"Not so, reverend sir. He will, perhaps, attend our entertainments, but his mind is set above such vanities. As for me, sir, I own that I live for them. But my Lord Fylingdale lives for other things."
"He is ambitious, perhaps. Has he thoughts of place and of the ministry?"
Sir Harry took snuff. "Pardon me, sir. The world talks. I love the world, but I do not always talk with the world. It may be that there are reasons of state which bring him to this neighbourhood. I say nothing." But he pointed over his shoulder and nodded his head with meaning.
It will be remembered that Houghton, the seat of Sir Robert Walpole, then the minister all powerful, is but a few miles from Lynn. The crowd heard and whispered, and the rumour ran that under pretence of seeking health, Lord Fylingdale was coming to Lynn in order … here the voice dropped, and the rest fell into the nearest ear.
The Rev. Mr. Purdon was more eloquent. "What?" he cried, "Lord Fylingdale coming here? Lord Fylingdale? Why, what can his lordship want at Lynn?"
"We have heard that he is sent here to drink the waters."
Mr. Purdon shook his head wisely. "It may be. I do not say that…. There is perhaps gout in the family…. But with a personage—a personage, I say, there are many reasons which prompt to action. However——"
"Pray, sir, if you know him, inform us further as to his lordship."
"Madam, I was his tutor. I accompanied him on the grand tour. I therefore knew him intimately when he was a young man of eighteen. I have been privileged with his condescension since that time. He is at once a scholar, a critic, and a connoisseur; he hath a pretty taste in verse and can discourse of medals and of cameos. He is also a man of fashion who can adorn an assembly just as he adorns, when it pleases him, the House of Lords. Yet not a fribble like certain persons"—he looked at Sir Harry—"nor a beau, nor a profligate Mohock. Pride he has, I allow. What do you expect of a man with such birth and such ancestry? His pride becomes him. Lesser men can be familiar. He is said to be cold towards the fair sex—I can contradict that calumny. Not coldness but fastidiousness is his fault. 'My Lord,' I have said to him often, 'to expect the genius of Sappho, the beauty of Helen, and the charms of Cleopatra, is to ask too much. Not once in an age is such a woman created. Be content, therefore,' I ventured to add. 'Genius will smile upon you; loveliness will languish for you; dignity will willingly humble herself at your feet.' But I have spoken in vain. He is fastidious. Ladies, if I were young; if I were a noble lord; if I were rich; it is to Norfolk, believe me, that I should fly, contented with the conquests awaiting me here. This is truly a land of freedom where to be in chains and slavery is the happy lot."
This was the kind of talk with which we were prepared to await the coming of this paladin.