Old Morgan Roots the gardener, to his great disgust, had been compelled to rifle the treasures of his hothouses, and to strip his shelves of the most wonderful exotics, to furnish bouquets for the ladies; for Morgan was proud of his floral effects, and when displaying his slippings from Kew and all the best gardens in England, tulips from Holland and the Cape, peonies from Persia, rhododendrons from Asia, azaleas from America, wax-like magnolias, and so forth, he was wont to exult over his rival, the vicar's Scotch gardener, whom he stigmatised as "a sassenach;" and not the least of his efforts were some superb roses, named the "Dora," in honour of the fair-haired heroine of the day. And Caradoc--who was a good judge of everything, from cutlets and clicquot to horses and harness, and had a special eye for ankles, insteps, and eyelashes, style, and colour, &c.--declared the fête to be quite a success. As I looked around me, I could not but feel how England is pre-eminently, beyond all others, the land of fair women and of beauty. Lady Estelle, with her pale complexion and thick dark hair, her dress of light-blue silk, over which she wore a white transparent tunique, her tiny bonnet of white lace, her gloves and parasol of the palest silver-gray, seemed a very perfect specimen of her class; but until Lord Pottersleigh appeared, which was long after dancing had begun on the sward (by country visitors chiefly), she sat by the side of mamma, and declined all offers from partners. The Viscount--my principal bête noire--had arrived over-night in his own carriage from Chester, but did not appear at breakfast next morning, nor until fully midday, as he had to pass--so Dora whispered to me--several hours in an arm-chair, with his gouty feet enveloped in flannel, while he regaled himself by sipping colchicum and warm wine-whey, though he alleged that his lameness was caused by a kick from his horse; and now, when with hobbling steps he came to where Lady Naseby and her stately daughter were seated, he did not seem--his coronet and Order of the Garter excepted--a rival to be much dreaded by a smart Welsh Fusileer of five and twenty.
Fully in his sixtieth year, and considerably wasted--more, perhaps, by early dissipation than by time--the Viscount was a pale, thin, and feeble-looking man, hollow-chested and slightly bent, with an unsteadiness of gait, an occasional querulousness of manner and restlessness of eye, as if nervous of the approach of many of those among whom he now found himself, and whom he viewed as "bumpkins in a state of rude health." Guilfoyle, of whom he evidently had misgivings, he regarded with a cold and aristocratic stare, after carefully adjusting a gold eyeglass on his thin, aquiline nose, and yet they had been twice introduced elsewhere. His features were good. In youth he had been deemed a handsome man; but now his brilliant teeth were of Paris, and what remained of his hair was carefully dyed a clear dark brown, that consorted but ill with the wrinkled aspect of his face, and the withered appearance of his thin white hands, when he ungloved, which was seldom. His whole air and style were so different from those, of hearty and jolly Sir Madoc, whose years were the same, and who was looking so bland, so bald, and shiny in face and brow, so full and round in waistcoat, with one of the finest camellias in his button-hole, "just like Morgan Roots the gardener going to church on Sunday," as Dora had it, while he watched the dancers, and clapped his hands to the music.
"Ha, Pottersleigh," said he, "you and I have done with this sort of thing now; but I have seen the day, when I was young, less fleshy, and didn't ride with a crupper, I could whirl in the waltz like a spinning jenny."
To this awkward speech the Viscount, who affected juvenility, responded by a cold smile; and as he approached and was welcomed by Lady Naseby and her daughter, the latter glanced at me, and I could detect an undefinable expression, that savoured of amusement, or disdain, or annoyance, or all together, ending with a haughty smile, hovering on her dark and ever-sparkling eyes; for she knew by past experience, that from thenceforward, with an air of proprietary that was very provoking, he would be certain to hover constantly beside her; and now, after paying the usual compliments to the two ladies, his lordship condescended to honour me with a glance and a smile, but not with his hand.
"Ah, how do you do, Mr. Hardinge--or shall I have the pleasure of saying Captain Hardinge?" said he.
"Fortune has not so far favoured me--I am only a sub still."
"So was Wellington in his time," said Sir Madoc, tapping me on the shoulder.
"Ah, but you'll soon be off to the East now, I suppose." (His eyes expressed the words, "I hope.") "We shall soon come to blows with those Russian fellows, and then promotions will come thick and fast. I have it as a certainty from Aberdeen himself, that a landing somewhere on the enemy's coast cannot be much longer delayed now."
"And with one-half our army dead, and the other half worn out by camp-fever, cholera, and sufferings at Varna, we shall take the field with winter before us--a Russian winter, too!" said Sir Madoc, who was a bitter opponent of the ministry.
Ere Pottersleigh could reply, to avert any discussion of politics, the Countess spoke.