If a foreigner would have a comprehensive view of our system of English society all at one glance, let him go into the yard at Tattersall's any crowded "comparing day," before one of our great events on the turf. There will he see, in its highest perfection, the apparent anomaly of aristocratic opinions and democratic habits, the social contradiction by which the peer reconciles his familiarity with the Leg, and his _hauteur_ towards those almost his equals in rank, who do not happen to be "of his own set." There he may behold Privy Councillors rubbing shoulders with convicted swindlers, n.o.blemen of unstained lineage, themselves the "mirror of honour," pa.s.sing their jests for the time, on terms of the most perfect equality, with individuals whose only merit is success; and that indescribable immunity some persons are allowed to enjoy, by which, according to the proverb, "one man is ent.i.tled to steal a horse, when another may not even look at a halter." But this apparent equality can only flourish in the stifling atmosphere of the ring, or the free breezes of Newmarket Heath. Directly the book is shut my lord is a very different man, and Tom This or d.i.c.k That would find it another story altogether were he to expect the same familiarity in the county-rooms or the hunting-field which he has enjoyed in that vortex of speculation, where, after all, he merely represents a "given quant.i.ty," as a layer of the odds, and where his money is as good as another man's, or, at least, is so considered. Nay, the very crossing which divides Grosvenor Place from the Park is a line of demarcation quite sufficient to convert the knowing, off-hand nod of our lordly speculator into the stiff, cold bow and studiously polite greeting of the "Grand Seigneur." Verily, would-be gentlemen, who take to racing as a means of "getting into society," must often find themselves grievously deceived. But Lord Mount Helicon is in the thick of it.

Tattersall greets him with that respectful air which his good taste never permits him to lay aside, whether he is discussing a matter of thousands with Sir Peter Plenipo, or arranging the sale of a forty-pound hack for an ensign in the Guards; therefore is he himself respected by all. "_You_ should have bought two of the yearlings, my lord," says he, in his quiet, pleasant voice; "Colonel Cavesson never sent us up such a lot in his life before."

"Ha! Mount!" exclaims Lord Middle Mile, with a hearty smack on his friend's shoulders, "the very man I wanted to see," and straightway he draws him aside, and plunges into an earnest conversation, in which, ever and anon, the whispered words--"Carry the weight," "Stay the distance," and "Stand _a cracker_ on Sennacherib," are distinctly audible.

"I can afford to lay your lordship seven to one," observes an extra-polite individual, who seems to consider the laying and taking the odds as the normal condition of man, and whose superabundant courtesy is only equalled by the deliberate carefulness of his every movement, masking, as it does, the lightning perception of the hawk, and, shall we add, the insatiable rapacity of that bird of prey? Mount Helicon moves from one group to another, intent on the business in hand. He invests largely against "Nesselrode" (not the diplomatist nor the pudding, but the race-horse of that name), and backs "Sennacherib"

heavily for the Goodwood Cup. He takes the odds to a hundred pounds, besides, from his polite friend, "who regrets he cannot offer him a point or two more," and, on looking over the well-filled pages of his book, hugs himself with the self-satisfied feeling of a man who has done a good day's work, and effected the crowning stroke to a flourishing speculation.

As he walks up the yard a quick step follows close upon him, a hand is laid upon his shoulder, and a well-known voice greets him in drawling tones, which he recognises as the property of our military Adonis, the irresistible Captain Lacquers. "Going to the Park, Mount?" says the hussar, with more animation than he usually betrays. "If you've a mind for a turn, I'll send my cab away;" and the peer, who cultivates Lacquers, as he himself says, "for amus.e.m.e.nt, just as he goes to see Keeley," replying in the affirmative, a tiny child, in top-boots and a c.o.c.kade, is with difficulty woke, and dismissed, in company with a gigantic chestnut horse, towards his own stables. How that urchin, who, being deprived of his natural rest at night, constantly sleeps whilst driving by day, is to steer through the omnibuses in Piccadilly, is a matter of speculation for those who love "horrid accidents"; but it is fortunate that the magnificent animal knows his own way home, and will only stop once, at a door in Park Lane, where he is used to being pulled up, and where, we are concerned to add, his master has no business, although he is sufficiently welcome. "The fact is, I want to consult you, Mount, about a deuced ticklish affair," proceeded the dandy, as he linked his arm in his companion's, and wended his way leisurely towards the Park.

"Not going to call anybody out, are you?" rejoined Mount, with a quaint expression of countenance. "'Pon my soul, if you are, I'll put you up with your back to a tree, or along a furrow, or get you shot somehow, and then no one will ever ask me to be a 'friend' again."

"Worse than that," replied Lacquers, looking very grave; "I'm in a regular fix--_up a tree_, by Jove. Fact is, I'm thinking of marrying--marrying, you know; devilish bad business, isn't it?"

"Why, that depends," said his confidant; "of course you'll be a great loss, and all that; break so many hearts too; but then, think--the duty you owe your country. The breed of such men must not be allowed to become extinct. No; I should say you ought to make the sacrifice."

Lacquers looked immensely comforted, and went on--"Well, I've made arrangements--that's to say, I've ordered some of the things--dressing-case, set of phaeton-harness, large chest of cigars--but, of course, it's no use getting everything till it's all settled. Now, _you_ know, Mount, I'm a deuced domestic fellow, likely to make a girl happy. I'm not one of your tearing dogs that require constant excitement; I could live in the country quite contentedly part of the year. I've got resources within myself--I'm fond of hunting and shooting and--no, I can't stand fishing, but still, don't you think I'm just the man to settle?"

"Certainly; it's all you're fit for," replied his friend.

"Well, now to the point. I've not asked the girl yet, you know, but I don't antic.i.p.ate much difficulty there," and the suitor smoothed his moustaches with a self-satisfied smile; "but, of course, the relations will make a bother about settlements, 'love light as air,' you know, and 'human flies,' and that; still we must provide for everything.

Well, _my_ lawyer informs me that I can't settle anything during my brother's lifetime, and he's just a year older than myself--that's what I call 'a stopper.' Now, Mount, you're a sharp fellow--man of intellect, you know--'gad, I wouldn't give a pin for a fellow without brains--what do you advise me to do?"

This was rather a poser, even for a gentleman of Lord Mount Helicon's fertile resources; but he was never long at a loss, so as he took off his hat to a very pretty woman in a barouche, he replied, in his off-hand way, "Do? why, elope, my good fellow--run away with her--carry her off like a Sabine bride, only let her take all her clothes with her--save you a _trousseau_. Has she money?"

"Plenty, I fancy; from what I hear, I should think Miss Kettering can't have less than----"

"The devil!" interrupted Lord Mount Helicon, in a tone that would have made most men start. "You don't mean to say _you_ want to marry Miss Kettering?"

"Well, I think _she_ wants to marry _me_," rejoined Lacquers, perfectly unmoved; "and you know one can't refuse a lady; but it's only fair to say she hasn't actually _asked_ me."

Lord Mount Helicon felt for a moment intensely disgusted. Blanche's beauty, and her simple, pretty manner, had touched him, as far as a man could be touched who had so many irons in the fire as his lordship, but the impulse for _fun_, the delight he experienced in quizzing his unsuspecting friend, soon overcame all other feelings, and he proceeded to egg Lacquers on, and a.s.sure him of his undoubted success, for the express purpose of amusing himself with the hussar's method of courtship. "Besides," thought he, "such a flat as this hanging about her will keep the other fellows off; and with a girl like _her_, I shall have little difficulty in 'cutting _him_ out.'" So he advised his friend to take time, and "allow her to get accustomed to his society, and gradually entangled in his fascinations; and then, my dear fellow," he added, "when she finds she can't live without you--when she has got used to your engaging ways, as she is to her poodle's--when she can no more bear to be parted from you than from her bullfinch, then speak up like a man--bring all your science into play--come with a rush--and win cleverly at the finish!"

"Ay, that's all very well," mused the captain, "that's just my idea; but in the meantime some fellow might cut me out. Now, there's our Major--D'Orville, you know ('gad, how hot it is! let's lean over the rails)--D'Orville seems to be always in Grosvenor Square. He's an old fellow, too, but he has a deuced taking way with women. I don't know what they see in him either. To be sure he _was_ good-looking; but he's a man of no education" (Lacquers himself could scarcely spell his own name), "and he must be forty, if he's a day. Look at this fellow on the black cob. By Jove! it's old Bounce, and talk of the devil--there's D'Orville riding with Miss Kettering next the rails.

This _is_ a go."

Now, the little guileless conversation we have here related was hardly more worthy of record than the hundred and one nothings by the interchange of which gentlemen of the present day veil their want of ideas from each other, save for the fact of its being overheard by ears into which it sank like molten lead, creating an effect far out of proportion to its own triviality. Frank Hardingstone was walking close behind the speakers, and unwittingly heard their whole dialogue, even to the concluding remark with which Lacquers, as he leaned his elbows on the rails, and pa.s.sed the frequenters of "the Ride" in review before him, expressed his disapprobation of the terms on which Major D'Orville stood with Blanche Kettering. Poor Frank! How often a casual word, dropped perhaps in jest from a c.o.xcomb's lips, has power to wring an honest, manly heart to very agony! Our man of action had been endeavouring, ever since the Guyville ball, to drive Blanche's image from his thoughts, with an energy worthy of better success than it obtained. He had busied himself at his country place with his farm and his library and his tenants and his poor, and had found it all in vain. The fact is, he was absurdly in love with Blanche--that was the long and short of it--and after months of self-restraint and self-denial and discomfort, he resolved to do what he had better have done at first, to go to London, mingle in society, and enter the lists for his lady-love on equal terms with his rivals. And this was the encouragement he received on his appearance in the metropolis. He had a great mind to go straight home again, so he resolved to call on the morrow in Grosvenor Square, to ascertain with his own eyes the utter hopelessness of his affection, and then--why, then make up his mind to the worst, and bear his destiny like a man, though the world would be a lonely world to him for evermore. Frank was still young, and would have repelled indignantly the consolation, had such been offered him, of brighter eyes and a happier future. No, at his age there is but one woman in the universe. Seared, callous hearts, that have sustained many a campaign, know better; but verily in this respect we hold that ignorance is bliss. Frank, too, leaned against the rails when Mount Helicon and Lacquers pa.s.sed on, and gazed upon the sunshiny, gaudy scene around him with a wistful eye and an aching heart.

CHAPTER XIV

TO PERSONS ABOUT TO MARRY

A LOUNGE IN THE PARK--THE NOON OF FASHION--THE FAIR EQUESTRIAN--A LOVER ON FOOT--BOUNCE'S COMFORTERS--THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER--A FRIEND'S ADVICE

It was high noon in the great world of London--that is to say, it was about half-past five P.M.--and the children of Mammon were in full dress. In the streets, gay, glittering, well-appointed carriages were bowling smoothly along, with sleek horses stepping proudly together, and turning, as coachmen say, on a sixpence, guided by skilful pilots who could drive to an inch. Inside, shaded by parasols of the most gorgeous hues, sat fair delicate women, dressed to the utmost perfection of the art, with aerial bonnets at the very back of their glossy hair and dainty heads, bent down as they reclined upon their cushions till every upward glance shot from beneath those sweeping eyelashes bore a tenfold shaft of conquest against the world. Anon taper fingers in white kid gloves were kissed to a dandy on the pavement, and the fortunate dandy bowed, and sprang erect again, a taller man by an inch. 'Tis always judicious to _appear_ on the best of terms with smart ladies in coroneted carriages. Bond Street was in a state of siege--"Redmayne's" looked like a beehive--"Hunt and Roskell's" resembled a flower-show--country cousins were bewildered and overcome--quiet old gentlemen like ourselves were pining for their strawberries and their roses--wearied servants meditated on the charms of beer--the narrow strip of sky overhead smiled blue as the Mediterranean, and the tide of carriages in Piccadilly was like the roar of the ocean. In the Park, though the s.p.a.ce was greater, yet did the crowd appear no less--double lines of carriages blocked up the drive by the Serpentine, and una.s.suming broughams with provokingly pretty faces inside halted perforce amongst the matronage of England, defiant in the liveries and escutcheons of their lawful lords. In the Ride the plot was thickening still, and half a country seemed to be gathering on "the broad road"--we speak literally, not metaphorically--mounted on steeds worth a prince's ransom, we ought to say, but here our conscientious regard for verity compels us to stop short, and to remark that although every now and then our eye may be gladdened by that most beautiful of all spectacles, a handsome woman on a fine horse, yet in many sorry instances the gentlemen of England, who "sit at home at ease," effectually prevent their wives and daughters from enjoying a like sedentary composure, by mounting them on the veriest "_rips_" that ever disgraced a side-saddle. "He'll do to carry a lady," they say of some wretch that has neither pace nor strength nor action for themselves, and forthwith gentle woman, blest in her ignorance, t.i.ttups along, nothing doubting, upon this tottering skeleton. Fortune favours her own s.e.x, but _if_ anything happens a woman is almost sure to be hurt. No--to carry a lady a horse ought to be as near perfection as it is possible for that animal to arrive--strong, fast, well-shaped, handsome, and fine-tempered, his good qualities and his value should correspond with the treasure and the charms which are confided to his charge. But we have said there are exceptions, and Blanche's bay horse, "Water King," was a bright particular star among his equine fellows. Humble pedestrians stopped to gaze open-mouthed on that shapely form--the marble crest, the silky mane, the small quivering ear, the wide proud nostril, and the game wild eye--the round powerful frame, hard and smooth and well-defined as sculptured marble, showing on the "off-side" its whole lengthy proportions uninterrupted save by girth and saddle-flap, and the little edge of cambric handkerchief peeping from the latter.

High-couraged as he was gentle, few horses could canter up the Ride like "Water King," and as he bent himself to his mistress's hand, snorting in his pride, his thin black tail swishing in the air, and his glossy skin flecked with foam, many a smart philosopher of the "_nil admirari_" school turned upon his saddle to approve, and drawled to his brother idler, "'Gad, that's a monstrous clever horse, and _rather_ a pretty girl riding him." Major D'Orville thought they were a charming couple as he accompanied Miss Kettering and her steed with the careful air of proprietorship seldom a.s.sumed save by an accepted suitor. The Major was a delightful companion for the Park. He knew everybody, and everybody knew him. He had the knack of making that sort of quiet disjointed conversation which accords so well with an equestrian _tete-a-tete_. Defend us at all times from a long story, but especially on horse-back! The Major's remarks, however, were seldom too diffuse. "You see that man on the cream-coloured horse," he would say; "that's Discount, the famous money-lender. He gave a dinner yesterday to ten people that cost a hundred pounds, and he is telling everybody to-day all the particulars of the 'carte' and the 'bill.' Do you know that lady with the dark eyes and a netting all over her horse?--that's Lady Legerdemain--she keeps a legion of spirits, as she says, and will raise the dead for you any night you like to go to her house in Tyburnia proper." "How shocking!" Blanche replies, with a look of incredulity. "Fact, I a.s.sure you," returns the Major. "Sir Roger Rearsby asked to see an old brother-officer who was killed at Toulouse, and they showed him his own French cook! but Lady Legerdemain says the spirits are fallible, just like ourselves. Who is this in uniform?--why, it's 'Uppy'--he don't look very disconsolate, does he, Miss Kettering?" and the Major smiled a meaning smile, and Blanche looked down and blushed. "Some men would not 'wear the willow'

so contentedly," proceeded D'Orville, lowering his voice to half-melancholy tone--"it's setting too much upon a cast to ask a question when a negative is to swamp one's happiness for life. I honour the man that has the courage to do it, but for my part I confess I have _not_." "I never knew you were deficient in that particular," replied Blanche, looking down again, and blushing deeper than before. Blanche! Blanche! you little coquette, you are indeed coming on in the atmosphere of London--you like the Major very much, but you do not like him well enough to marry him--yet you would be unhappy to lose him, you spoilt child!--and so you lead him on like this, and look more bewitching than ever with those downcast eyes and long, silky lashes. Notwithstanding their difference of years, our pair are playing a game very common in society, called "Diamond cut diamond." "I am a thorough coward in some things," returned D'Orville, not without a flush of conscious pride, as he remembered how his spirit used to rise with the tide of battle; "like all other cowards, nothing would make me bold but the certainty of success." He pressed closer to "Water King's" side, and sank his voice almost to a whisper as he added--"Could I but hope for _that_, I could dare anything.

Could I but think that my devotion, my idolatry, was not entirely thrown away, I should be----" The Major stopped short, for Blanche turned pale as death, and her head drooped as if she must have fallen from her horse.

What made the girl start and sicken as though an adder had stung her to the quick? What made her lean her little hand for support on "Water King's" strong, firm neck? Because her brain was reeling, and everything--joy--sunshine--existence--seemed to be pa.s.sing away. Was it for the mute reproach conveyed by that pale face amongst the crowd--was it for the calm, broad eye, bent on her "more in sorrow than in anger," and seeming, as it gazed, to bid her an eternal farewell?

Frank Hardingstone had seen it all. Un.o.bserved himself among the pedestrians that thronged the footway, he had marked Blanche and her cavalier as they paced slowly down the Ride, had marked the girl's flush of triumph as her admirer drew closer and closer to her side, had marked that nameless "something" between the pair which people can never entirely conceal when they "understand each other," and had drawn his own conclusions from the sight. But the decencies of society must be preserved, though the heart is breaking, and Frank drew himself up and took his hat off with a bow that did honour to his qualities as an actor. The old gentleman in gaiters and the tall boy from Eton on either side of him never guessed the amount of mental agony undergone by a fellow-creature whom they actually touched!

Civilisation has its tortures as well as barbarism. Blanche, too, returned the courtly gesture, but her weaker nature was scarcely equal to the effort, and had it not been that Uncle Baldwin had fidgeted up, on the instant, in more than his usual hurry to get home, she was conscious that her strength must have given way, and--feel for her, beautiful and daring Amazons who frequent the Ride!--that she must have burst into tears, and made a scene in the Park!

Now old Bounce, albeit a gentleman of extremely punctual habits, as is often the case with those who have nothing to do, and, moreover, a man of healthy appet.i.te and a strong regard for the dinner-hour, had never before betrayed such a morbid anxiety to get home and dress as on the occasion in question. The fact is, he, too, was restless and excited, although the sensation had its own peculiar charms for the veteran, who entertained at sixty a spice of that romance which is often erroneously considered peculiar to sixteen. Yes, "the boy with the bow" no more disdained to take a shot at Bounce than at Falstaff, and our old friend was even now balancing on the brink of that eventful plunge which, if not made before "the grand climacteric," it is generally thought advisable to postpone _sine die_. Mary Delaval had made an unconscious conquest. The feeling had been gradually but surely developed, and the constant presence of such a woman had been too much, even for a heart hardened by more than forty years of soldiering, baked by an Indian sun, and further defended by triple plies of flannel, worn for chronic rheumatism, and usually esteemed as effective a rampart against the a.s.saults of love as the "aes triplex"

of Horace itself. First the General thought, "This Mrs. Delaval was a very nice creature. Zounds! it's lucky for her I'm not a younger man!"

then he arrived at "_Beautiful_ woman, begad. _Zounds!_ it's lucky for _me_ she's not half aware of her attractions!" and from that the transition was easy and natural to "Sensible person; such manners, such dignity; fit for any position in the world. Zounds! I'll make her Mrs. Bounce--do as I like--my own commanding-officer, n.o.body else to consult--of course _she_ won't throw such a chance away." This latter consideration, however, although he repeated it to himself twenty times a day, had hitherto prevented the General from making any decided attack. When a man, even an old one, _really_ cares for a woman, he is always somewhat diffident of success, and Mary's s.e.xagenarian suitor, though bold as bra.s.s in theory, was like any other lover in practice. But the breakfast at the barracks had wonderfully encouraged the General. He found Mrs. Delaval constantly at his side. He knew nothing of her previous acquaintance with D'Orville, still less could he guess at the secret which lay buried in her heart, and which was fading her beauty and deepening her expression day by day. How could he tell whose tears they were that blistered the newspaper on that "African Mail" column?--so the natural conclusion at which he arrived was, that the same charms which had done such execution in India, and had driven the Cheltenham widow to the verge of despair, were again at their old tricks; and that, having succeeded in attaching the most adorable of her s.e.x, it only remained for him, in common humanity, to present her with all that was left of his fascinating self. And now began in earnest the General's qualms and misgivings. It was a tremendous step; he had never done it before; though often on the brink, he had always drawn back in time, and yet many of his old friends had got through it. Mulligatawney had married a widow--by the by, was Mrs. Delaval a widow? he never thought of asking--perhaps her husband was alive! At any rate this state of uncertainty was not to be borne, and after consulting one or two of his old cronies, and getting their opinions, he would take some decided step--that he would--ask the question, and stand the shot like a man. The General agreed with Montrose--

"He either fears his fate too much, Or his deserts are small, Who dares not put it to the touch, To win or lose it all."

In pursuance of this doughty resolution, our veteran warrior took advantage of his niece's long _tete-a-tete_ with Major D'Orville to drop behind on the black cob, and sound his two old friends, Mulligatawney of the Civil Service, and Sir Bloomer b.u.t.tercup of no service at all, save that of the ladies, on the important step which he meditated taking.

"Lonely place, London," said the General, reining in the cob, and settling himself into what he considered a becoming att.i.tude, "at least for a bachelor. No solitude like that of a crowd.--What?"

"Better be alone than bothered to death by women," growled Mulligatawney, a thin, withered, sour-looking individual, with a long yellow face. "I _like_ London, _en garcon_, only Mrs. Mulligatawney always _will_ come up whenever I do. Egad, you bachelors don't know when you're well off."

"Poor bachelors," simpered Sir Bloomer b.u.t.tercup, riding up with his best air, he having dropped behind (a young rogue!) to make eyes at a very smart lady on the _trottoir_. "Poor fellows, n.o.body lets us alone, Bounce, and yet we're perfectly harmless--innocent as doves. I wish I was married, though, too; it fixes one, eh? keeps the b.u.t.terfly constant to the rose;" and Sir Bloomer heaved his padded chest with an admirably got-up sigh, still shooting _oeillades_ at the nowise disconcerted lady on the _trottoir_. You would hardly have guessed Sir Bloomer to be sixty-five; at least, not as he appeared before the world on that cantering grey horse. To be sure, he had his riding costume on; riding hat, riding wig, riding coat, trousers, boots, and padding; not to mention a belt, the loosening of which let the whole fabric fall to pieces. They say he is lifted on his horse; we have reason to believe he could not _walk_ five yards in that dress to save his life. Perhaps if we saw him, as his valet does, divested of his beautiful white teeth, his dark hair and whiskers, his florid healthy colour, and that stalwart deep-chested figure of buckram and wadding which encases the real man within, we might not be disposed to question the accuracy of Burke's "Peerage and Baronetage" in point of dates. But as he sits now, on his high broke horse, in his well-stuffed saddle, the very youngest of the shavelings who aspire to dandyism call him "b.u.t.tercup" to his face, and plume themselves on his notice, and quote him, and look up to him, not as a beacon, but an example.

"You're _right_, sir," says the General, with his accustomed energy, in a tone that makes the black cob start beneath him. "Don't tell me--should have married forty years ago. Never mind; better late than never. Now, I'll tell you, I've thought of it. We're not to live entirely for ourselves. How d'ye mean? I've thought of it, I tell you!"

"_Thought_ of it, have you?" rejoined Mulligatawney, with a grim smile; "then at _your_ time of life, Bounce, I should recommend you to confine yourself to _thinking_ of it."

"Not at all, my dear fellow," lisps Sir Bloomer. "Bounce, I congratulate you. Introduce me, _pray_. Is she charming? young?

beautiful? graceful? Happy Bounce--lucky dog--irresistible warrior!"

The General feels three inches taller, and resolves to settle the matter the instant he gets home. But Mulligatawney interposes with his sardonic grin. "No fool like an old one. You'll excuse me, but if you ask my advice, I'll give it you in three words, 'Do and Repent'; you'll never regret it but once--_experto crede_." The General turns from one to the other, like the Wild Huntsman between his ghostly advisers, the Radiant Spirit on his white charger, and the Mocking Demon on his steed from h.e.l.l--he feels quite incapable of making up his mind.

"Delightful state," says Sir Bloomer;--"Always in hot water," growls Mulligatawney. "Lovely woman; affectionate nurse; take care of you when you're ill," pleads the one;--"Cross as two sticks; open carriage in an east wind; give a ball when you've got the gout," urges the other. "Interchange of sentiment; linked in rosy chains; heaven upon earth," lisps the ancient dandy;--"Always quarrelling; Kilkenny cats; if you _must_ go to the devil, go your own way, but not in double harness," grunts the world-worn cynic: and the General turns his cob's head and accompanies his niece home, more perplexed than ever, as is usually the case with a man when, bethinking him that "in the mult.i.tude of counsellors there is safety," he has been led into the hopeless labyrinth of "talking the matter over with a few friends."

CHAPTER XV

PENELOPE AND HER SUITORS

RECONNOITRING--BLANCHE'S ALb.u.m--"SITTING HIM OUT"--CROSS-PURPOSES--A SMITTEN DANDY--HAIRBLOWER IN LONDON--THE TRUE-BLUE KAFFIRS--WETTING A PLANT--GOOD ADVICE--A CURE FOR LOW SPIRITS--THE REAL GLa.s.s SLIPPERS

"Look who it is, Rosine!" exclaimed Blanche, as her maid rushed to the window of her dressing-room, commanding as it did a view of Grosvenor Square, and a peep at every visitor who came to that front door, which was even now reverberating from a knock applied by no feeble hand.

"Il n'y a pas de voiture, mademoiselle," replied Rosine; "ce n'est qu'un monsieur a pied--mais il n'est pas mal, lui, je trouve." The latter observation escaped Rosine more as a private reflection of her own than a remark for her lady's ear, and was indeed no more than due to the general appearance of Frank Hardingstone, as he stood at that well-known door, his strong heart beating like a girl's.

"Run, and say I'll be down directly, Rosine, if it's any one for me,"

said Blanche, her colour rising as she thought _who_ it was likely to be, and wondered why he had not called before, and determined to punish him and keep him waiting, and be very cold when they _did_ meet, and so show him that she did not choose to be accountable to _him_ indeed for her actions, and would ride in the Park with whom she pleased, and was utterly indifferent to his good opinion, and independent of him altogether--and thus resolving, our consistent young lady looked at herself in the gla.s.s, and was pleased to see that her eyes were bright and her hair smooth, and that she should confront Frank armed with her best looks, which proves how entirely careless she was of that gentleman's admiration.

In the meantime the object of all this severity was kicking his heels in the s.p.a.cious drawing-room appropriated to morning visitors, whither he had been conducted by an elaborately polite footman, who after informing him that "the General was _hout_, and Miss Kettering at _'ome_," made a precipitate retreat, leaving him to his own thoughts and the contemplation of his well-dressed figure in some half-dozen mirrors. Frank soon tired of these resources, and found himself driven to the table for amus.e.m.e.nt, where he found the usual litter of handsomely-bound books, costly work-boxes, grotesque paper-cutters, and miniatures painted in all the glowing colours of the rainbow. He was nervous (for him)--very nervous, and though he took one up after another, and examined them most minutely, he would have been sorely puzzled to explain what he was looking at. Nor did a contemplation of Blanche's portrait in ivory serve to restore the visitor's composure, albeit representing that young lady smiling with all her might under a heavy crimson curtain. He shut up the case with a savage _snap_, and replaced it with a bitter sneer. But if the representation of Miss Kettering's outward semblance met with so little favour, neither did her alb.u.m, which we may presume was the index of her mind, seem to afford greater satisfaction to this discontented young man. It opened unfortunately at some lines by Lord Mount Helicon, "addressed to B---- on being asked whether the disfigurement of the object was not a certain cure for any man's love," and was ent.i.tled--