Had Lady Cecilia been a woman of acute perceptions or lively sensibilities, she must have fled from her sufferings—she must have gone mad, or committed suicide. As it was, dull as was her temperament, when the more odious points of Titmouse's character and habits were forced upon her notice by the close and constant contiguity of daily intercourse, the reflection that such must be the case for the remainder of their lives, became hourly more intolerable, and roused into existence feelings of active hatred and disgust; she became every moment even more alive to the real horrors of her position. The slender stay she had sought for in the reflection that she had incurred all by a dutiful submission to her father's wishes, quickly gave way; she knew that it was false! As for Titmouse, he had never cared one straw about anything beyond becoming the husband of the future Baroness of Drelincourt—and that on account not merely of the dignity and splendor conferred upon him by such an alliance with the last remaining member of the elder branch of his ancient family, but also because of the grave and repeated assurances of Mr. Gammon, that it was in some mysterious way essential to the tenure of his own position. Had, however, Lady Cecilia, instead of being cold and inanimate, haughty even to repulsion in her manner, and of person lean and uninviting—been of fascinating manners, affectionate disposition, of brilliant accomplishments, and of ripe loveliness of person, it would, I am persuaded, have made little or no difference to Mr. Titmouse; since such a radiant being would, as it were, stand always surrounded by the invisible but impassable barrier of refinement—forever forbidding communion and sympathy. As for Lady Cecilia, Titmouse could scarcely avoid perceiving how she despised him, and shunned his company on every possible occasion. No person, from merely seeing them, could have dreamed of their being husband and wife. He made no secret at all (at least in his own peculiar visiting circles) of his wishes that the earl's increasing age and infirmities might quicken, and Lady Cecilia's apparently delicate health decline apace—and thus accelerate the accession of Mr. Titmouse to the barony of Drelincourt.
"Ha, ha!" would exclaim his choice boon companions, "won't it be comical, Tit, to see you take your seat in the Upper House?"
"'Pon my soul, jolly, ah, ah!—Demme, I'll show the old stagers a funny trick or two!"
"Capital!—ah, ah, ha!—Do the donkey? eh?—You'd make the chancellor's wig jump off!"
"Ha, ha, ha!—I'll tickle 'em, or my name isn't Tittlebat Titmouse!"—By all which was meant, that he purposed introducing into the House of Lords that peculiar mode of debating which had earned him such quick distinction in the House of Commons!
After they had spent about a month at Yatton, his urgent Parliamentary duties required Mr. Titmouse to tear himself from that lovely seclusion—that "bower of bliss"—and resume his arduous post in the House. Though Lady Cecilia would have vastly preferred being left behind at Yatton, decency seemed to require that the bride and bridegroom should make their reappearance in the world jointly, and she was therefore compelled to accompany him to town; and they were very soon duly established in his new residence in Park Lane. It was spacious and elegant—indeed it was furnished with great splendor, inasmuch as carte blanche had been given to a fashionable upholsterer. In a moment they were both in the great whirling world of fashion. Lord Dreddlington gave a series of dinner-parties on their account, as did several of their distinguished kinsfolk and friends; and in due time their hospitalities were returned by Mr. Titmouse. His first dinner-party went off with great éclat, no fewer than four peers of the realm, with their ladies, being among his guests. Mr. Titmouse led down to dinner the gigantic Duchess of Tantallan, blazing in diamonds, his Grace the Duke bringing up the rear with the Lady Cecilia—and the splendid affair was duly announced, the ensuing morning, in the obsequious columns of the Aurora. For some little time Mr. Titmouse occupied his novel and dazzling position with an approach towards decorum and self-denial; but as he became familiar with it, his old tastes revived, and Lady Cecilia and her friends were gratified, for instance, while in the drawing-room after dinner, by catching occasional sounds of Mr. Titmouse's celebrated imitations of animals, which, once or twice, when considerably elevated, he insisted upon giving on his re-entering the drawing-room! Indeed, he spared no pains to acquire the power of pleasing society by the display of rare accomplishments; for which purpose he took lessons every other day in the art diabolic—i. e. in conjuring; in which he soon became an expert proficient, and could play marvellous tricks upon cards and with dice, eat pocket-handkerchiefs, cause wine-glasses visibly to sink through solid tables, and perform sundry other astounding feats. Nor was he long in collecting round him guests, who not only tolerated, but professed infinite delight in, such entertainments—"fit audience, nor few"—consisting principally of those adventurous gentlemen who have entered Parliament in a devout reliance on Providence to find them dinners. 'T was only in such society as this that Titmouse could feel the least sense of enjoyment, and from which Lady Cecilia altogether absented herself, often without deigning the slightest reason, excuse, or apology. In fact, the intemperate habits and irregular hours of Titmouse, soon rendered it necessary that he and the Lady Cecilia should occupy separate sleeping apartments; for either his club, the House, or his other engagements, kept him out till a very late—or rather early—hour every morning.
It was about half-past eleven o'clock one day towards the latter end of June, that Mr. Titmouse, having finished breakfast, (which was surely very early, since he had not gone to bed till four o'clock that morning,) a meal to which he invariably sat down alone, often not catching a glimpse of Lady Cecilia during the day, except on a chance encounter in the hall, or on the stairs, or when they were forced to go out to dinner together—had entered his library, to enjoy undisturbed the luxury of his hookah. The apartment was spacious and handsome. All the sides of it were occupied by very curious antique carved oak bookcases, which had belonged to the former tasteful occupant of the house, and from whom they had been purchased by Titmouse, who then bethought himself of procuring books to fill them. For this purpose, it luckily occurred to him, on seeing an advertisement of a library for sale by auction one day, that it would be a good speculation to be beforehand with the expected audience, and purchase the aforesaid library in a lump by private contract. He did so—and at a remarkably low price; giving directions that they should forthwith be carried to a bookbinder, named by the obsequious auctioneer—with orders to bind them all in elegant but as varied bindings as possible. Certainly the works were of a somewhat miscellaneous character;—old Directories; Poems by Young Ladies and Gentlemen; Ready-Reckoners; Doddridge's Expositor; Hints on Etiquette; two hundred Minerva press novels; triplicate copies of some twenty books on cookery; the art of war; charades; Cudworth's Intellectual System; books of travels; Bibles, dictionaries, prayer-books, plays; Treatises on Political Economy, and Dancing; adventures of noted highwaymen; the classics: moral essays; Enfield's Speaker; and Burn's Ecclesiastical Law. If these respectable works had had the least sense of the distinction which had been so unexpectedly bestowed upon them, they ought not to have murmured at never afterwards receiving the slightest personal attention from their spirited and gifted proprietor!—The room was lit by a large bow-window, which, being partially open, admitted the pleasant breeze stirring without; while the strong light was mitigated by the half-drawn blinds, and the ample chintz window-draperies. On the mantelpiece stood one or two small alabaster statues and vases, and a very splendid and elaborately ornamented French timepiece. The only unpleasantness perceptible, was the sort of disagreeable odor prevalent in rooms which, as in the present instance, are devoted to smoking. To this apartment had been also transferred many of the articles that I have described as having been visible in his rooms at the Albany. Over the mantelpiece was placed the picture of the boxers,—that of Mr. Titmouse being similarly situated in the dining-room. On the present occasion, he wore a full crimson dressing-gown, with yellow slippers; his shirt-collar was open, and thrown down over his shoulders,—leaving exposed to view a quantity of sand-colored hair under his throat. In fact, he looked the image of some impudent scamp of a valet, who has, in his master's absence, chosen to dress himself in that master's clothes, and affect his luxurious airs. He lay on the sofa with his hookah in his left hand; near him was the table, on which stood the Morning Growl, and some eight or ten letters, only one or two of which had as yet been opened. He had just leaned back his head, and with an air of tranquil enjoyment very slowly expelled a mouthful of smoke, when a servant submissively entered, and announced the arrival of a visitor—Mr. Gammon.
"How d' ye do, Gammon!—early, eh?" commenced Titmouse, without stirring, and with infinite composure and nonchalance. Mr. Gammon made the usual reply, and presently sat down in the chair placed for him by the servant, nearly opposite to Mr. Titmouse—who, had he been accustomed to observation, or capable of it, might have detected something rather unusual in the flushed face, the anxious and restless eye, and the forced manner of his visitor.
"Likely to be a devilish hot day—'pon my soul!".—exclaimed Titmouse, after again emptying his mouth—adding in a tolerably conceited manner—"By the way—here's a letter from Snap—just opened it!—Rather cool, after what's passed—eh? Dem him, asks me for a place under government;—Ah—a—what's he fit for?"
"For what he is, and nothing else," replied Gammon, with a bitter smile, glancing over poor Snap's letter, which Titmouse handed to him, though marked "strictly confidential"—Gammon being undoubtedly the very last man upon earth whom Snap would have wished to know of his application.