am sure, but the secret of his reputation lay in the fact that he never let the world know that there was a subject in earth or heaven that he did not understand. When a topic travelled beyond the dominion of his mind, he preserved a melancholy silence, and contrived to appear as though the thing was too trivial to occupy his thoughts. But he changed the conversation at the earliest opportunity. The word “love” was to him the most mysterious monosyllable in the world. Wherefore he proceeded to speak about my bills, and said, in his charming way, that he did not mind how much they did amount to if I exhibited a mastery in the art of spending with grace and elegance.
“Now I see there is a yellow chaise,” said he, “and a yellow chaise I consider a trifle bourgeois, although my taste is perhaps a thought severe. A purple chaise, or vermilion even, hath a certain reticence and dignity, but yellow is enough to startle all the town.”
“True, papa,” says I with animation, “and I chose it for that purpose. I adore display; I must be looked at twice; I must perish, I suppose, if the fops did not quiz me in the most monstrous manner every time I took the Mall. When I die, let it be done to slow music, and I mean to have a funeral at the Abbey if I can. Why, do you know, sir, that the first country town I entered in this wondrous chaise, a tale was got about that the Empress of All the Russias had arrived? ’Twas a moment in my life I can assure you when I danced lightly from that vehicle, and threw smiles to the mob that kept the entrance to the inn. Pomp and circumstance are the blood of me. Dress me in ermine that I may become a show, and provoke huzzahs in every city! And if I must have a man, my lord, let him be a person of character and ideas to cheer me when I’m weary.” I ended in a peal of mirth.
“Hum! character and ideas.” My lord scratched his chin with a face of comical perplexity. “Would not position and a reasonable pin-money be still more apposite to your case, my dearest person? And anyway,” says he, “may I be in my grave ere my daughter Bab marries anywise beneath her. Character and ideas!”
“Amen to that, my lord!” cries I, with a deal of fervour.
Thereupon I left the Earl to his light reflection and his piety. My heart was heavy with the knowledge of his approaching end; but there was still a period in which I might enjoy the inimitable charm of his society. Passing from his chamber, I encountered my aunt upon the stairs. The briskness of her step, and the animation of her face, alike surprised me, as the dowager usually required nothing short of a cow, a mouse, or a suspicion of unorthodoxy to arouse her.
“Do not delay me, Barbara,” she said, brushing past me. “I must see the Earl immediately.”
I did not venture to impede her with my curiosity, for my aunt is a dreadful engine when once she is set in motion.
Coming to the foot of the stairs, however, I chanced to stray into the reception parlour to find a comfit box I had mislaid.