"I am happy to inform you, my dear Mr. Foley, that the official patronage, which you have long wished me to procure for you, is now actually obtained, and your arrival in town is all that is wanted to arrange the necessary preliminaries. A letter received yesterday informs me of this; but in the interim, I wish you could make it convenient to pass a few days here on your road to London; for between ourselves, this place and its society is insufferably dull; and were it not for tilt and tournament between Lord Tonnerre and Lady Tilney (who you know under the rose cannot hear each other,) we must have all gone to sleep, or torn one another to pieces, or eaten our own paws, like antediluvian hyenas, from the absolute want of mental nourishment. But in this predicament, resembling people reduced to starvation on a sea voyage, we cast lots to see who should first be sacrificed for the benefit of the rest, and fortunately by the address of Lady Tilney, the lot was made to fall on Lord Tonnerre, who finished his existence amongst us, as he always lived, in a storm of passion; the only one of the party, I believe, who regrets his absence, is Lady Baskerville, who is now sans cavalier, and in the Roman phraseology, d'impeccarsi. I advise you then by all means to come quickly, and to supply the vacancy.
"But to leave joking, I must tell you my dear friend, that I languish for a rational companion, and one who will kindly enter into my feelings; nobody understands me here;—too good, and too bad, I am like Mahomet's tomb, hanging between heaven and earth, and I find no resting place for my sick soul, nor shall I, 'till you come with your kindly smile, to solace my weary spirit. Come, therefore, and that without delay, for you well know that when any thing is to be done, it had best be done quickly—all delays are dangerous, and with me they are despair.
"Would you wish to know something of those you will meet here? I have only to mention their names, and refer you to our old note book; I see no great visible change in any of them. Mr. Spencer Newcombe has been here for a few days, and is certainly the most diverting man in the world; and well he may be, for he lives entirely for that purpose.
"Lord Albert D'Esterre is here also; he sets up for a censor and corrector of men, manners, and things. He will have enough to do, if he persists in this unpopular walk; but I am much mistaken, if he will not soon find it a very arduous undertaking, and one indeed which is quite hopeless. If he were but content to do as other people do, who live in the world, and to be a little more like his day and generation, and a little less of Don Quixotte, he would really be a pleasant person. He does not, par parenthèse, seem in a hurry to join his betrothed, which I think is rather a good sign; for I should have but a poor opinion of a man who did as papa and mamma ordered, and fell in love precisely as he had been desired to do in the days of his childhood.
"The Tilney, the Leinsengen, the Baskerville, the Boileau, go on in their usual way; and like the old quotation, though they all differ, yet they all agree in one thing at least, which is wishing the society of your agreeable self; so under pain of not only my displeasure, but that of all the world's, come quickly, and delay not. Adieu, and believe me to be the most true of your true friends.
"H. V."
In consequence of the occurrence of Lord Albert's morning walk, he felt little inclined to join the circle on his return to Restormel; and was in a mood too replete with contradictory feelings, to allow him to reflect calmly, still less to enable him to decide sanely upon the only vigorous step he should have taken, namely, to flee from temptation. He excused himself under the plea of being unwell, from leaving his own room; and sitting down with a determination of communing with his own heart, he found not the habit so easy, after long neglect; and was conscious that he mused, without deriving any fruit from his contemplations.
But by degrees, this confusion of mind subsided; and then came that soothing composure, which, after a state of emotion, is always welcomed with something like pleasure. He opened a favourite author, Owen Feltham; and he could not read long, without seeing his own necessities reflected in the page, as in a glass; this is one way by which to prove whether a moral or religious work be sterling or not, does it apply to our necessities? does it first probe, and then salve our wounds? Lord Albert D'Esterre found this book did both; and in its perusal, there was a sanctity of enjoyment to which he had been long a stranger. This enjoyment was, however, too soon disturbed by his servant bringing in a note; he felt it as an unwelcome intrusion; but it was opened after a moment's hesitation, and contained the following words:
"I am anxious to know how you really are. I too am unwell, and I dread lest I should have have said or done something this morning, which may have offended you—oh! if you know how terrible it is for those who have none to care for them, to suppose for an instant that they have given pain (however, unwittingly) to the only person whose good opinion they are anxious to possess, and who has evinced an interest in their welfare—you would now feel for me. I am not of those who make a display of their heart's feelings—far from it, I am a miser of the few treasures which lie hoarded there; it is for that reason that I mingle with the rest, as though I were one of them; and that I am now writing these troubled lines in the midst of the insipid turmoil which surrounds me; tout comme si de rien étoit. Aid me in bearing my grievous burthen of existence, and send me one line to be a cordial for the moment at least; the present moment's ease is all I ever hope for."
What an overturn to all composure was conveyed in this little bit of perfumed paper; fifty commencements of reply were made and torn; at last he rang his bell, summoned his valet, and having given a verbal answer to the effect that he would shortly obey the commands of Lady Hamlet Vernon, he appeared in the drawing-room almost as soon as she could have expected a written reply. She was sitting apart from the rest of the company with a look of abstractedness and melancholy, the effect of which was heightened by extreme paleness; her beautiful dark hair was less carefully arranged than the laws of fashion demanded, but it was not the less beautiful for that, and some stray tresses fell gracefully upon her neck; her air, her dress, the subdued expression of her eyes, were all captivating, and precisely in Lord Albert's own way.
There was a carelessness or scorn of fashionable dress, which particularly suited his theories on the subject, not that his practical admiration had not fifty times been excited by a very different mode of attire; for the fact is, that men's tastes in respect to the costume of women are always regulated by that of the person they are in love with. On this occasion, however, it is certain that Lady Hamlet's attire was in the letter and in the spirit precisely what Lord Albert D'Esterre pronounced perfect. She held out her hand to him as he entered the saloon with the composed air of friendship, and expressed her pleasure at seeing him, for she had feared his indisposition would not have allowed him to leave his room: and then motioning him to sit down by her with that expression of calm interest, which attracts without affording any plausible application of the sentiment to a more vivid interest, she secured her object, and he occupied the vacant seat next to her's. Mr. Leslie Winyard, who was playing écarté (even on the sacred day) with Lady Boileau, while the rest were studying and betting on the game, called to Lord D'Esterre, "ah! Lord Albert, we have all been guessing the reason of your absence; one said writing letters of love, another sleeping; but the successful guess was given to my penetrating judgment, writing a sermon on the vanities of human life, that is, holding up to censure all that we your friends are doing."
"I assure you, Mr. Leslie Winyard, that you have not proved your judgment infallible; for I do not plead guilty either to your charge, or to any of the others."
"Well, then, join in our game; Lady Boileau intends to beat me, and I'll vacate my seat in your favour, and, in parliamentary phrase, accept at the same time as many hundreds as you may choose to give me."