The cover image was restored by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

THE
EXCLUSIVES.
VOL. II.

LONDON:
Printed by J. L. Cox, Great Queen Street,
Lincoln's-Inn Fields.

THE EXCLUSIVES.

CHAPTER I.

THE CLOSING SCENE AT RESTORMEL.

On the evening previous to Lord Albert's departure, while Mr. Foley and Lady Hamlet Vernon were intently engaged in playing at chess, Lord Albert announced to Lady Ellersby his intention of leaving Restormel, and paid her the usual compliment of thanks for the honour she had done him in inviting him there.

"You have lost your queen," cried Mr. Foley, addressing Lady Hamlet Vernon, "now in two moves I will give you checkmate, lady fair. But see—what is the matter?—she is ill—she faints—lend assistance for heaven's sake!" Lord Albert flew towards the spot, and caught Lady Hamlet as she was falling to the ground. The usual remedies were applied; and when sufficiently recovered, the sufferer was carried to her room, apparently still unable to speak.

"I hate all scene-makers," said Lady Boileau; "if there is a thing I cannot bear, it is the getting up of a sentimental catastrophe.—Don't you, Mr. Leslie Winyard?—Don't you think it is the acmé of bad taste?"

"Oh! most undoubtedly; nothing argues a decided roturièrism more than allowing your feelings, if real, to get the better of you in public; and if feigned, nothing is so easily seen through as counterfeiting them, therefore, either way, it is at best a mistake."

"One don't look well when one faints—that is to say, really faints," observed Lady Ellersby; "it is surely best to avoid doing so."

"One may always command one's-self," observed Lady Baskerville.

"Oh!" said Lady Tilney, who now and then really thought and felt right, "it is very easy to distinguish between a feint and a faint; and I believe every body would ridicule the first, and nobody would like to do the latter; because, as Lady Ellersby observes, no real fainting, or crying, or any of the convulsions produced by the feelings, are the least graceful, except in the beau ideal of a Magdalen, or on a painter's easel; and secondly, because nothing is less likely to produce interest than these kind of physical causes; for, as some great author says, 'all physical sufferings are soon forgotten even by the sufferer, when they are past, and by our friends certainly never remembered beyond their immediate duration, if so long;' consequently I believe Lady Hamlet Vernon did faint tout bonnement: she had probably une indigestion; poor Lady!—but she will soon be well again."

"Spoken like an orator," said Mr. Spencer Newcombe; "and not only an orator, but a philosopher."

"Par drivers moyens on arrive à pareille fin," said the Comtesse Leinsengen; "and providing one does what one wants to do, that is all that sinifies. One person faints, another talks, another dresses, another writes, all in order to get what they wish. On the success depends the wisdom of the measure."

"Agreed," cried Mr. Spencer Newcombe, "and conceived like a diplomate du premier grade," he whispered to Lady Baskerville; then aloud, "if Tonnerre had been here he would have said—"

"I will bet you ten to one," cried Mr. Leslie Winyard, "that Lord Albert D'Esterre does not leave Restormel to-morrow."

"Done," said Mr. Spencer Newcombe.—

"Done," said Lord Baskerville; "ten to one he does; for I never knew a more obstinate fellow in my life; one who prizes himself more on decision of character—and when he says he will do a thing he will do it, however little he may like the thing when done."

"I don't think he will go," said Lady Ellersby, gently.

"Why not?" asked Lady Tilney.

"Lady Hamlet Vernon will not let him."

"C'est tout simple," rejoined Comtesse Leinsengen, with a shrug of her shoulders.

"It appears to me," said Lady Baskerville, "that if he does go he will not be very much missed. I never knew so dull a member of society; he never speaks but to lay down the law, or to inculcate some moral truth: now really when one has done with the nursery, that is rather too bad."

"Providing she don't drive away George Foley," said Lady Boileau, "she may reap the fruits of her fainting here."

"Mr. Foley," replied Lady Baskerville to her dear friend, "is the man in the world who will do whatever suits him best; and I particularly admire his manner and his ways: they are all perfectly in good taste; and I have already promised him that he shall be my cavaliere servente for the season."

"Promised!—well, dear Lady Baskerville, I thought you were too prudent to make such promises. What will Lord Baskerville say?" lowering her tone to a whisper.

Lady Baskerville, speaking aloud—"Oh, dear! la! I should never have thought of asking him what he likes upon such an occasion;—we live too well together to trouble each other with our little arrangements.—Is it not true, Lord Baskerville? do we not do exactly as we choose?"

"I hope your Ladyship does," he replied, in all the airs of his exclusive character; "I should conceive myself vastly unhappy if you did not?" Lady Baskerville looked significantly at her dear friend Lady Boileau; who knew, as well as herself, that this ultra-liberalism of her Lord in regard to the conduct of wives, whatever it might be in respect to husbands, was entirely assumed on Lord Baskerville's part.

While this conversation passed in the drawing-room, Lord Albert and Mr. Foley were discoursing in their apartment above-stairs. They had each expressed great interest about Lady Hamlet Vernon's indisposition; and after waiting some time to hear accounts of her from her female attendants, they fell into other conversation of various kinds, during which Lord Albert D'Esterre found himself unfeignedly amused and interested with the talents, taste, and refinement of Mr. Foley; and the more so, as he spoke much of Dunmelraise and its inhabitants, and was lavish in his praise of Lady Adeline.

"There is only one point," he said, "which however is hardly worth mentioning, for of course it only arises out of the seclusion and the monotony of her present existence; but certainly Lady Adeline, pour trancher le mot, is a little methodistical—the sooner you go and put that matter to rights the better." Lord Albert's manner of receiving the latter part of this information, proved to Mr. Foley that he had mistaken the character of the person he addressed, and he added,

"But indeed Lady Adeline Seymour is so perfect, that it matters very little what she does—every thing she does must be right."—The conversation then took another turn, and they parted.

Lord Albert D'Esterre was not what might be called a jealous man; but no man, no human being can be without the possibility of feeling jealousy—neither was he naturally suspicious, but nothing is more apt to generate a suspicion of the fidelity of another's conduct, than the consciousness of any breach in the integrity of our own. He pressed his hand to his heart—he sat down—rose up—paced his chamber, and still repeated to himself the praises which Mr. Foley had uttered of his Adeline. "My Adeline," he said, and then again stopped; "but is she mine? do I deserve she should still be mine, when I have so neglected her? no!"—His servant came into the room with a note, the well known shape and colour of which he could not mistake. It was placed in his hand—he opened it carelessly and was about to cast it away, when the name of Adeline caught his eye; then he hastily read the following words.

"It is not for myself I mourn—it is not the threatened loss of your society, however much I value it, which has occasioned my being so overpowered—it is the knowledge of a secret which pertains to another, and in which your fate is involved, that has quite mastered me—this much I must tell you. I must see you before you go, I must prepare you for your meeting with Lady Adeline Seymour." Twenty times he read over this note. "What can it mean? can its meaning be that Adeline loves Mr. Foley, at least that he thinks so? and I, what have I been doing? into what a sea of troubles have I plunged for the enjoyment of the society of a person that in fact affords me none—for the empty speculation of recalling the chaotic mind of one (comparatively a stranger to me) to a sense of reason and religion, fool that I was for the attempt." Then, after a considerable pause, and after deep reflection, he burst forth:

"Prepare me for a meeting with Adeline!" as his eye caught again the last line of the note. "Prepare me for a meeting with Adeline—I cannot bear the phrase; but I must know what she means—I must drag this secret from her:"—and he rang the bell violently!—"I shall not want my horses till one o'clock instead of seven to-morrow morning."

The night Lord Albert passed was one of feverish anxiety. He sent to inquire for Lady Hamlet Vernon at an early hour the next day; and hearing she was much recovered, he besought her to grant the interview she had done him the favour to offer as soon as she possibly could. She replied, that in that house it would be reckoned a breach of all decorum, if she received him at any undue hour; but that as soon as the earliest part of the company breakfasted, which was about one o'clock, she would be sure, notwithstanding her indisposition, to be in the breakfast-room at that time; when she would avail herself of some opportunity to give him the information which had come to her knowledge. This short delay seemed an age to him. Every one knows, when suspense agitates the mind, what a total anarchy ensues, and the hours which intervened before meeting Lady Hamlet Vernon seemed to Lord Albert interminable. When they did meet, the intervening moments ere an opportunity occurred of Lord Albert's drawing her aside, appeared in their turn so many more ages of suffering.

At last the company rose from the breakfast table, and as Lady Hamlet took Lord Albert's arm, and walked out on the terrace under the window, she said, "This is kind of you to have listened to my request:" and then as they walked from the house, proceeded in a graver tone to add, "I am aware, dear Lord Albert, that my note of last night must have surprised you, and that the subject connected with it, on which I am about to touch, is one of the utmost delicacy, and one which upon the very verge of the attempt I shrink from; but you have evinced so much real interest in the state of my wayward mind, and have said so much to me with a view, I am certain, of placing my happiness on a more secure and steady foundation than I had ever any chance of before, that I should be ungrateful in the extreme, if a corresponding wish for your comfort in life did not in turn actuate me. I cannot be ignorant of the engagement between yourself and Lady Adeline Seymour, the fulfilment of which will not, I presume, be long delayed; unless, indeed—"

Here Lady Hamlet Vernon's voice faltered, and for a moment she paused; but, as if making an effort to subdue her emotion, she added in a lower and firmer tone, and with an expression of something like intreaty in her countenance as she looked up at Lord Albert, "Unless I, dear Lord Albert, shall prove the happy instrument of saving you from too precipitate a step in this matter. May I continue to speak to you thus unreservedly?" Lord Albert made no answer, but bowed his head in token of assent, while he walked by her side like one lost in a perturbed dream. She continued,

"I wished, before you went, for this opportunity, because I was aware that it was the only one left in which what I am about to impart would ever be of use; for, lovely as Lady Adeline is, possessed of charms of person which would indeed draw any heart towards her, of the warmest and most enthusiastic disposition, deeply enamoured of you as well as sacredly alive to her engagement to you (and I know her, from a source which cannot mislead me, in person, in mind, in heart, and in determination, to be all that I describe to you)—how could even your judgment, Lord Albert, which is stronger than many of twice your years, but yield to such united influence, and be tempted to decide at the moment on making so much perfection irrevocably your own. But with all these transcendant charms of person and of character, Lady Adeline, I am grieved to say, and know, has been unhappily betrayed into views of life and of the world, which must unfit her to be the partner of any one who does not think in accordance with her on these subjects. From what cause or under what influence the peculiar turn of mind she has taken has arisen, I know not, but (and again I must repeat, that I know the too-sure truth of all I say) it has been gradually and fearfully on the increase, and is now become a fixed principle with her.

"She loves you, as I have said, and she looks upon the coming union with you as the fulfilment of a sacred engagement, and a duty she has to perform; but with this she views the rank you hold in society, and in which she will be associated, only imposing on herself obligations of a higher and severer order, and calling for a stricter conduct and a greater self-denial on her part. She condemns what she calls the dissipations and wicked employment of time, in the world of fashion; she holds dress, beyond the plainest attire, to be a misapplication of the gifts of fortune; she laments over the worldly career of any one whom she hears talked of with applause, or whose talents raise them to distinction in the public eye: she has even, I understand, wholly abandoned her music and her drawing, as too alluring and dangerous an occupation, wasting the time which ought to be devoted to serious reading, and an acquirement of that spirit which has already cast such a gloom over her existence. The only active employment in which she indulges herself beyond her books, is in making clothes for and visiting the poor in her mother's domain. In short, she is what the world calls a methodist, a saint; I know not exactly what these words mean, but I know they are terms applied by people of sense to an ultraism in religious matters."

Lord Albert shuddered, and a sigh was the only interruption he gave, as Lady Hamlet proceeded.

"Conceive yourself, my dear Lord Albert, united to a person of this character, however amiable in herself, with your talents, with your views, which are" (and she looked at him steadily as she spoke) "tinctured with ambition. With your temper and your tastes for the elegancies of life, how would you brook a wife who was praying and singing psalms all day long? who would consider all your actions, when not in accordance with her own, as so many positive sins, and whose moments, such at least as were spared from the offices of her enthusiasm, would be passed in the cottages of your tenants, and in making baby-linen for every expected increase in their families.

"Now let me beseech you, and believe me to speak from the most disinterested feelings, that when you meet Lady Adeline, you will not betray yourself into a too hasty arrangement for your union. See her—see her, by all means. Judge for yourself; use your own eyes, hear with your own ears, and be the arbiter of your own cause, but do nothing rashly. Time is necessary for all decisions in momentous questions; and what can be more momentous, and in what is there more at stake, than in an union for life? Can too much deliberation be given to the subject? Alas! I know, from my own fatal experience, what misery must ensue where no tastes, no principles, no objects exist in common between those united. I owe to this cause a great portion of my present unhappiness; for the misery I endured, and the constant efforts I made to bear up against the tenfold wretchedness of my marriage with Lord Hamlet Vernon, impaired my intellectual powers, and prevented my turning the energies of my mind to any useful or profitable purpose. Hence I have become what I am, dependant on the resources of the hour, to enable me to pass through life with any thing like composure."

Lord Albert had listened with feelings which it would be impossible to describe to all that had fallen from Lady Hamlet Vernon; and in the emotion, which her communication and her entreaties produced, he could find no words for utterance, no answer to her appeals. He was like one dumb, and deprived of sense; and he stood for some moments rooted to the spot when the voice of his counsellor had ceased.

"See her! yes, I will see my Adeline," he at length said in a deep agonized tone, as if communing with himself. "Yes, I will see her."

"Lord Albert, I entreat you, I implore you," cried Lady Hamlet Vernon, with an emotion that made her words quiver on her lips, "I beseech you forgive me, if"—the window of the library was at this moment thrown hastily up; and Lord Albert D'Esterre heard his name called by Lord Ellersby, who held in his hand a letter.

"D'Esterre," said he, "here are your letters." Lord Albert hastened forward mechanically to receive them, and one he gazed upon more intently than the rest, as he looked them over—it was from Adeline.

Who is there who has not recognised, even in its peculiar folding, the letter of a beloved object? and whose heart has not throbbed with delight ere even the seal were broken? Such was the emotion of Lord Albert, awoke up from the paralyzing influence of Lady Hamlet Vernon's communication to new life by the letter he now pressed to his bosom; and regardless of what had passed, he hastened to his room, and read as follows:—

"Dearest:—My mother has been gradually growing worse and worse these two months, and I have persuaded her to go to town for a consultation of her physicians.

"It is so long since I have heard from you, Albert, it is painful for me to write, scarcely knowing how far you may be interested in what I have to communicate—but I try to still my uneasiness—let me but see you, dear Albert, all will be forgotten, all will be forgiven; for I am your own true and affectionate

"Adeline."

"P.S. You will find us at Mamma's house in town."

A letter like this, breathing such trust and love, and so replete with genuine expression of delight in the prospect of meeting him, was indeed sufficient to make Lord Albert forget at once the poisonous theme which his ears rather than his reason had imbibed in his interview with Lady Hamlet. Impelled more by the eager anxiety of affection to behold the object of his late disquietude, than to see her for the purpose of convincing himself of her errors, he leapt with alacrity into his carriage, and drove towards London, without casting a thought on those he left behind.

The mortification which Lady Hamlet Vernon felt was severe, in proportion as from its nature it admitted of no sympathy. She was, of course, ignorant of the cause of Lord Albert's destination being so suddenly changed from Wales to London; but in the blindness of her increasing passion, she resolved in the first moment of her despair to follow him thither. A cooler judgment, however, made her recollect that if she lost Lord Albert she had other friends to retain, a position in the gay world to lose, and that, at all events, it was not by pursuing him at that moment that any thing was to be gained; she therefore determined on remaining some days at Restormel, and making herself as agreeable as possible to the party that continued there. To one of Lady Hamlet Vernon's disposition this was no easy task. Violent and impetuous as she was by nature, left as she had been without any control, it was a very Herculean work to hide all the warring passions of jealousy and disappointed love beneath the semblance of a cool indifference—a disengaged mind.

"What have you done with Lord Albert?" was Lady Baskerville's first question to her after the morning's salutation; "I hear he departed in violent haste at an undue hour this morning. He looks of such an imperturbable gravity, one does not understand his ever being brought to do any thing out of measure or rule."

"I done with Lord Albert? my dear Lady Baskerville, you confer too much honour upon me to suppose that I have any influence with him. I did not even know that he was gone; but if you are very much interested in his departure, perhaps Lord Ellersby can tell us something about it."

She thought by this means to discover the cause of his sudden disappearance, and gratify her inquiries as being the curiosity of another.—"Lord Ellersby," she said, "Lady Baskerville is desirous to learn what wonderful event can have called Lord Albert away from us so very suddenly."

"I do not know," said Lord Ellersby, "unless he is going to be prime minister; don't you think, Winyard, he has the dignity of office on his brows already?"

"In his own opinion, I make no doubt, he stands a fair chance for the highest situations; but we have quite exploded all that sort of fudge now-a-days, and I think, unless we were to have a bare-bone parliament, and a cabinet of puritans, his very consequential lordship has not much prospect of success in that line."

"No," said Lady Tenderden, taking up a newspaper, "I think this paragraph in the Morning Post will rather explain the secret of Lord Albert's going away:—

"'We understand Lady Dunmelraise, with her beautiful daughter Lady Adeline Seymour, is shortly expected in town, and are sorry to add that Lady Dunmelraise's ill health has hitherto caused her absence from the gay circles of fashion.'—This is put in by herself, or some of her friends, you may depend upon it."

"Dear," said Lady Baskerville, "those vulgar newspapers are always filled with trash of that sort; nobody attends to such nonsense. I dare say this Lady Adeline is some awkward raw girl, enough to make one shiver to think of; however, she may do very well as a wife for Lord Albert, and he may be gone to meet her."

"Oh, I do assure you," cried Lady Tilney, "that the public papers are the vehicles of a great deal of good or evil; and that not only political discussion, but the discussion also of the affairs of individuals, is constantly promoted by the freedom of the press."

"For my part," said Lady Baskerville, "I think it is quite abominable that those vulgar editors of newspapers should be allowed to comment upon what we do."

"Not at all, my dear Lady Baskerville; allow me to assure you that we are much more known—much more distinguished—much more répandus by being all named occasionally, never mind how or in what manner, in the public papers. Besides, on the freedom of the press hangs all the law and the prophets; and if some few suffer by it occasionally, the multitude are gainers; and I can never repine at the glorious spirit of public liberty which the papers and the press maintain. Don't you agree with me, Lord Ellersby?"

"I like it all very well when it does not interfere with me," he replied, yawning; "but I think it is very disagreeable when these vulgar fellows, the news-writers, say some impertinent thing, for which I cannot give them a rap over the knuckles."

"La, what does it signify," rejoined Lady Ellersby; "nobody thinks of any thing above a very few days, and except some dear friend or other, no person of good breeding mentions the subject to one, if it be disagreeable, so that I cannot really say it disturbs my tranquillity for a moment, let them say what they will. As to this puff about Lady Adeline Seymour, I agree with Lady Baskerville, there are always a set of would-be fashionables, who pay for the putting in of such paragraphs about themselves, et l'on sait parfaitement à quoi s'en tenir respecting them."

"Nevertheless," rejoined Mr. Foley, who had just laid down his book, "I do assure you that, puff or no puff, Lady Adeline Seymour will astonish you all, for she is a very extraordinary person."

"Then I am sure I shall not be able to suffer her," said Lady Baskerville.

"Je déteste les phénomènes," said Comtesse Leinsengen.

"Mr. Foley seems to be paid too," rejoined Lady Tenderden, laughing, "for making the young lady notorious; and we shall see him with a placard stuck on his shoulders, setting forth the beauties and perfections of the wonderful young lady."

"These miracles," cried Comtesse Leinsengen, "are only fit to be shewn for half-a-crown a piece; if you interest yourself very much in her benefit, remember, I promise to take tickets."

Mr. Foley smiled as, he replied: "I shall leave it to time to prove to every one of you how very much you are mistaken."

"By all that is romantic," cried Mr. Winyard, "Foley is caught at last; he is positively going to become a lackadaisical swain, and write sonnets to his mistress's eyebrows."

"Perhaps even so. It is amusing to take up a new character now and then; it is like changing the air, and is equally beneficial to the health, moral and physical. Nothing so fatiguing as being always the same, both for the sake of one's-self, as well as of our associates—don't you think so, Mr. Winyard?"

"I have always shewn that I did so think. Few persons have acted up to their principles in this respect more conscientiously than myself." Mr. Foley did not press this matter further; he knew when to retire from the field, and always cautiously avoided a defeat. This conversation was at once a key to Lady Hamlet Vernon, and much as it pleased her to have discovered the truth, she resolved to carry on the deception; but Lady Hamlet Vernon felt that her total silence might be construed into an interest which, however real, she by no means wished should appear to exist in its true colours, and therefore she forced herself into saying, with apparent indifference, "I understand Lord Albert D'Esterre's marriage is shortly to take place; and whatever people may do after marriage, they must be a little attentive beforehand; so I doubt not that the arrival of Lady Dunmelraise in town is really the cause which has deprived us of his society; and you know I am one of those who hazard a favourable opinion of Lord Albert, notwithstanding Lady Baskerville's dissentient voice."

This speech she conceived to be one of unprejudiced tone and feeling that would lull all suspicion to rest, had any existed, as to the nature of her real sentiments; and it at least prevented the expression of that ridicule, which would otherwise have been her portion. In this society there was a general system of deceiving on the one hand, and detecting on the other, which constituted its chief entertainment and business; and in the present instance it formed, as usual, one of the main springs of the interest that filled up the remaining hours spent by the party at Restormel.

CHAPTER II.

THE BRIDE'S RETURN.

The approaching gaieties of London, after Easter, were pronounced likely to be of a more brilliant description than they had been for years, as is always the case, according to the interests and wishes of the persons who raise the report. One of the earliest arrivals in the scene of ton was that of the Glenmores, who had returned from Paris, whither they had proceeded, it will be remembered, shortly after their marriage.

London, however, was still empty; a considerable part of the élite remained at Restormel, and others of their corps were not yet reunited; while such as had in fact nothing to do with them, were nevertheless sufficiently foolish to regulate their movements by those of the exclusives.

It was in this interval between the two assignable points of a London season that Lord Glenmore, turning the corner into the still deserted region of Hyde Park, met there, to his surprise, Lord Albert D'Esterre, who sat his horse like one careless of what was passing around him, and seemingly so absorbed in his own thoughts, that the exercise of riding had the appearance at that moment with him of a mechanical habit, rather than a thing of choice. So deeply occupied was he in reflection, that Lord Glenmore was obliged to call several times, and at length to ride close up to him, before he could attract his attention.

"D'Esterre," said he, as he held out his hand, "I rejoice to meet you; and this unexpected pleasure is the greater, as I thought you had been too fashionable a man to be yet in London, at least for a day or two to come. But how ill you look! what is the matter with you?"

Lord Albert was not in a mood to bear interruption from any one, or exactly able, without putting a force upon himself, to meet any inquiry with a courteous answer. But Lord Glenmore was, perhaps, one of the very few exceptions in whose favour something of this feeling was abated, for their intimacy had been of long standing; and Lord Albert's regard and respect for his character was, as it deserved to be, of the highest kind.

As soon, therefore, as the latter was roused from his reverie by the kindly voice of his friend, he greeted him with answering warmth, and inquired after Lady Glenmore with that cordial interest which he felt for the wife of his friend; he at the same time endeavoured to laugh off Lord Glenmore's observations on his own personal appearance, which were nevertheless well-founded—for his mind was labouring under an anxiety which visibly displayed itself in his countenance, and which, as his first emotion of pleasure in the near prospect of meeting Lady Adeline subsided, the mysterious words of Lady Hamlet Vernon's note were too well calculated to give rise to. This state of uneasiness was by no means diminished by the delay of Lady Dunmelraise's arrival in town. At her house Lord Albert's hourly inquiries had for two days been fruitless; and he was returning from South Audley Street, with the expression of increased disappointment painted in his looks, when he met Lord Glenmore.

After some conversation of a general nature, and inquiries into the events which had arisen in the fashionable world during his absence, and which the latter confessed himself to have been too happy to have thought about before, he asked Lord D'Esterre, with a manner implying more interest, what were his own views and intentions.

"I hope you are not thinking of returning abroad," he added, "for we want you at home, and then you must marry." Lord Albert sighed as his friend approached the subject so near his heart, but which he was little inclined to discuss with him at that particular moment; while the other, without remarking the grave expression that had returned over Lord Albert's countenance, continued:—

"Allow me to speak to you as a man who has lived a little longer in the world than yourself, and to whom you formerly communicated what were your views and wishes in life. You told me you would aim at diplomacy and at office; I am sure in both from noble motives, and because you felt it to be your bias, which in all our pursuits is half the battle in ensuring success. Now you must permit me to tell you that, however great or powerful in point of interest a man may be, he can never with these objects be too much of the latter. Above all things, then, keep this principle before you; and, in any alliance that you may form (for you will marry soon, depend upon it: the ladies, if there were no fears from yourself, will not allow you to remain long in single blessedness), endeavour to remember my advice, and look round you before you take the leap which is to break the neck of your liberty, and do not throw away the advantages which your situation (to say nothing of yourself) give you of selecting where you choose, and where you think your pursuits will best be promoted.

"Now there is one, par parenthèse, among the many desirable parties I could name to you—which is Osbaldeston's daughter. His interest is great; but he has taken through life the most foolish of all parts in politics—that of being of neither party; and, as an independent peer, is alternately hated and caressed, abused and praised, despised and sought after by both. You know, since the death of his eldest son, all his affections centre in this daughter; and I am persuaded that any one united to her, may make all Lord Osbaldeston's interests his own. I do not mean to force this match upon you," smiling as he spoke; "but I allude to it as a sample of what, as your friend, and one thinking with you in politics, and pretty much the same in all other matters, and having your interest, my dear D'Esterre, much at heart, I would rejoice to see you assent to. Enfin—the Osbaldestons dine with us to-day, and if you will join us, you will have an opportunity of judging for yourself."

Lord Albert, as if he thought himself doomed to undergo violence on all sides in regard to Lady Adeline, replied with more petulance in the tone of his voice than he was ever known to give way to—

"My dear friend, you forget that I am an engaged man."

"Oh, if you mean to allude to Lady Adeline Seymour, I had understood that it was only that sort of engagement which might be dissolved or not, as the parties chose when they came to years of discretion; and as I had heard it whispered that Lady Adeline was attached to a young man who was much at Dunmelraise, and a protégé of her mother's, a certain Mr. George Foley, who turned all the women's heads about two years ago in London (Lady Hamlet Vernon's among the rest, by the way), I could not suppose, seeing you very quietly here, that your heart was much engaged; and I thought I knew you too well to believe that you would ever marry (however much I hope you will make a prudent alliance) where love and esteem do not constitute a part of the compact."

"My dear Glenmore, I see your kind intention, through this apparent carelessness of my feelings; but allow me to assure you, you are misinformed—a purer, truer, or more innocent creature does not exist than Lady Adeline Seymour; and though I have been separated lately from her, yet from my correspondence with herself, and from the invariable accounts I have received from others, I feel assured that the ingenuousness of her character would never allow her to have a thought concealed from her mother or myself in the momentous question between us. Oh no; when I look back to her every letter, the recollection brings conviction along with it of her heart being unchanged."

Lord Albert spoke with an inward agitation which corresponded little with the confidence which his words expressed. His outward appearance, however, was calm; and Lord Glenmore, supposing he had been led into a very pardonable error, and wholly innocent of intentionally wounding his friend's feelings, proceeded—

"Well, if it is thus, D'Esterre, you are already a married man, I conceive; but be it so, that does not prevent your dining with me to-day—pray come."

Lord Albert declined, saying gravely, "no! that cannot be; for I am in hourly expectation of Lady Adeline's arrival with her mother, who, I am sorry to add, comes to town on account of her health." A momentary pause ensued in the conversation; and Lord Albert, seemingly little inclined to renew the last topic or enter upon any new one, seized the opportunity of bidding his companion farewell, and they separated.

From the somewhat cold and reserved manner of his parting, Lord Glenmore, when alone, began to think he had committed a mistake in treating his friend's engagement with Lady Adeline lightly, and condemned himself for what had escaped him on the subject. For Lord Glenmore was a man of honourable, as well as kindly feelings; and in giving the counsel of a prudential marriage to Lord Albert, was at the same time the last person to think that, in an union for life, happiness ought to be sacrificed to interested views: the furthest also from his thoughts would have been any design to interfere between, or to disunite any two persons who were attached to each other. Perhaps the world in general might not have given him credit for this amiability of feeling, or for the strict principle which he really possessed, from seeing that he lived in constant intercourse with a class, where, if similar worth of character did exist at all, it certainly never was looked up to as a merit in the possessor. It must be allowed that Lord Glenmore was any thing rather than a fitting member of such a class; for in addition to warmth of heart, natural affection, and good principles, he possessed talents of a very superior kind, and held opinions quite at variance with the received creed of his companions.

He believed, for instance, that life was given for other purposes than to be spent in accident alone, or that a perpetual course of frivolous pursuits, without any higher aim or object, should be suffered to govern human existence; but that, on the contrary, every action should tend to some useful purpose. If Lord Glenmore was ambitious (and he was so), his ambition was of a noble kind; and while he sought power, his uprightness of character could never suffer him to abuse its exercise. He was called proud by some: but although impressed with a sense of the dignity of the aristocracy to which he belonged, it was not a blind and foolish estimate of rank which made him value it, but a conviction of the importance and responsibility which every one placed in the higher grades of society possesses, while fulfilling the duties of the sphere in which Providence places him; and if in society he sometimes appeared reserved, and joined not in all the empty, uninteresting topics that make up the conversation of most of the coteries of ton, it was—that his mind was filled, even in the buzz of the vapid talk around him, with matters worthy of the reflection and study of an intellectual being.

He owed his admission, consequently, within the line of circumvallation drawn by the ultra leaders of fashion, to a dread of the important consequence of his remaining aloof from their circle, and the preponderating influence which even his neutrality would afford (for Lord Glenmore was not a man to lend himself to either side in such a frivolous warfare as the decision of who were, or who were not, worthy members of the corps élite). Although the exclusives, therefore, one and all, considered him to fall short of a due proportion of that species of merit necessary to their order, yet still they united in one common effort to retain him on their side. They could have wished him, no doubt, allied to one of their own peculiar choosing, and had heard with dismay proportionate to the consequences which might frustrate their plans respecting him, the announcement of his marriage with his present wife.

Determined, however, to make the best of the unpropitious event, they had from the first decided on the general policy of endeavouring to retain Lord Glenmore's influence, by admitting Lady Glenmore (however much she might be considered inadmissible) amongst them; and thus to secure in the opinion of the world the sanction of her husband to live on terms of intimacy in their set.

It was this motive which in some degree influenced the ladies who were present at Lady Melcomb's ball, and subsequently at the marriage, to risk the loss of caste by being seen in the motley collection of that lady's assembly: though the ties of relationship, in one or two instances, would have led them to the re-union on such a happy occasion. Yet with Lady Ellersby and Lady Tenderden these were impulses, which were only to be acted upon when the laws and dogmas of exclusiveness permitted such a proceeding.

When Lord Glenmore returned from the Continent with his young bride, the news of his arrival quickly spread through the exclusive circle, and called for some decisive measure on their part, to ascertain how he might be induced still to remain, under the circumstances of his new connexion, in the same degree of intimacy with them. It was therefore time, on the part of the exclusives, for bringing to bear these intentions at the moment of their re-assembling in London, and more particularly on that of the individuals who composed the party at Restormel.

Lady Tilney, whose activity was ever on the alert, ordered her carriage before the morning show of London began, that she might catch all the chiefs of her party at home. The first house she visited was Lady Ellersby's, who was not yet risen, but she was admitted to her bed-side.

"Reveillez-vous belle endormie," said Lady Tilney, kissing her on both sides of her face, "for what do you think I am come about?"

"I cannot imagine: has Lady Hamlet Vernon gone off with any body, or do the ministry totter, or has Newmarket proved unsuccessful, or, in short, tell me what has happened!"

"No, my dear, nothing of all that; but the Glenmores are come back from Paris, and now or never must the question be ultimately decided whether we are to retain Lord Glenmore amongst us or not. You know we were agreed on the general policy of doing so soon after his marriage, and the first step to take will be to tutor the young Georgina, so that she may not on the outset of her début do any thing to disgrace us. But although I considered the matter as settled, I would not take any decided step till I consulted you. It is on this account I am come at so early an hour, lest we should not have acted in concert on this point; for as I always say, it is the disagreement in the cabinet between their own members which always breaks up the administration; so society is, or ought to be, precisely a type of the government of a state: don't you agree with me?"

"Perfectly," replied Lady Ellersby, suppressing a yawn, for she did not, to do her justice, understand one word of the political jargon in which her friend always talked, whether the conversation ran on the choice of a new cap or the admission of a new member to their society. Lady Tilney observing her dear friend's absence of mind, told her that she looked so beautiful in her night-cap, she quite made her forget her errand.

"But, nevertheless," (she added) "I must remind you, that it is one of no small importance, for you see what a vast field of interests the Glenmore himself includes. There are the Melcombs, and the D'Esterres, and the Osbaldestons—a perfect host. Some of them may play a card in politics: all of them are good tools, and I promised Lord Tilney not to lose sight of that consideration. So if we exclude la petite Glenmore, we shall be incurring great risks; whereas, by making her one of us, we shall have a vast addition of strength added to our party, and we can always take care that the vulgars belonging to her, who are only good for certain uses, shall not come in her train."

Lady Ellersby, whose attention had been effectually awakened by the admiration of her night-cap, now sat up in her bed and said, "Ah! there indeed is the difficulty—how will you manage that?"

"Nothing easier: we will, as I said, explain to her what an advantage it is to belong to us, and the necessity of our confining our members to a very small circle, and then tell her that we will always let her know whom she is to invite to her parties, and whom she is to go out with. Thus we shall take care that, from the very beginning, she does not compromise us. One or other of us must always be at her right hand, and by flattering Lord Glenmore, and endeavouring to make him believe that Lord Tilney is wavering, and may possibly come round to his side in politics, we shall easily get that sort of power established with both, which it is quite necessary to obtain if they are to belong to us; and that they are so to do is, as I have already explained to you, equally necessary. Not that I, for the world, would make any body do what he did not like to do: no one is more for perfect freedom, as you well know, than myself, but you must feel that not to belong to us, is in fact to be nobody, so that we are doing them a favour, the greatest possible favour indeed; and I am sure I would not take all this trouble were it not that I am convinced it is doing good."

"Oh yes, you are so good-natured, you are always trying to oblige. And what then would you have me to do?"

"Why I would have you call upon Lady Glenmore to-day, and you may tell her how she ought to dress, and to demean herself in public. And when she is in public, you may take care that no one speaks to her but those whom we approve of; and should any of her vulgar relations by any accident affect to get near her, you can contrive to draw her away, and carry her off to some other place. Thus, my dear Lady Ellersby, I think, after having explained this business so far, I need say no more, though I could talk for hours on the subject," Lady Ellersby yawned instinctively; "but the line of conduct I wish you to adopt has been so minutely pointed out, that I think you cannot possibly misunderstand it. And now I will go to Lady Tenderden and the rest, and I flatter myself no diplomate ever played his part with more skill. Depend upon it I will continue to do my utmost endeavour to succeed in this affair, which I feel persuaded is of considerable consequence to our society. Not, as I before said, that I would ever, either in great or little matters, stoop to contrivance. I like to persuade people for their good, and would have all the world act with a liberal and free exercise of their own rightful powers; the right of reason which every individual ought to exert and use in his own behalf. Ah, if all governments could but be persuaded of this, and be ruled in their determinations by this noble motive of action, how differently things in general would be managed from what they are! Kings would no longer be puppets of state, but be obliged in self-defence to become rational people, and not to depend on their ministers and favourites; and ministers would not depend on each other as they do, but every body in his own sphere would be doing all he could to tend to the public weal."

Lady Tilney had once again got on her favourite theme; and on these occasions she never found out that the one part of her discourse generally contradicted the other, and that her meaning virtually did so where her words did not, for it was always herself who was to be the mover and law-giver. But this was all matter of moonshine to her present auditress, who at length shewed unequivocal symptoms of inattention, and even hinted that it was time for her to rise. So at length Lady Tilney, reiterating the part she assigned to her respecting Lady Glenmore, took a tender leave and departed.

Her next visit was made to Lady Tenderden.

"Ah!" she said, on meeting her, after the first greetings, "what a relief it is to have to converse with a rational being, one who understands the meaning of things in general. I have just been talking to poor dear Lady Ellersby, who is, between ourselves, become more than ever thick, and indolent—she actually cannot understand any thing consecutively; however, I have, I think, at last put her in a right track upon the subject which I must now discuss with you."

"I know," said Lady Tenderden, interrupting her (for patience was not her forte) "what you would say. The Glenmores are arrived, and—"

"Exactly; and it is necessary we talk the matter over, and settle precisely the marche du jeu."

"Oh! by all means, take la petite Georgina en main, et l'affaire est faite—je m'en charge."

"That is precisely what I wished;—nobody is better calculated for that office. In the multiplicity of things which I have to do," said Lady Tilney, "it is not possible that I should pay that sort of attention which she will require, for she is very childish, perfectly ignorant of the ways of the world, almost a simpleton, and our society might be entirely broken up and destroyed, if we allowed her, without proper caution being previously observed, to come in amongst us. At the same time, I think it is of such consequence that we should not altogether lose Lord Glenmore, I mean politically as well as prudentially speaking, that it does appear to me to be quite worth while to take the trouble of forming that little wife of his, and making her one of us."

"Oh, certainement," replied Lady Tenderden. "Besides, Lord Glenmore is charming; il fera fureur, when he becomes a little more polished, and I shall with infinite pleasure consacré some hours to the instruction of la petite ladi qui seroit à ravir si elle n'avoit pas l'air d'un mouton qui rève."

"Exactly," cried Lady Tilney, "but that is of no consequence."

"Oh, none in the world," responded Lady Tenderden.

"Well then, my dear, that is finally arranged, and I shall now only have to go to the Glenmores to-morrow; but if it be possible, you had better see her to-day, and above all things secure her coming to the Ellersby's party, and Lady Hamlet Vernon's on Sunday, and to our own party on the water on Monday, and to the Opera with you on Tuesday, and so on; in short, taking care only that not one day shall be lost or misapplied."

"Depend upon me; and now then farewell, my dear Lady Tenderden. We meet to-night?"

"Of course. Soyez toujours séduisante comme à present; cette capotte jaune est délicieuse; elle vous va à ravir."

"Flatteuse," rejoined Lady Tilney in a tone of languishing satisfaction, and so they parted mutually pleased. Lady Tenderden, true to her promise, drove straight to Lady Glenmore's, and found her at home. Having expressed her satisfaction at this fortunate circumstance, one too of such rare occurrence, she praised every part of her dress, and inquiring of the Paris fashions, thus proceeded: "And now, my fair queen, you are truly an enviable personage—you, if any body ever had, have really beau jeu, every thing that can make a woman's life truly desirable; a great establishment, magnificent equipages, jewels, and the consideration which attaches to a haut grade in society, a distinguished title, tout enfin qui peut embellir la vie; truly, je vous en félicite, ma belle amie. But you cannot occupy so enviable a position without exciting the most active envy. Now allow me, as a sincere friend, to put you au courant of some things, in respect to the true nature of which you may be deceived. There are a certain set of persons, who will very naturally pay you court, and endeavour to obtain your ear; such as the Duchesse D'Hermanton, the Ladies Proby, and Ladies How, and all that tiresome concourse of old dowagers; but be upon your guard against these, and without giving open offence to any body, be sure that you get rid of them in their very first onset."—Lady Glenmore stared. "Vous ouvrez des grands yeux, ma chère, but you will soon learn the use of these cautions. If the people I have named send their names, as they will certainly do or visit you, be a long time before you return the call; they are an old-fashioned set, who pique themselves on politeness, and veille cour attentions, and feeling affronted by this neglect on your part, they will not so readily or familiarly accost you in public. When they do (for some of them are vulgarly good-natured enough not to take the hint)—when they do accost you, take care to look as if you did not know who they were, and to answer them by monosyllables, if you answer them at all.

"Above all things, never go to their wearisome At Homes; but if they attack you with one of their downright speeches,—sorry not to have had the honour, &c. &c.—hoping you had received a card, &c. &c.—curtsey, and say you were vastly sorry, but you forgot the day, or——no no, say mistook it; yes, mistook it, that is best, because it is a loop-hole that answers for dinner as well as any other party; yes, a mistake of the day is the best recipe I know, for any invitation which you may chance to hesitate about, and perhaps think it possible you might like to accept, and then having done so, repent of it when the time comes—a mistake in the day sets all right. You are au desespoir, and they must believe you, or make themselves appear ridiculous; it may indeed cost you a note or two, but that is the worst of it, and then vous en êtes quitte pour la vie."

Lady Glenmore, who had been so astonished hitherto that she could not reply, now found herself called upon to make some answer, as there was a pause on the part of Lady Tenderden.

"You have told me so many things," she said, "my dear Lady Tenderden" (smiling as she spoke), "that I am afraid I shall never remember the half of them, particularly as they are upon subjects which, to tell you the truth, do not interest me much, if at all. One thing you said, however, that was very kind, and kindness is not lost upon me I can assure you, which was the cordial expression with which you wished me joy of my happiness. I should indeed be ungrateful if I did not feel warmly obliged to you; only you omitted in the catalogue of my felicities, that, without which there would be no felicity for me—I mean my being the wife of Lord Glenmore; who, had he not possessed any of the adventitious advantages you enumerated, I should equally have preferred to the whole world."

"Oh! cela va sans dire, of course such a young and handsome husband is taken into the account; but, my dear young friend, vous ne voulez pas vous donner des ridicules, much less render your husband the laughing-stock of all the world, by setting yourself up with him en scène de Berger et Bergere; besides, permit me to say, that is just the way to lose him. If you are always at his elbow, watching him en furet, depend upon it he will soon think you are jealous, and following him out of curiosity. Now there is nothing a man can so ill bear as the idea of being watched, particularly by a wife; besides, all his male friends would avoid him if they saw he had such an Argus—for, beautiful as you are, you must not have an hundred eyes, to spy out every thing your husband does; no no, my dear, when you are en tête-à-tête, it is all well enough, this new-married fondness; but it will soon evaporate, take my word for it, and then you will be dying to break the troublesome habit de part et d'autre, and will not know how to set about it: take great care, ma chère ladi, to begin as you mean to go on."

"Certainly," replied Lady Glenmore, "I have but one meaning, one intention—that is, to love and be loved; and I shall never, I hope, do any thing which can run counter to that prime business, that prime duty of my life."

"Oh!" cried Lady Tenderden, perceiving she had gone too far, "it is quite delightful to hear you. You are, I am sure, destined to be a phœnix" (sneeringly); "and proud indeed must any woman be to view one of her own sex so well calculated to be a glory and honour to it. I was only warning you against certain appearances, certain misapprehensions, which persons of your turn of mind are liable to fall into, and which might be the very means of depriving you of that which you are so anxious to retain. I know the world, believe me, my dear young friend, and there is nothing in it I can so ill endure to see, as an assumption of a happiness which is out of the common line. If you enjoy such a superlative felicity, tant mieux pour vous, but do not make an étalage of it, for either its reality will be questioned, or they will take care it shall not long be one; whereas if you do as other people do, you will be allowed to go on quietly, and you may perhaps carry on this sort of romantic view of life much longer than persons in general do."

Lady Glenmore, who had listened with painful earnestness to this insidious advice, now felt her heart swell, and the tears bursting from her eyes. "And must I really," she said in a voice of suffocation, "pretend to be indifferent to my husband, in order to retain his love?"

"Certainly, my dear child; peut on être si enfant" (observing her emotion), "as to allow yourself to be thus moved about such a trifle; take my advice, and you will never lose that sort of hold over his affections which it is so charming, I allow, to possess. Shew him that you can have other men at your feet—that you are not, in short, dependent upon him for any thing faites vous un sort, in short, et vous ne vous en répentirez pas."

"And pray, how am I to set about this sort of life?"

"Why nothing so easy; simply, go constantly out, and take care to have one or two young men de la première volée always about you; never be reduced to be handed out or into any public place by Lord Glenmore; only now and then pour faire beau voir, and to shew that you have des procédés honnêtes one to the other—or else par hasard, but never as a thing of course. Another point is, you must establish an apartment of your own; for you cannot think between married persons how necessary that is, and what an independence it gives to both. It is so very disagreeable to have the exact moment of our going in and coming out commented upon."

"Dear no, pardon me, not at all. I am always glad when Lord Glenmore says, 'Where have you been so long, Georgina?' because that shews he misses me."

"Oh, of course," said Lady Tenderden, as she always said when she did not know what to say; and inwardly she thought what a world of nature must here be overturned, before any thing artificial can be sown in such a soil! "Well, my dear Lady Glenmore, you come to the Hamlet Vernon's to-morrow night?"

"Yes, I believe so; that is to say, if Lord Glenmore is disengaged."

"Now really we shall all be afraid of such a paragon of love and obedience; or what is worse, we shall all laugh at you if you give tête baissé into that sort of ultra propriety. What can Lord Glenmore's engagements have to do with your coming or not coming to Lady Hamlet Vernon's?" Lady Glenmore blushed, and confessed that she did not wish to go out if Lord Glenmore did not.

"Well, my dear, I see the terrible re-action in perspective which must succeed to all this red-hot love; and it is mighty well for the moment; only you are laying up, croyez moi, a store of discontent and dissatisfaction for yourself."

At this moment a servant entered, and laid a visiting card on the table. "Oh, Mr. Leslie Winyard," said Lady Tenderden, taking it up, "a vastly agreeable creature: you will let him in of course."

"No," answered Lady Glenmore, "the only thing Lord Glenmore does not wish me to do, as a young married woman, is to receive young men as morning visitors, and I have no wish to disobey him; therefore Mr. Leslie Winyard has been included in the general order I gave to that effect."

"Je tombe de mon haut; well, certainly, I never should have guessed that Lord Glenmore, that handsome, young, gay Lothario, would have turned out such a tyrant; and to commence before the honey-moon be well nigh over to shew the cloven-foot of husbandism, is really putting a seal to that tyranny with a vengeance! And he—he too, of all persons, to pretend—but I believe that is always the way, these men à bonnes fortunes do always make the most insufferable husbands."

"I am sure," replied Lady Glenmore, with an air of offended dignity which astonished Lady Tenderden, "I am sure Lord Glenmore desires nothing of me but what he conceives is for my own happiness; and I am perfectly willing to obey him in every thing, far less in such a matter of indifference as this." Her cheeks here grew redder and redder during every word of Lady Tenderden's insidious speech. The melancholy, uneasy expression, nevertheless, which in despite of herself threw a cast of restless inquiry into her countenance, as though she would have asked "to what do you allude?" did not pass unobserved by Lady Tenderden, and she conceived it to be a good time to let the poison work which she had thus insidiously distilled; so she arose to take her leave, and with apparent carelessness said, "Au reste, remember," and she spoke in a soothing tone of commiseration, as if she wished, were it possible, to have withdrawn, or at least to soften the words she had uttered, "remember, Lord Glenmore is not a bit worse than other men, they are all alike; and really I think him singularly agreeable, so do not let any thing I have said give you a moment's uneasiness."

She knew the rankling arrow was in Lady Glenmore's heart. "You have nothing to do but to take your own way, and keep it well in mind that all husbands take theirs, and my word for it, if you only follow this counsel, you will live en Tourtereaux, and lead a very happy life."

"I have no doubt I shall do that," said Lady Glenmore, half-crying.

"Believe me, cher enfant, whenever you feel the least melancholy or uneasy, send for me, and I shall put all to rights for you in a moment; you are a delightful, an unique creature; I really love you, and him too; you know, he was my play-fellow when we were children, therefore I take a particular interest in you both, and am alike the friend of each. Come, dry these beauteous eyes, whose brightness ought not to be dimmed by a tear; come, take a drive with me in the Park." Lady Glenmore hesitated as she replied:

"I expect Lord Glenmore every moment; he promised to drive me in his phaeton. He was to have been here an hour ago" (looking anxiously at the clock).

"Well, then, if he is an hour after his appointment, you would not surely wait for him any longer? Depend upon it he has been engaged by some business, or it may be love of virtù or politics, que sçai-je—come let us go and look for him; my life for it we shall meet him in the Park."

"Perhaps so," said the youthful Georgina with a sigh, who evidently assented to Lady Tenderden's proposal for no other reason than that the hope might be realized;—and ordering the servant who answered her bell, to tell her maid to arrange her shawl, she followed her friend to her carriage.

When they reached the Park her eyes wandered from one figure to another in quest of Lord Glenmore; in vain—the admiration of the passing throng who courted her attention had no attraction for her, she saw not the only object she wished to see, and returned wearied and dispirited, notwithstanding all Lady Tenderden's endeavours to amuse and dissipate her thoughts. The moment she came home, however, she had the satisfaction of finding her husband already there, and she scarcely waited to say adieu to Lady Tenderden before she flew up stairs to him. After her first greeting, he asked her where and with whom she had been; and on telling him, he said, "I am glad, love, that you like Lady Tenderden, for she has a thousand good qualities;" (a façon de parler by the way, which is often taken upon trust from one month to another, and frequently bears no true meaning.) Lord Glenmore continued: "Yes, she has a thousand good qualities, and is very clever and agreeable in her way, and has that perfect usage du monde which has so much charm, and which besides may be of real advantage to a young person like yourself entering on the scene; I am quite rejoiced that she is your friend. It is true she sometimes overpasses that line of retenue which I might like my young wife to observe; yet she has never been charged with any real fault, and in adopting what is best, you can leave out such parts of her manners and conduct as may not exactly suit your age and taste. In short, I think she is a very useful acquaintance, and you may safely listen to her advice respecting your conduct in the world; but after a little experience, my sweet Georgina, you may make your own choice of intimates, and I am sure that selection will always be well and wisely made."

Lady Glenmore listened attentively to her husband, and sighed as she recalled to mind the nature of the advice which she had already received; but thought, "well, then, Lady Tenderden was right after all, and I must not tell Glenmore. How childish and silly I was in having been so vexed about his not coming home this morning,—still less must I tell him of her cautioning me against pursuing him, for should he know that I had a thought of doing so, it might probably produce the effect she predicted."

With this idea thus unfortunately impressed upon her mind by what her husband had unthinkingly said, Lady Glenmore remained silent. The hour of dressing now called them to their toilette, and the subject was not at that time renewed.

CHAPTER III.

JEALOUSY.

After Lord Albert had parted with his friend in the Park, he returned again to Lady Dunmelraise's house; but still in vain—they came not. The agony of suspense, when prolonged, is perhaps the severest which the human mind can know; but like all chastisements or corrections, it is never sent without a meaning, and if entertained as it is mercifully intended it should be, we shall reap the fruits of the trial.

In the present case, Lord Albert's disappointment brought back a livelier sense of the attachment he really felt for Lady Adeline, and awoke all those tender fears and reminiscences which cherish love, but which a too great security of possession had for the present blunted, or at least laid in abeyance. He now wondered how he could have suffered so much time to elapse without writing to her. He wondered, too, that he had not heard from her; she had not then missed the blank in his part of the correspondence; and it was evident some other interest had supplied that one in her heart.—He looked at her picture, as if he could read in that image an answer to these various surmises; but it was placid, and serene—it smiled as was her wont, and he felt displeased at the senseless portrait, for an expression which he could not have borne her to wear, had she really known what his fears and feelings were. He shut the case and pushed it from him;—he felt angry—and then ashamed—for conscience goaded him with its sting, and in turn questioned him, as to his right of indulging one such sensation against her, whom in fact he knew he had neglected: but all this process of mental analization was salutary, and as he came by degrees to know himself better, he was enabled to form a truer estimation, not only of the amiable person to whom he was bound by every tie of honour, but of the true nature of real worth.

At length, on the fourth morning from that on which he met Lord Glenmore, he found in North Audley Street a note from Lady Adeline. "A note only!" he said, hastily breaking the seal. It was written from an inn on the road; it informed him that Lady Dunmelraise had borne the journey very ill, which had occasioned them to stop frequently; but that they would reach town she hoped on the following evening. Lord Albert turned quickly to the date, and found that it was of the preceding day, so that he might expect their arrival that very evening. A gleam of delightful anticipation now shed joy over his heart. We easily gloss over our own faults; and Lord Albert found all his self-reproaches for neglect and temporary coldness merged in the fondness he actually felt at that moment, and his present determination to abide by, and act upon this feeling, silenced all self-accusation. With a beating pulse, and an emotion he did not wish to quell, he determined on not leaving the house till he should once more have seen his Adeline.

He seated himself, therefore, in the drawing-room, and gave a loose to those pleasurable sensations which now flowed in upon him. The apartment had been prepared for Lady Dunmelraise, and all the usual objects in her own and her daughter's occupations were set in their wonted places. He recognized with transport a thousand trifling circumstances connected with them, which brought his love, his own love, more vividly before his eyes. As he carefully enumerated and dwelt upon these, his eyes rested on a vacant space in the wall near the piano-forte, where a drawing of himself had hung; and the enchanting thought that it had been her companion in the country, came in aid of all the rest to soften and gladden every sensation of his heart. As his eyes wandered over the apartment in quest of fresh food for delight, they rested on a parcel of papers, and letters, lying on the writing table. He turned them over, hardly knowing why he did so, when a frank from Restormel, directed to Lady Adeline Seymour, gave him an unpleasant shock, and he dropped it with a sudden revulsion of sensation that was any thing but gentle.

He again resumed the letter, turned it round and round, looked at the seal—it was a coat of arms, but the motto, "for life," was a peculiar one. He wondered to what family it belonged; he thought of consulting some heraldic work in order to discover, when the sound of a heavy laden carriage passing in the street, drew off his attention. He flew to the window—it was a family coach, but one glance told him it was not that of Lady Dunmelraise. Back he came to the letter table; again the letter was before his eyes—the letter, for amongst many he saw but one.

"It is surprising," he said to himself, "that Adeline should have a correspondent at Restormel, and I not know of it; but shortly, very shortly, this mystery shall be solved. I will ask her at once—but carelessly, naturally, who is her unknown friend at Restormel? Ask her? no, she will of course tell me, if she has formed any new acquaintance with whom she is sufficiently intimate to correspond, and if she does not of herself tell me, I shall never inquire into the matter—indeed why should I? No, there is nothing renders a man so silly as jealousy, or throws him so much in a woman's power as letting her see he is jealous."

With these, and many such contradictory reasonings as these, did Lord Albert continue to pace the room along and across, and every now and then stop and fix his eyes on the offending letter; when again a sound attracted him to the window, and though it was dusk, and objects were indistinctly seen at a distance, he recognized the well-known equipage. The next moment he was in the street; and the next it drove up to the door. He heard Lady Adeline's soft voice cry out, "There's Albert!" as she half turned to her mother, and kept kissing her hand to himself. The carriage door was opened, and she sprang out, receiving the pressure of his hand with an answering expression of fondness.

"Dear Albert, how do you do? have you not thought we were an age on the road? But I hope you received my note." Ere he could reply, Lady Dunmelraise's extended hand was cordially presented to him, and as affectionately taken; and while each rested on his arm on entering the house, he felt in the kindly pressure of both that he was as welcome to them as ever.

When he had assisted Lady Dunmelraise, who moved feebly, to the drawing-room, and placed her pillows on the couch, even in this moment of joyous re-union, he could not fail to observe what ravages sickness had made in her frame since they last met; and as he expressed, though in modified terms, in order not to alarm her, the regret he felt at seeing her so unwell, he observed the eyes of Lady Adeline fixed upon him, in order to read his real opinion on the first sight he had of her mother; and before he could regulate his own feelings on the subject, those of Lady Adeline's overshadowed her countenance with an expression of sadness she was not prepared to command, while the tears rushed to her eyes. Again holding out her hand to Lord Albert, while a smile of mingled joy and sorrow beamed over her features, and partly dispersed the cloud, she said,

"All will be well now; my dearest mamma will soon be better—joy and happiness will once again be our's." Lord Albert thanked her with his eloquent eyes; and as he impressed a kiss on her offered hand, he replied:

"How fortunate that I received your letter when I did, for in another hour I should have been on my way to Dunmelraise."

"Indeed!" said Lady Adeline, her eyes sparkling with pleasure.

"Yes; and I had, but for something which detained me, been on my road there long before your letter arrived."

"That would indeed have been unfortunate," said Lady Dunmelraise; "to have missed you after so long hoping to have seen you there in vain, would have doubled our regret;" she spoke with a tone of something like reproach, at least so Lord Albert took it; and she added, with a melancholy smile, "It is a bad omen that a letter from Adeline should have prevented you from coming to us."

Lord Albert felt embarrassed; there was something relative to the delay of his coming which he knew he could not explain, and this consciousness made him feel as if he were acting a double part. At this moment Lady Adeline perceived the letters lying on the table, and taking them up, she glanced her eye over them as she turned them round one by one, saying, "this is for you, mamma—and this—and this—and this, as she handed them to Lady Dunmelraise—but this one is for myself." Lord Albert's attention had from the first moment of her taking up the letters been riveted upon her, and now with ill-concealed anxiety he watched every turn of her countenance, while she broke the seal and perused the letter. She read it, he conceived, with great interest; and said, when she had concluded, addressing Lady Dunmelraise—

"It is a kind word of inquiry for you, my dear mamma, from George Foley." Lord Albert changed colour as this name was pronounced; but neither she nor Lady Dunmelraise observed the circumstance, and this gave him leisure and power to recover from the confusion he experienced. Lady Adeline again resumed, after a short pause, "You must have met Mr. Foley at Restormel, Albert; what do you think of him?"

"I had little opportunity of judging of him," replied Lord Albert, hesitating as he spoke; "but he was only at Restormel for a part of the time I was there. He had, however, a strong recommendation to my favourable opinion, from the warm terms of praise and admiration in which he mentioned you, Adeline." She smiled, and without any alteration of manner went on to say:

"I am afraid then he has too favourable an opinion of me; and if he has raised your expectations so high of my improvement since last we met, I shall have reason to lament your having become acquainted with him; but he is such an adorateur of mamma's, that he thinks every thing that belongs to her is perfection!"

Notwithstanding Lady Adeline's seeming calmness while speaking of Mr. Foley—notwithstanding the natural and ingenuous expression of her words and countenance, Lord Albert could not divest himself of the idea that Mr. Foley had some undue power over her affections. It is easy, perhaps, to shut the door against evil thoughts; but when once they are admitted, they obtain a footing and a consequence which it was never intended that they should have. Beware, all ye who love, of admitting one spark of jealousy into your breasts, without immediately quenching the same by open and free discussion with the object of your affections! But there lies the difficulty—we are ashamed of harbouring an injurious thought of those we love; or rather, we are ashamed of confessing that we do so; and we go on in the danger of concealment, rather than by humbling our pride, and laying open our error, obtain the probable chance of having it exposed, and removed. While monosyllables of indifferent import dropped from Lord Albert's lips, he was in his heart cherishing the false notion that had the letter, which gave him so much uneasiness, been entirely of the import which Lady Adeline represented it to be, it would have been more natural to have addressed it to Lady Dunmelraise herself.

He did not, indeed, dare to impugn Lady Adeline's truth: but he conceived that no other man should presume to have an interest in her—in her who belonged to himself (every man will understand this), which could entitle him to hold a correspondence with her. He consequently became abstracted, and there was a sort of restraint upon the ease of his manner and conversation, of which Lady Dunmelraise's penetration soon made her aware, and to which even the young and unsuspecting Adeline could not remain wholly blind.

In order to replace things on the footing which they had been formerly, and which on their first meeting they still appeared to be, Lady Adeline turned the discourse to her pursuits in the country, and spoke in detail of her drawing, her music, her flower-garden, and the families of the poor in their neighbourhood whom she and Lord Albert had so often visited together.

"You remember," she said, "poor Betsy Colville, who never recovered the loss of her lover who was shipwrecked; she is still in the same state. She goes every day to the gate where they last parted, takes out the broken sixpence he gave her at their last interview; and having returned home, looks in her father's face, and says 'to-morrow.' She never repines, never misses church—joins in family worship; but her poor mind is touched, and she can no longer do the work of the house or tend on her aged parents. I have therefore paid my chief attentions to that family—and they are so grateful—so grateful, too, for what you have done for them. The myrtle we planted together, Albert, on the gable-end of the house, now nearly reaches the thatch; and in all their distress about their daughter, the good old pair have never forgotten to tend that plant. Mr. Foley and I rode or walked there every day."

The latter words of this discourse poisoned all the sweetness of the preceding part; and the idea of Mr. Foley became associated in Lord Albert's distempered mind, with all the interest and all the enthusiasm expressed by Lady Adeline; so that he read in her descriptions of her mode of having passed her time, and the pleasure she had innocently enjoyed, nothing but her love of Mr. Foley's company.

Lord Albert became still more silent, or spoke only in broken sentences; and a deeper gloom gradually spread over each of the three individuals, usurping the place of that cordial outpouring of the heart, which had at first rendered the moment of meeting so delightful. After a silence, during which Lady Adeline and Lady Dunmelraise appeared mutually affected by the awkwardness which the change in Lord Albert's manner had excited, yet anxious to conceal from each other the knowledge that such was the case—they felt relieved, when he took up a newspaper, and read aloud the announcement of an approaching drawing-room.

Lady Dunmelraise, glad of an opportunity to find some subject of discourse foreign to the thoughts which obtruded themselves so painfully upon her, said, "Well, Adeline, that is a favourable circumstance, à quelque chose malheur est bon; had I not been so much worse exactly at this very time, we had perhaps not been in London; for though I have for some months past wished you to be presented at court, we might, ten to one, not have had courage to leave Dunmelraise at this sweet season; but as it is, the opportunity must not be lost, and the only question is, by whom shall the presentation take place—for alas! I am not able myself to have that pleasure, and I fear my dear sister Lady Delamere will not either;" then pausing a moment, she added, "perhaps, Lord Albert, Lady Tresyllian will kindly take that office, if she is to be in town."

"I am sure she would readily comply with any wish of yours; but I know my mother has, in a great measure, given up the London world, and has not been at any of the drawing-rooms during the present reign; but, perhaps, on such an occasion, she might be induced to forego her determination of retreat."

"Oh, I would not for the world," said Lady Adeline, "torment Lady Tresyllian about it; for," she added, smiling, "you know how very little I care about such things."

"It is well," said Lady Dunmelraise, "to hold every thing in estimation according to its due value. Most young persons are too fond of the gaieties and pleasures of the world; but you, my dear Adeline, perhaps contemn them in one sweeping clause of indifference, without having properly considered to what advantages they may tend when resorted to in due degree, and in subordination to better pursuits. A drawing-room I hold to be one of those very few worldly pageants which are connected with some valuable and estimable feelings; the attending them is an homage due to the state of the sovereign; they uphold the aristocracy of the country, which is one of the three great powers of government, now too much, too dangerously set aside; and they ought to, and do in great measure, keep up those barriers in society, which prevent an indiscriminate admission of vice and virtue, at least as far as regards an outward respect to the appearances of decorum. Whenever drawing-rooms shall be abolished, you will see that much greater licence in society will take place. The countenance of the sovereign, the right to be in his presence, is one which none would voluntarily resign; and to avoid losing it, is a check upon the conduct of many, who are not regulated by better motives; while those who are, will always duly appreciate those honours which flow from monarchs, and which form a part of our glorious constitution. 'Love God, honour the king,' is the good old adage; and with this conviction on my mind, and the remembrance of that loyalty and attachment to the present House of Hanover which your ancestors have ever displayed, even to the sacrifice of their lives and fortunes, my Adeline, I have set my heart on your being presented to your king; and the only consideration is, who shall be the person to present you."

"Well, dearest mamma," replied Lady Adeline, "any thing you wish, I shall be delighted to do, and I make no doubt you are perfectly right; only I did not feel the least anxious, and I wished to set your mind at rest upon the subject of my going into public." Lord Albert said, with an expression of melancholy and displeasure, "It is quite unnatural for a young person of your age, Adeline, to affect to despise the amusements of the world; and unless you have some cause for doing so, best known to yourself, I confess I do not understand it."

Lady Adeline was too quick-sighted not to perceive that something or other pained and displeased Lord Albert, and had they been quite alone, she might have asked him the occasion of this change in his humour; but as it was, she did not dare to question him; and by way of turning the conversation into another channel, she inquired, of whom consisted the party at Restormel; if they were clever, or distinguished, or agreeable; and whether the mode of life there was to his taste? Lord Albert seemed to awake out of a sort of reverie into which he had fallen, and his countenance was agitated by many commingling expressions as he replied,

"I really can hardly tell you; there were the Tilneys, the Tenderdens, the Boileaus, Lady Hamlet Vernon, Mr. Leslie Winyard. At that sort of party there is little occasion for the display of talent, and people are glad to be quiet for a few days when they go to their country houses; so that each individual is thinking more of repose than of shining. As to their mode of life, it was pretty nearly, I think, what it is when they are in town."

Though Lord Albert spoke this in a hurried tone, he felt as though he had got well over a difficulty. But the remark Lady Dunmelraise made upon his answer, did not particularly serve his turn at the moment:—"Either the persons who I heard composed that party, or Lord Albert, must be much changed since I knew them, if they could be in unison," and she fixed her eyes upon him;—his embarrassment was visible, and did not subside as she went on to speak particularly of Lady Hamlet Vernon: "She remembered her marriage," she said, and commented upon those sort of marriages, saying, "that all intriguing schemes were detestable, but those respecting marriage were of all others the most thoroughly wicked and despicable. Lady Hamlet's conduct, too, after marriage was not very praiseworthy: if a woman sacrifice every other consideration in allying herself to her husband for the sake of aggrandizement, she must at least continue to act upon that system, and if possible wash out the disgrace of such an act (for I consider it to be no less) by her subsequent mode of behaviour, and the dignified uses to which she applies her power. But in the present instance this was far from being the case, and she had allowed an apparent levity of conduct, at least, to sully her character. In one instance, I know, she has drawn a person, in whom I feel great interest, into a manner of life, and an idleness of existence, which, to call it by no harsher name, is one of vanity and folly; but I had hoped her influence was over in that quarter."

"As I do not know to what you allude," rejoined Lord Albert, "I cannot exactly reply; but certainly Lady Hamlet Vernon is very handsome, very agreeable, and, for aught I know to the contrary, leads now a very good sort of life. She has a finely-disposed heart, and, I should think, is better than half the people who find fault with her. If, from having married an old roué, she was thrown into danger, which her personal charms rendered very likely to have been the case, kindness I am sure would at any time open her eyes to avoid these; whereas undue severity might make her rush headlong into them—for harsh opinions in similar cases, nine times out of ten, drive such persons from bad to worse."

"I conceive," said Lady Dunmelraise, "that this may sometimes be the case; but it is frequently only an excuse for not choosing to hear the truth told. However, there is a society, of which Lady Hamlet Vernon is one, which I hold to be the subverter of every thing estimable. Its great danger is the specious ease and indifference of those who compose it, the system being without any system whatever. The great gentleness of manner and entire freedom, which seem to be its characteristics, are its most dangerous snares. No consecutive speech upon any subject, no power of reasoning, no appeal to religion, are tolerated by these persons. They have a lawless form of self-government indeed, by which they keep up their own sect and set,—but there is a mystery in the delusions which they cast around their victims, the more difficult to detect since the whole of their lives is spent in a seeming carelessness about every thing.

"The warning voice of a parent can alone put a young and unsuspecting member of society on his guard against being drawn into this vortex; but it is the young married persons to whom such warning is more particularly necessary. However, because there are persons, who by artful intrigue arrogate to themselves a certain consideration, which they receive from the uninstructed and unwary, and whose ways are certainly not those of pleasantness or peace—we are not to say but that there are others who to the highest rank unite the highest principles, and who reflect honour on the class to which they belong—persons who consider their high stations as being the gifts of God, and themselves as responsible agents. Yes, the true nobility of Britain will yield to none other of any country for intrinsic worth; all the virtues adorn their families, and religion and honour stamp them with that true nobility of soul, without which all distinction is but a beacon of disgrace.

"It is not, therefore, because a few worthless or foolish persons, in the vast concourse of London society, affect an exclusiveness which rests on no basis of real worth or dignity, but on the very reverse, that all intercourse with the world is to be avoided, or all innocent pleasure to be denied to young persons; and I should be exceedingly disappointed to see my Adeline retiring from her state and station, and coming to have a distaste for its amusements, because I feel certain that so violent a re-action is not natural, and that the real way to be of service to herself and others, is to fulfil the rank and station of life wherein she is placed, and in fact to do as our great inimitable Pattern did—to go about doing good."

Lord Albert's feelings, while Lady Dunmelraise was speaking, had undergone many changes, but the last was that of pleasurable approval at finding Lady Dunmelraise's opinion so much in coincidence with his own—and he said, in his own natural warm manner, "I hope Adeline will feel quite convinced, by your sensible manner, my dear Lady Dunmelraise, of representing this matter, that there is no virtue, nothing commendable indeed, in despising or condemning the world en masse, and that there is just as much real good to be done by living in as living out of it. True virtue does not lie in time or place—it is of all times, of all places; and it is a narrow, bigoted view of the subject alone, which partakes of monastic rigour and hypocritical ambition under the garb of humility, which would promulgate any other doctrine."

"My dear Albert, you know that I have no wish but to please mamma and you; and I need not pretend but that I shall be exceedingly diverted by going to public places. All I meant to say was, not to make yourselves uneasy about finding a chaperon for me, because I am perfectly contented to remain as I am—although I might be equally well diverted in leading what is called a gayer life."

Lord Albert's countenance relapsed into brightness as he said, taking her hand and putting it to his lips, "You are a dear and a rare creature—is she not, Lady Dunmelraise?"—and this appeal Lady Dunmelraise felt no inclination to controvert; but, rejoicing in the present disposition which she once more beheld in her future son-in-law, she now dismissed him for the evening, saying, "Adeline and I require some repose, that we may be fresh to-morrow for all the great events to which we shall look forward with pleasure, I am sure, as you seem to be quite of our way of thinking respecting her début in the great world—and so good night." The wish was reiterated kindly, warmly, by all parties, and they parted happier even than they had met.

As soon as Lord Albert reached his hotel, he found a note from Lady Hamlet Vernon, announcing her arrival from Restormel, and requesting to see him. In an instant, as though by magic, his doubts and fears respecting Lady Adeline returned; for with Lady Hamlet Vernon was connected the recollection of her mysterious note at Restormel, on the morning of his departure from thence—and with that recollection George Foley was but too deeply mingled. Then ensued a chaos in his mind, one thought chasing another, and none abiding to fix any purpose or decide any measure. At one moment he determined—if such passing impulse can be called determination—not to go near Lady Hamlet; but the next he thought she had shewn so much true interest for him—she had listened so often to his rebukes—apparently with more pleasure than she did to praise from others—that he should be ungrateful to avoid her now, because other dearer interests filled up his time and his heart, and he finally resolved on obeying her wishes, and visiting her the next day.

In the morning of that day, before he had finished his late breakfast, and ere he was prepared to deny himself, the door of his apartment opened, and Mr. Foley was close to him ere his servant had time to announce his name.

"I am come," said the latter, with his polite and honeyed phrase, "to bring you pleasant tidings, which I trust will apologize for this my early intrusion. I am just arrived from South Audley Street, where I had the happiness of finding our friends pretty well; Lady Dunmelraise, indeed, was not up, having been fatigued by her journey; but Lady Adeline is blooming in beauty—I do not know when I have seen her looking better." Lord Albert bowed, and in his coldest manner replied, "he was very happy indeed to hear that Lady Adeline Seymour was so well, and he hoped, when he should make his personal inquiries, to find Lady Dunmelraise in the drawing-room."

Mr. Foley was too penetrating not to see that this information, as it came from him, conveyed no pleasurable feeling; but affecting not to observe this, he went on to talk of the late party at Restormel—spoke of Lady Hamlet Vernon as being a delightful creature, and drew a kind of parallel raisonné between her character and that of Lady Adeline's. Lord Albert was thinking, all the time he spoke, of the impertinent assumption of Mr. Foley's addressing him on the subject of Lady Adeline, and discussing her merits, as though he were not aware of them, and had not a better right and ampler means to know and to value them.

Still there was a suavity—a delicacy even, in Mr. Foley's mode of expressing himself, which gave no tangible opportunity to shew offence; and Lord Albert, though writhing under impatience, was obliged to control himself. As soon as he could possibly contrive to do so, he changed the conversation, and spoke of the Opera, the Exhibition, the topics of the day—of all, in short, that was most uninteresting to him; and carried on an under current of thought all the time on the impropriety Adeline had been guilty of, in receiving Mr. Foley without her mother's presence to sanction such a visit, and on going himself directly to South Audley Street, in order that he might disclose to her his opinion on the inexpediency of such a measure, as that of her receiving the visits of young men when alone. But though the evident abstraction of Lord Albert D'Esterre rather increased than diminished, still Mr. Foley sat on, and sometimes rose to make a remark on a picture—sometimes opened a book, and commented upon its contents. Similar provocation must have occurred to every one at some time or other, and it is in vain to describe what, after all, no description can do justice to. A note arrived for Lord Albert—it was from Lady Adeline—very kind, but desiring him not to come to South Audley Street till four o'clock—saying she was going, by her mamma's desire, to see her aunt Lady Delamere, who was confined by a feverish cold, and could not leave her chamber to come to them.

Lord Albert's mortification was painted on his countenance. "If you have nothing better to do this morning, D'Esterre, and that your note does not otherwise take up your time, will you accompany me to Lady Hamlet Vernon's?" Lord Albert felt, "what, am I to be balked, dogged, forestalled in every trifling circumstance by this man!" but he said, hesitating as he spoke, "yes—no, that is to say, I had an engagement, but it is postponed for the present—therefore, if you please, I will accompany you to Lady Hamlet's door;" and Mr. Foley, evidently triumphing in having foiled Lord Albert's real intentions, whatever they might be, but maintaining still his quiet composure, offered Lord Albert his arm, and they walked together towards Grosvenor Square, each talking of one thing and thinking of another.

CHAPTER IV.

AN EXCLUSIVE MORNING PARTY.

As they walked along between Lord Albert's house and that of their destination, one idea took the lead in D'Esterre's mind—it was the hope of obtaining from Lady Hamlet Vernon an elucidation of the mysterious expressions contained in her note. He formed a thousand plans how he should contrive to remain alone with her, after Mr. Foley should take his leave, for he made no question but that he would be the first to end his visit; and he settled it in his own mind that he would affect to have some message to give Lady Hamlet, which might afford him an opportunity of procuring the interview he so eagerly desired: but almost always, in similar circumstances, none of these minor events occur as we intend they should; and the first object Lord Albert saw on entering Lady Hamlet Vernon's drawing-room was Lady Tenderden, sitting at a writing table, having taken off her bonnet as though she had come upon some particular occasion, and was fixed there for a considerable time.

"Ah! Lord Albert," said Lady Hamlet Vernon, "and Mr. Foley too! Most welcome both.—Restormel was quite dull without you; and besides the comfort one always feels at coming back to the dear dirty streets, after having been banished from them a few days, I am really charmed to find myself once more surrounded by all my friends. Do tell us the news, and sit down—you shall not positively pay me a flying visit—though you, Lord Albert, flew away in such a hurry from Restormel, that we had not time, no not even to say 'farewell;'"—(and she looked at him very significantly as she spoke.) "So before I shall have time now to speak to you, you will be gone again—but if so, it is not my fault."

Lord Albert thought that he read the meaning of this speech, and his impatience and anxiety were increased in proportion. It was with the utmost difficulty he could bring himself to leave her side in order to go to the other end of the room, in obedience to Lady Tenderden, who called him every now and then to ask some silly question or other, which he hardly answered; and which induced her, therefore, to beg him to come and sit near her, that she might talk to him comfortably while she was writing: two things which she declared she could do quite well at the same time. As soon as Lady Tenderden had managed this contrivance, Mr. Foley entered into (apparently) a very interesting conversation with Lady Hamlet Vernon; and Lord Albert sat on thorns as his eyes were rivetted on them, while he contrived to answer Lady Tenderden, although it were as if he was playing at cross purposes. Any change was a relief, and the announcement of Lord Glenmore was a real pleasure to him, for he thought his arrival must at least break up the tête-à-tête between Lady Hamlet and Mr. Foley, which seemed to him as if it never would end.

After having paid his compliments to Lady Hamlet Vernon and Lady Tenderden, Lord Glenmore accosted his friend, and cordially wished him joy in a sort of half whisper, on Lady Dunmelraise's arrival. But, in Lord Albert's present frame of mind, this congratulation was not received with that open warmth which Lord Glenmore expected; and he dropped the subject, taking up those of the common-place occurrences of the day. The drawing-room was discussed; it was to be fuller than any preceding one. Lady Tilney had declared she would not go—so had Lady Ellersby; "but, nevertheless," said Lord Glenmore, with one of his good-humoured smiles, "I dare say those ladies will not have the cruelty to allow their absence to be regretted when the time arrives; do you think they will, Lady Hamlet Vernon?"

"Most indubitably not, and I make no doubt the plumassiers and jewellers are all at this moment in requisition in Lady Tilney's boudoir. But, by the way, Lord Glenmore, your fair lady will of course be presented on your marriage—who is to have the pleasure of presenting her?"

"Who? why of course her mother, Lady Melcomb."

Lady Hamlet Vernon and Lady Tenderden here exchanged the most significant glances, and a silence ensued; which was first broken by Lord Glenmore, who endeavoured to draw Lord Albert into conversation by touching alternately on politics, literature, and all the subjects which he knew were interesting to him; but to which he could only obtain some short answer, that did not promote the flow of the conversation. He began to ask himself whether he could have given Lord Albert any offence, or whether he retained any on account of their interview in the Park; but it was so unlike Lord Albert to take offence where it never was intended to be given, that he concluded (as was in fact the case) that something painful was on his mind, of which he could not divest himself. Having vainly attempted, by raillery as well as by engaging his attention, to get the better of this abstraction and gloom, Lord Glenmore let the matter pass, and addressed his conversation elsewhere; but Lady Tenderden was not to be diverted from her purpose, and she took up the thread of discourse, requesting to know if Lady Adeline Seymour had imposed a vow of silence upon him, or what other cause had so changed him since he was last at Restormel? He pleaded total ignorance of being changed; but the consciousness that he was so, rendered his efforts at disguise only more visible.

Lord Albert rose and sat down; a hundred times he looked at a French clock on the chimney-piece, which of course did not go; and at last requested Mr. Foley to tell him the hour, as he had an engagement which demanded his attention. Having found that it was a full half hour past the time appointed by Lady Adeline, he made his bow to Lady Hamlet Vernon, and was about to leave the room, when she called him back, and said, "of course we all meet in the evening at Lady Tilney's?" There was a glance and an emphasis which accompanied these words, which he could not fail to interpret as an assignation, and one that he determined on his part to keep.

Could Lord Albert have known what was passing in Lady Adeline's mind, while he was thus misspending his time in a false anxiety about a few mysterious words, written, it might be, with no good intent, and indeed it might be without any foundation, he would have hastened away from this idle and unworthy mode of passing his time long before he did; but experience unfortunately must be bought, and although we look upon the actions of others, and comment upon them, it may be with the calm wisdom of unmoved breasts, yet in our own time of trial we are too apt to prove that theory is not practice. One would imagine that it was the easiest thing possible to place one's-self ideally in the situation of another, to feel as he felt, and yet act diametrically opposite to the way in which he acted, in certain circumstances and positions; but this apparent facility of transmigration into the identity of another's being is mere delusion. It may be questioned if any human creature really understands another, and how much less likely is it that he should argue justly on his neighbour's affairs! Oh, if we were more merciful to others, and more severe on ourselves; more humble as to our own merits and more alive to those of our fellow creatures; we should be nearer the mark of justice than we usually are.

While Lord Albert, under the influence of a tormenting incipient jealousy, wasted the hour at Lady Hamlet Vernon's which he should have passed in South Audley Street, Lady Adeline had been with her aunt, Lady Delamere, who, in a true spirit of affectionate solicitude, had nevertheless opened up a source of anxiety and doubt in the breast of her niece, which proved the cause of infinite distress to her. Lady Delamere, after receiving her with all that glow of partial fondness peculiarly characteristic of her family, it might be too much so towards each other, naturally spoke of Lord Albert D'Esterre.

"Ah, my dear Adeline, now the time approaches when, according to your father's will, your final decision respecting the fulfilment of your marriage must take place, my anxious fondness suggests a thousand fears, at least doubts, for your happiness. I beseech you let these four intervening months at least be given, not only to a serious examination of your own heart, but to a clear and vigorous elucidation of the disposition and principles of Lord Albert."

"As to my own heart," replied Lady Adeline with quickness, "it has long not been in my own keeping, for most fortunately, where my duty was directed to place it, there my choice seconded, nay, almost preceded the arrangement. But why should you doubt that, such being the case, my happiness should be endangered? say rather, dearest aunt, confirmed."

"It may be so—I trust it will be so, my sweet Adeline, since your love is fixed; but remember how very serious a step marriage is; and before you are bound for life in the holiest of all ties, again I conjure you to lay aside, inasmuch as you can do so, all the blandishments of love, and consider how far the tastes, the pursuits, the temper, above all the religious tenets of your husband, will be in accordance with your own. Indeed, indeed, people do not reflect seriously enough on these points. I ask not any long consideration, any great trial of time or absence—they are both circumstances which may deceive either way; for things viewed at a distance, are not seen in their true light; and one may be as much deceived at the end of a year, as at the end of a month—and life is short. The life of life, the bloom of youth, should not be needlessly withered in pining anxiety. What I ask of you is, during the time you are now to be in town, to go out with moderation into the great world, to see what it has to offer, and to know whether any other person might supersede Lord Albert in your affections; this is as yet a fair and honourable trial. You are not bound to each other, if either wishes to break the tie." (Lady Adeline sighed heavily.) "And should you, while together, discover any flaw or imperfection which might make you wish to dissolve the engagement, now is the time; but after marriage, I need not say, my Adeline, that one glance of preference for another is guilt—one wish, foreign to your allegiance as a wife, is misery."

There was a pause in the conversation. Lady Adeline felt sorrowful—she scarcely knew why, except indeed it had never occurred to her that any thing could step in to break off her engagement with Lord Albert; and the bare possibility of such an event seemed to unhinge her whole being.

The fact is, Lady Delamere had heard surmises of Lord Albert's intimacy with Lady Hamlet Vernon, and without informing her niece of a report which, after all, might not have any foundation, she yet conceived it to be a duty to put her on her guard, and make her ready to observe any alteration that might have taken place in Lord Albert. She would have told Lady Dunmelraise all that she had heard without disguise; but at present her state of health was such, that she could not think of endangering her life by giving her such information; for she well knew her sister's heart was set upon the match, and that she had long loved Lord Albert as though he had been her son. However, she determined, the moment Lady Dunmelraise was better, to have no concealment from her. It had not been without much self-debate that she had brought herself even to hint any thing like a doubt to Lady Adeline of Lord Albert's truth; and even now, she only endeavoured to prepare her to open her eyes to the conviction, should such a melancholy change have taken place, but without naming the real cause she had for giving her such caution.

As it was, it was quite enough to sadden Lady Adeline; and her air was so dejected when she returned home to Lady Dunmelraise, that the latter feared something had occurred to vex her. "Is my sister worse, dearest child?—I pray you do not conceal the truth from me."

"Oh no;—be not alarmed," she replied, "my aunt hopes, in a day or two, to be able to come to see you, dearest mamma. It is not that—but I have a bad head-ache, and have undergone too much excitement." The look of anxious inquiry which Lady Dunmelraise could not conceal, lessened not Lady Adeline's unhappiness; and as the time which she had appointed for Lord Albert's visit was now far passed, the whole weight of the sad warnings she had received, seemed doubled. At length the peculiar knock—the quick footstep on the stair, told her he was come, and she passed from her mother's bedroom into the adjoining drawing-room to meet him.

They seemed mutually affected by some secret cause; for there was not that cordial clasping of hands—that beaming of eyes—that joyful tone of greeting, which might have been expected to mark their meeting on this occasion: their hands touched coldly—and Lord Albert made no effort to retain her's.

"You have been very much later than I expected, Albert."

"Yes: I could not exactly obey the hour named in your note, as you went out before I could possibly come here this morning; and as you put me off, I had another engagement, which in my turn detained me; however, I was happy to hear you were well from Mr. Foley, who had the pleasure of seeing you, I believe, very early."

"Yes: Mr. Foley, you know, as mamma's protégé and enfant de famille, has the entrée at all hours, and I was drawing when he came in; I thought it was you, and—

"Oh, dear Lady Adeline, you cannot suppose I should take the liberty of inquiring what you were doing—I hope Lady Dunmelraise is better to-day?"

Lady Adeline, under any other influence than that which now influenced her, would have said, "Albert, what is the matter with you? are you displeased?" But her aunt's advice was, "look well to the real state of Lord Albert's affections, and do not allow your own to give a colouring to his, which may not be the true one, were his heart unbiassed by the flattering predilection you so openly profess for him." This advice sealed her lips; and, checking the natural impulse of her heart, she replied to his inquiries about her mother more at length than she would have done, in order to recover a composure she was far from feeling; she allowed all further discussion of her mode of passing the morning to drop.

Lord Albert's restrained, unnatural manner increased, and they both felt relieved when Lady Dunmelraise called from her apartment to her daughter—who obeyed the summons; but returning after a minute's absence, she said,

"Mamma hopes you will dine with us to-day."

"Oh, certainly, if Lady Dunmelraise wishes me to do so:" and as Lady Adeline made no reply, but returned to her mother, Lord Albert departed to dress.

When they met at dinner, Lady Dunmelraise's presence for a time prevented the awkwardness they mutually felt; but she soon found that the conversation was entirely left to her, and could not be long without perceiving that something had occurred which altered Lord Albert's manner. Hoping it, however, only to be one of those fallings-out of lovers which are the renewal of love, Lady Dunmelraise turned the conversation entirely upon the coming drawing-room, and the more interest she seemed to take in her daughter's going into the gay world, the more grave did Lord Albert become: this was a contradiction to what he had expressed respecting that measure, and, as Lady Dunmelraise thought, a caprice of temper, which she was sorry to observe in him. She hoped, however, that the thoughts which involuntarily arose in her mind were groundless, and she determined not to act precipitately; but felt glad that she was come to town, where she would have an opportunity of judging further, and of seeing how matters stood from her own personal observation of Lord Albert's conduct. She considered that to probe her daughter's feelings upon the subject, would be to excite them so painfully, that they might destroy the power of a cool judgment. She therefore resolved to postpone any avowal of her own sentiments, any positive declaration of her own doubts, till the time, which was now fast approaching, for Lady Adeline's ultimate decision, should afford her a proper opportunity of speaking her mind unreservedly to Lord Albert; unless, indeed, circumstances of an imperious kind relative to his conduct should make such a step necessary before that period.

In this disposition of mind, the parties could not enjoy each other's society. The conversation was broken, interrupted, and in itself devoid of interest; so that when Lord Albert arose to take his leave about ten o'clock, Lady Adeline almost felt it a relief. "What, are you going to leave us so soon?" said Lady Dunmelraise, with visible surprise.

"I am sorry that a particular engagement obliges me to go."

"And may I ask," rejoined Lady Dunmelraise, in her quick way when she was not pleased at any thing, "may I take the liberty of asking where you are going?"

"Oh, certainly—to Lady Tilney's."

"To Lady Tilney's party!" with a marked emphasis on the last word; and then checking herself, and resuming her usual dignity of composure, she added, "I hope you will have an agreeable soirée; when one lives out of the world, and grows old, one forgets the delights of these sort of re-unions; but, of course, one must do in London as they do in London; and I believe, like most other things, the habit of attending them becomes a second nature." Lord Albert smiled—it might be in acquiescence, it might be in disdain; and with many good-nights, he slightly touched the hands of Lady Dunmelraise and her daughter, and departed.

There was a silence, an awkward silence; neither liked to express the thought that was uppermost in her mind, for fear of wounding the other. At length Lady Dunmelraise spoke: "It is strange," she said, "to observe the sort of hold which foolish things sometimes obtain over sensible men. The class of persons with whom Lord Albert seems now to be living, are not those I should have conceived that he would ever have selected; but fashion leads young people to do a thousand silly things, which they repent when their ripened judgment shews them in their true colours; and to say truth, I think Lord Albert's manners altogether have not gained by foreign travel. But I suppose I must not express such treason to you, Adeline?" Lady Adeline tried to smile, as she replied:

"I have hardly had time to judge;" and Lady Dunmelraise turned the discourse rather on the associates of Lord Albert than on himself.

"The persons," she said, "he named to us as having been at Restormel, and with whom he now appears so much engaged, are those who live entirely for this world: and not even for the most dignified employments or pursuits of this present existence. Fortune, health, and morals, are all likely to become the prey of a voracious appetite for pleasure; and when we live only to pleasure, we lose all title to being rational souls, and make a wreck of happiness. I am willing to hope and believe, that many are ensnared to tread this Circean circle who are in ignorance of what it leads to; who see in it only a brilliant phantom of amusement, a glittering ignis fatuus that pleases their fancy, but which, alas! I fear, too frequently leads them on, till some entanglement of fortune, or virtue, levels them with its worse members; and from which it is a mercy indeed if they ever escape."

Lady Adeline had listened to her mother with an interest that made her shudder. "And is it, indeed," she cried, "in such a set that Albert is thrown!" while the paleness of her countenance expressed the anguish of her mind.

"I trust not, my dearest child. I do not mean to say, for I have no right so to say, that Lord Albert is habitually one of this set;—heaven forbid!—but that he frequents their society appears evident. However, let us not think evil before it actually occurs; let us judge dispassionately, and see for ourselves. You are now, my love, to enter into the great world under an excellent and loving guide; and having warned you, I leave your own good sense to do the rest." Lady Adeline sighed heavily, and did not seem able at all to rally her spirits. "Now, love, let us turn to lighter matters," said Lady Dunmelraise, "and consider the arrangements of your presentation dress."

"I should prefer its being as simple as possible," said Lady Adeline, "and the rest I leave entirely to your, and," she added hesitatingly, "to Lord Albert's tastes." Her mother shortly after proposed retiring for the night, and trembled as she saw how deeply her daughter's happiness seemed to depend on Lord Albert, perceiving that she referred every trifle to his arbitration.

When he left South Audley Street to go to Lady Tilney's supper party, Lord Albert ran over again in his mind the occurrences of the day, and in Lady Adeline's silence, her manner, her looks, he thought he read an indifference towards himself, which at once piqued and wounded him. In all that had fallen from Lady Dunmelraise, in all that he could gather from her manner towards himself, he could not fix on any thing unkind or unjust; but from the consciousness of his own conduct not having been what it ought, his heart was ill at ease, and he knew not with what right he felt angry; but yet he did so feel, and was tempted to inveigh against the fickleness of woman, while a thought of Mr. Foley obtruded itself among all the rest, and shewed him an imaginary rival.

"Can all this," he asked himself, "be only preparatory to her breaking off her engagement altogether?"

Such was the mood of mind in which Lord Albert entered Lady Tilney's drawing-rooms, and as hardly any of the invited were as yet come from the Opera, he had leisure unmolested to walk through them. They were brilliantly lighted, and filled with all the rifled sweets of the green-house; sweets, which seem but ill suited in their fresh purity for the scene they were brought to adorn.

While the apartments were still empty, he had an opportunity of examining some of the works of art with which they were decorated. He stopped opposite to a Claude, which was certainly a contrast to the feelings of his own mind. The glowing sunrise, the dancing wave, the palace of the Medici, the business of a sea-port, conveyed him in idea to the Pitti Palace. "Often as that subject has been repeated," he said, turning to Mr. Francis Ombre, "by the same pencil, it is always new, always redolent of repose and pleasure; the scintillating sunbeams are still emblematic of that dancing of the heart, which in the morning of our days gilds every thing with beauty: no, there is no after-pleasure which can equal the sunrise of existence; and if ever picture conveyed a moral truth, the pictures of Claude most assuredly have this power."

"Yes," replied Mr. Ombre, "I love to sun myself at a Claude, it is the only sun one does see in this climate." Lord Albert passed on, sighing as he went, and his attention was again arrested by an antique bust of Psyche: "What refinement of tenderness in the eyelid; what soul in the curvature of the lip! how the line swells, and then is lost again in the almost dimpling roundness of the chin! how child-like, and yet how replete with meaning, the turn of the head and neck! it is at once the bud, the flower, the fruit of beauty amalgamated and embodied in the marble."

It was indeed an emblem of soul. And of whom did it remind Lord Albert? Of his own Adeline. His own! there was an electric touch in the thought—was she indeed still his own, or had he lost her for ever? Lady Hamlet Vernon had stood unperceived by him, watching him for some previous minutes, and by that sense which never fails to inform a woman in love, she felt certain from his manner of looking at the Psyche, that it conveyed more to interest him than any mere ideas of virtù could possibly do.

Her agitation was extreme, and she could scarcely master it so as to wear a semblance of composure; at length, though the part she had to play was a difficult one, she determined on fulfilling her assignation; and having previously decided how she should manage what she had to do, she went up to him, and at the very moment he was asking himself whether or not he had lost Adeline for ever, a soft voice awoke him to a sense of who and where he was: he turned round and beheld Lady Hamlet Vernon. The recognition of any one whom we believe has an interest in us when the heart feels desolate, is a powerful cordial to the spirits.

Lord Albert greeted her with an animation of pleasure that he was scarcely himself aware of, and which elicited from her an answering sentiment of kindness, that at once cheered and gave him new life. "I have much to say to you," he whispered; "let us sit down in yonder alcove, which is unoccupied, and where we may have an opportunity of speaking unheard by others." He offered her his arm, which she accepted, and they moved to that part of the apartment. At the same instant Lady Glenmore entered, leaning on her husband's arm, and a crowd followed which filled the room. Among these, Mr. Leslie Winyard and Lady Tenderden were conspicuous personages: but Lady Glenmore was the nouveauté du jour. When Georgina Melcomb was an unmarried girl, nobody looked at her, or thought about her; but now that she was to play a part, and in her turn become a card to play in the game of fashion, all eyes were fixed upon her. At this moment she was the very picture of innocent happiness, and in the countenance of her husband shone the reflection of her own felicity. There is something in that sort of happiness which involuntarily inspires respect, and to all hearts that are not dead to nature, there is awakened a simultaneous sensation of pleasure.

But yet there are serpents in the world, who, envious of such pure bliss, seek only its destruction. "Really," said Mr. Leslie Winyard to Lady Tenderden, "that is a fine-looking creature!" speaking of Lady Glenmore as she stood talking with animation to her husband, "and when she has rubbed off a little of her coarseness, and become somewhat less conjugally affected, I don't know but what I may do her the honour to talk to her sometimes myself." Lady Tenderden laughed as she replied,

"There is no saying how condescending you may become—but when do you intend to begin? don't you see that if she is allowed to go on in this way, she will never get out Of it? and as I have undertaken her education myself, I do beg that you will by some contrivance unhook her from Lord Glenmore, and leave me to engage his attention while I make my pupil over to you for the evening, vraiment ça vaut la peine; only la jeune Ladi est tant soit peu maussade et il faut la mettre sur le bon chemin."

"With all my heart; if you will only begin the attack I will follow it up."

"Allons donc," she replied, taking his arm and going towards the Glenmores.

The usual nothings of common-place talk, the unmeaning greetings, and the self-same observations on singers and dancers which have been made a hundred times before, opened the meditated campaign. "My dear Lord Glenmore," said Lady Tenderden, "I have long wished to consult you about a changement de décoration" (and she looked at Mr. Leslie Winyard) "which I purpose making in my house in town, and I have some thoughts of copying in part the Rotunda-room which is here, only there are some objections to be made to it, which I wish to avoid if possible, and I am desirous that you should assist me with your perfection of taste; have the kindness for a moment to come with me—but I could not think of giving Lady Glenmore that trouble. There, Mr. Winyard, while I run away with my lord, do you make the preux chevalier, and defend Lady Glenmore from all dangers."

So saying, she passed her arm through Lord Glenmore's and led him away. Lady Glenmore looked for a moment as if she intended to follow, and even half rose from her chair for that purpose; but the lessons Lady Tenderden had given her about not seeming to pursue her husband recurred to her, and she sat down again, blushing and breathless, and evidently discomposed. Mr. Leslie Winyard enjoyed the scene: "shall I call Lord Glenmore back again?" he asked, after fixing his eyes upon her maliciously, "or will you allow me to conduct you to him?" and he smiled, evidently in ridicule at her awkwardness. But she was not a fool, though ignorant of the ways of the world; and in a few minutes she recovered herself, and spoke uncommonly well on common-place topics, to the astonishment of her hearer: she even passed upon the set to which he belonged some very stinging remarks, the more so from their being uttered as if unconscious that they were so, or that he was one of the persons to whom they applied.

"Do you know," said he, gazing at her with looks of admiration, "do you know you are a very extraordinary personage? Suffer me to say that this is all very well in joke, but if you are serious in your opinions, we must undergo a great revolution, or we shall not be at all able to live with you. I do not pretend," he said, "to decide who is in the right or who is in the wrong, but I am very certain of one thing, a change must take place somewhere, if your ideas of things in general are correct." Lady Glenmore replied, "that she was very certain her ideas would not change;" to which he rejoined, "nous verrons."

At that moment a move in the room announced that every one was going to supper, and the doors were thrown open into an adjoining apartment, towards which there was a general rush. Lady Glenmore again cast her eye anxiously around, but in vain—her husband was not to be seen.

"Allow me," said two or three young men, offering their arm to her, "to hand you to supper," and in the confusion she took that of Mr. Leslie Winyard. "But," he observed, "you seem so uneasy, that if you will allow me, I will merely see you agreeably placed, and go in quest of this envied Lord Glenmore."

"You are very good," she replied, "but I cannot think of giving you that trouble."

"Oh dear, I beg you will not mention it; and the mission is so new a one, that I am particularly proud to be employed in executing it."

"How, new? Is there any thing extraordinary in wishing to know whether one's husband chooses one should go home, or whether he stays supper or not?"

"Yes, Lady Glenmore! most new! most wonderful! But I do not think it is a fashion that will generally take. But here is a table with some seats unoccupied. Will you allow me to recommend your availing yourself of it? It seems to be the choice of the chosen; here is Lady Hamlet Vernon, and Lord D'Esterre, and the Boileaus, and the Ellersbys, and Mr. Spencer Newcomb; do take this seat, and I will go in quest of your lord and master. But see, he has not fallen into any of the whirlpools or quicksands that you seem to apprehend for him in these dangerous regions, for by all that is fortunate there he is next to Lady Tenderden."

"Where?" cried Lady Glenmore, looking eagerly around.

"The third table from us, just behind Lady Baskerville; however, if you are still uneasy, you have only to command me."

"No, it is his intention to remain for supper, and all is well, for if he had wanted me he would have sought for me."

"Always depend upon that. And now what shall I help you to?" Lady Glenmore, in her own mind, was not at all satisfied as to the danger of whirlpools and quicksands, though they were of another sort from those Mr. Winyard had passed his jokes on; but again Lady Tenderden's advice recurred to her, which had acquired consequence from Lord Glenmore's opinion of that lady, and she endeavoured to enter into the conversation of those around her. It was a sort of dead language as yet to her ears, but she could perceive that, under disguise, many allusions were made to herself, and to her untutored behaviour, which checked her natural flow of spirits, and she gradually became silent, and could no longer conceal her anxious impatience to be once more safe under her husband's wing. The very first person that arose afforded her an opportunity of doing so likewise, and making a sign to Lord Glenmore, she waited for him in the door-way. He was not long before he joined her, and with apparently mutual satisfaction they once more found themselves together. This difference, however, existed in their feelings, that Lord Glenmore, though honourable himself, and incapable of thinking really ill of others, however he might consider them trifling, yet from habit and the manners of the world, had not an idea of watching his wife's conduct in public.

Lord Glenmore's character has been already described; but it has not perhaps been sufficiently explained how very much his guileless unsuspecting nature laid him open to become the prey of others who were the reverse. Let no man cast a young wife (unprepared for the dangers she will meet with) upon the licentious intercourse of the world of ton, nor leave her, unguarded by his presence and authority, to stem the tide of vice which may steal in upon her unawares. It is a husband's duty to be the guide and support of his wife; and, without tyranny, but with the determined rectitude of tender solicitude, to watch over their mutual interests. The maxim so often quoted, that "the wife whom a man can doubt is not worthy of his regard," is not always a true one. Every mortal is liable to err—and why should woman, the weaker sex, be cast upon the world, and committed to its dangers, without stay or support from her natural guardian and protector?

The fact is, it is a maxim often resorted to in idleness or indifference, and is more frequently an apology for bad conduct in those who make it, than arising from any true nobility of soul or any moral or religious principle. Lord Glenmore, from living in the midst of the world of fashion, and from never having (a rare instance) been spoiled by such a life, was less aware than any human being perhaps of the danger to which he was exposing his young wife. Had any body told him the terms upon which she was to be admitted as one of the élite of ton, in plain language, he would have started with disgust and horror from all such association; but, like some few, deceived as he was by specious appearances, he saw nothing in the set but the airiness of fashion, and the folly, at worst, of a few months during the London season; whereas the truth stood thus.—

The husband of an Exclusive must be exclusively given to his own devices, without ever making his wife a party at all concerned in them; unless, indeed, they arrive at that acmé of exclusive perfection when they boast to each other of the degrading license of their lives, and tell of their different favourites, comparing the relative merits of these with that of others of the same society. Into the mysteries of an exclusive coterie no unmarried woman, that is to say, no girls, are to be admitted—in order that the conversation may be unchecked. The more admirers a married woman has, the higher her reputation amongst them; and it is never quite complete till some one adorateur moving in the same circle is the ami preféré. If the cavalier be a man of title, power, and wealth, then the lady has the world—their world—at her feet. This arrangement ensures the latter (whatever her husband's fortune may be) the advantages of dress and equipage, from which expense he is then exonerated; and while he has the credit of keeping up a tasteful establishment, he is exempted from all trouble or thought as to the means by which it is so kept. But as in all communities there are different degrees of distinction, so in this,—those who commence their career have a certain rubicon to pass through before they arrive at such a height of perfection.

The first requisite for a newly-initiated member to know is, how to cut all friends and relations who are not deemed worthy of being of a certain coterie;—the next, is to dress after a particular fashion, talk a particular species of language, not know any thing or any person that does not carry the mark of the coterie, and speak in a peculiar tone of voice. To hold any conversation which deserves that name is called being prosy;—to understand any thing beyond the costume of life, pedantic.

Whatever vice or demoralization may exist in character, providing it exist with what they call good taste (that idol of their idolatry), is varnished over. If not approved openly, it is tacitly assented to, and allowed to pass as a venial error; whereas whatever takes place contrary to this good taste, though in itself perfectly innocent, tending it may be to virtue rather than vice, is insufferable—not to be named among them; and unfits the offending parties from communication with the Exclusives. Indignation expressed at crime is voted vulgar; any natural expression of the feelings, ill-breeding; and right and wrong, in short, consists in being, or not being, one of the set. To their choice meetings children dare not invite parents, or brothers and sisters of one another, except under their seal and sign-manual. The husbands and wives, who are members of the association, are invariably persons who have separate interests, separate views, and agree only in this one point, namely, in being a cloak for each other's follies or vices.

It is to be hoped, and indeed may be asserted with truth, that many are ensnared to tread this Circean circle who are in ignorance of what it leads to; who see in it only a brilliant phantasm of pleasure and of pride; an ignis fatuus that pleases their fancy; but which terminates too frequently in leading them on, till some entanglement of fortune, or virtue, levels them with its worse members; and from which it is a mercy indeed if they ever escape.

An open defiance of received laws and customs, a coarse career of vicious pleasure, a bold avowal of any illegitimate pursuit, would startle and astound many a wavering mind; but the slow-sapping mischief of this love of exclusiveness, the airy indifference with which all the safeguards of conduct are broken down, the cruel heartlessness which lies concealed under apparently indifferent actions, the artful weaning of the mind from all fixed principle of conduct, these are the means they use; and which, step by step, adulterate the character, indurate the heart, pollute the judgment, and are subversive of every thing that is dignified or amiable in human nature. It is precisely because the evil works so insidiously, and under such a variety of masks (under none more than a placid insouciance), a fortuitous occurrence of accidents—that the veil should be drawn aside, and that it should be set forth in its native deformity and danger.

CHAPTER V.

A RURAL EXCURSION.

A brilliant water party had been arranged among the exclusives, to go to Richmond, merely to view the scene; it consisted of the Glenmores, Baskervilles, Lady Tenderden, Comtesse Leinsengen, Lady Tilney, Lord Boileau, Sir William Temple, Lord De Chere, Mr. Winyard, Mr. Spencer Newcomb, Comte Leinsengen, and a few other young men of their set.

When the day arrived, Lord Glenmore told his wife that as he was on a committee of the House, he should not be able to accompany her.

"Then I would far rather not go myself."

"Do not be so childish," he said; "for as we could not, at all events, be together, you might just as well be at Richmond as here; and the day is beautiful, so that I hope you will have a pleasant excursion." Lady Glenmore sighed, and hung her head, while a tear came into her eye.