To stay in town with this engagement on the tapis, and this marriage in prospect, was more, however, than Clare cared to endure, or Ida either. When it was pressed upon the baronet that the three sisters should go to Carnaby Court or elsewhere, he affected much surprise, as they had barely reached the middle of the season, and the engagement list contained many affairs towards which Clare, and certainly Violet, had looked forward with interest.
Though he made a show of some opposition to all this, Sir Carnaby was not unwilling to be left in town alone at this time, where he had to be in frequent attendance upon his intended, where there were settlements to arrange, a trousseau to prepare, and jewels to select, so the plan of Clare and Ida was at once adopted.
CHAPTER XI.
A ROMANCE OF THE DRAWING-ROOM.
'It is bitter,' says a powerful writer, 'to know those whom we love dead; but it is more bitter to be as dead to those who, once having loved us, have sunk our memory deep beneath an oblivion that is not the oblivion of the grave.'
Jerry Vane had experienced much of this bitterness in the past time; but new hopes were already dawning within him.
He had received Clare's message from Trevor Chute, who, for the life of him, in the fulness of his own joy, could not, nathless his promise to her, help telling Vane what she had said of Ida's probable wishes; thus, with a heart light as a bird's, on the evening of the 'at-home,' he betook himself to a part of Belgravia where at that season the great houses, rising floor above floor, have usually every window ablaze with light, and awnings of brilliant hues extending from the pillared portico to the kerb, with soft bright carpets stretched beneath for the tread of pretty feet in the daintiest of boots, while the carriages, with rich liveries and flashing harness, line the way, waiting to set down or take up.
Countless carriages were there; those which had deposited their freights were drawn up on the opposite side of the square, wheel to wheel, like a park of artillery; others were setting down past the lighted portico, which was crowded by servants in livery. The bustle was great, nor were smart hansoms and even rickety 'growlers' wanting in the throng of more dashing vehicles, bringing bachelors, like Jerry, from their clubs.
Full of one thought—Ida—he was betimes at Colonel Rakes' house—earlier, indeed, than was his wont—and piloted his way up the great staircase and through the great drawing-rooms, which were hung with stately family portraits of the Rakes of other times, and were already crowded with people of the best style, for the 'at-home' was usually a 'crusher' in this house; a sea of velvets and silks, diamonds, and sapphires; and every other man wore a ribbon, star, or order of some kind.
Of his hostess Lady Rakes, a fade old woman of fashion, with her company smile and insipid remarks for all in succession, and her husband the Colonel, who, till Sir Carnaby came, was ever about Evelyn Desmond, with whom he fancied himself to have an incipient flirtation, we shall say no particular more, as they have no part in our story.