“A very fair sarcasm on me,” said Wharton, laughing. “But you know, I’m a sad dog; never set myself up for a pattern man.—Come! let’s home to dinner, and a truce with politics and morality. I find, Vivian, you’re a sturdy fellow, and must have your own way; no bending, no leading you, I see. Well! it is a good thing to have so much strength of mind: I envy you.”
It must be recorded to the credit of our hero, that in defiance of Wharton’s raillery, he talked, and—oh! still more wonderful!—thought of public virtue, during nearly half of his first session in parliament. But, alas! whilst his political principles thus withstood the force of ridicule, temptation soon presented itself to Vivian in a new shape, and in a form so seducing, as to draw his attention totally away from politics, and to put his private, if not his public, honour, in the most imminent peril.
CHAPTER IV.
One morning, as Vivian was walking with Mr. Wharton up Bond-street, they were met by a party of fashionable loungers, one of whom asked whether Mrs. Wharton was not come to town yet.
“Mrs. Wharton!” said Vivian, with an air of surprise.
“Yes, she came to town this morning,” said Wharton, carelessly; then laughing, as he turned to look at Vivian, “Vivian, my good fellow! what smites you with such surprise? Did not you know I was married?”
“I suppose I must have heard it; but I really forgot it,” said Vivian.
“There you had the advantage of me,” said Wharton, still laughing. “But if you never heard of Mrs. Wharton before, keep your own secret; for I can tell you she would never forgive you, though I might. Put a good face on the matter, at any rate; and swear you’ve heard so much of her, that you were dying to see her. Some of these gentlemen, who have nothing else to do, will introduce you whenever you please.”