Several ladies had however called on Lady St. Aubyn, some of whom had left their cards, and others she had seen. Most of these visits she had returned; but one of those, who had shewn the greatest desire to see more of Lady St. Aubyn--indeed, a distant relation of the Earl's, she had not been yet to see.

One morning Lord St. Aubyn said he would go with her to see the museum of an old friend of his, who lived at Knightsbridge, who was a great collector of every thing rare and curious, particularly sh.e.l.ls, pictures, and gems. "He is quite a character," added he: "but I will not antic.i.p.ate your surprize: we can go there early. I told him we would go to-day, or to-morrow; and after we have been there, you can call on Lady Meredith, who gave herself a trouble so extraordinary, as actually to alight from her carriage and make you a personal visit."

"You will go with me?"

"Pardon me, my love, that is not necessary, and you really must learn to _go alone_, and not depend so much on me."

"I hope her Ladyship may not be at home."

"Indeed, my love, I hope she may; for dissimilar as they are in every respect, my aunt, Lady Juliana, spends a great deal of her time there.

She is so fond of finding fault, and differing in opinion from others, that I really believe she goes to Lady Meredith's chiefly for the pleasure of lecturing her, who is so indifferent to the opinion of any one, that she does not think it worth while to be at the trouble of resenting the sharp things Lady Juliana says to her."

"What a strange motive for being intimate with any one."

"Strange enough: but when you see more of the world, you will discern that affection is not the only bond of union between those who call themselves friends."

"I think I have seen that already in Mrs. Dawkins and Miss Alton."

"True: convenience, the wish of finding a patient _hearer_, accident, the want of a more pleasing companion, are amongst the numerous inducements which form what we are pleased to call friendship. Nay, I once heard a good lady say she was sure a family she mentioned had proved themselves _real friends_ to her, for they had sent her a _large plumcake_[A]."

[A] A fact.

Ellen laughed at this curious definition of friendship.

"Well," said St. Aubyn: "but to return to Lady Meredith. I hope she may, by reporting well of you to Lady Juliana, induce her to become more friendly towards us: you know how anxious I am to have you in her good graces--not, believe me, on account of her immense fortune, but because, with all her pride and stiffness, she has a warm heart and excellent qualities, and would be to you a most valuable friend; so pray do your best to please Lady Meredith."

"Very well: but will you tell me the most likely way to succeed?"

"I am afraid it will be difficult: she will think you too handsome, unless indeed she intends soon to have a large party."

"How is it possible _that_ should have any thing to do with the matter?"

"Why, Lady Meredith's great ambition is to outshine all her compet.i.tors in the number and fashion of those collected at her routes; and as sometimes, in spite of her charms, and the l.u.s.tre of her abundant jewels, there are some obstinate animals who will be uncivil enough to recollect they '_have seen them before_,' consequently become rather weary of them, and desert her for some newer belle. Lady Meredith may think you (so new to the world, and so beautiful) a desirable reinforcement, and may therefore honour you with an invitation: pray accept it, if she does, and take great pains at your toilette to-day: for my friend, Mr. Dorrington, is a great admirer of beauty, and will shew you his fine collection a great deal more readily if he admire your's, particularly if he should fancy you like a bust he has of the _bona Dea_ (at least he gives it that name, though it is so mutilated, he confesses he does not exactly know for what or whom it was designed), which he almost idolizes."

Ellen hastened to obey, but she wished herself at Castle St. Aubyn, for she had not liked the little she had seen of Lady Meredith, and she shrunk from the idea of this formidable morning visit. Conquering her fears, however, as well as she could, and looking uncommonly beautiful, she rejoined her Lord. Her milliner had just sent home a most elegant and expensive morning dress, bonnet, and cloak, all of the finest materials, and in that delicate modest style, which she always chose, and was to her peculiarly becoming. St. Aubyn thought he had never seen her look so well, and gave great credit to Madame de ---- for consulting so admirably the natural style of her beauty, as to embellish, without overloading it. The barouche was at the door: she had therefore only time to say "farewell" to Laura, and stepping hastily in, half an hour brought them to Mr. Dorrington's.

As the carriage stopt at the house, the figure of a fine old man with grey hair caught the eye of Lady St. Aubyn: he was at the instant ascending the steps to knock at the door, and was so meanly dressed, that she supposed him a mendicant, or at least extremely poor, and her ready hand sought her purse, intending to give relief to the infirm looking old man. What then was her surprize, when, just as she stretched out her hand for that purpose, the old man, looking into the carriage, and seeing Lord St. Aubyn, advanced, and taking off his hat with the most courtly air imaginable, displayed a fine commanding forehead, expressive eyes, and a contour of countenance so admirable, as, once seen, could never be forgotten.

"Ah! my dear St. Aubyn," he exclaimed, "how rejoiced I am to see you! I am really happy that I returned in time to receive you: as you did not say positively you would come to-day, it was all a chance; but come, do me the favour to alight: I have just succeeded in making the finest purchase--a sh.e.l.l, a unique: you shall see it."

By this time St. Aubyn had alighted, and giving his hand to Ellen, introduced her to this extraordinary man. Nothing could be more polished than his address, nothing more elegant than the grace with which he received her, or more spirited than the little compliment he made St.

Aubyn on his happiness, and the beauty of his lady.

Whoever looked at Mr. Dorrington, when his shabby old hat was removed, must instantly see the man of sense and superior information: whoever heard him speak, heard instantly that it was the voice and enunciation not only of a gentleman, but of one who had lived in the very highest circles; and yet his appearance, at first, would have led any one to suppose him, as Ellen did, in absolute poverty. He led the way into his favourite apartment, indeed the only one he ever inhabited, except his bed-chamber; and into neither would he ever suffer any one to enter unless he was with them. No broom, nor brush of any kind, ever disturbed the sacred dust of this hallowed retirement: in the grate, the acc.u.mulated ashes of _many months_ remained; the windows were dimmed with the untouched dirt of years: and nothing but the table on which his slender meals were spread (for his temperance in eating and drinking were as remarkable as his singular neglect of personal attire), and two or three chairs for the reception of occasional visitors, were ever wiped. In one of these he seated the astonished Ellen, who gazed around her at treasures, the value of which exceeded her utmost guess. A handsome cabinet with gla.s.s doors contained a variety of curious gems, vases, and specimens of minerals: some invaluable pictures stood leaning against the walls: heaps of books in rich bindings, which Ellen afterwards found were either remarkable for their scarceness, or full of fine prints, lay scattered around.

"Now, my Lord," said Mr. Dorrington, "I will shew you and Lady St. Aubyn my new purchase: I said it was unique, but it is not exactly so: I have another of the same sort; but these are the only two in the world: I think this is a little, a very little finer than that I had before; I bought it at ****'s sale, and gave a monstrous price for it; but I was determined to have it: it was the only thing in his collection I coveted."

He then displayed his new purchase, and descanted for some time on its various beauties; and seeing Ellen really admired it, pleased also with her beauty and sweetness, he proceeded to shew her his collection, and even those rare articles which never appeared but to particular favourites, saying she was "_worthy to admire them_." Some beautiful miniatures particularly pleased her, and he was delighted that she seemed to understand their value. He also produced some fine illuminated missals, and explained every thing with so much grace and perspicuity as quite delighted her.

Two hours fled swiftly in examining these wonders, and even then they had not seen half, but promised to visit him another day. He told Lady St. Aubyn he should be at her command at any time; and then most politely attending her to her carriage, he with a courteous bow took his leave.

On their way home, St. Aubyn told Ellen that the extraordinary man they had just left had for many years led a life of dissipation, by which he reduced a large fortune almost to nothing; but that having once, in consequence of his extravagance, been obliged to sell a collection still finer than that he now had, he had determined to gratify his pa.s.sion for _virtu_, without the risk of again ruining himself, and therefore denied himself every thing but the bare necessaries of life; and was, consequently, enabled to purchase rare articles at any price, and to outbid other collectors, who had different demands on part of their incomes. He kept no man, and but one female servant; and St. Aubyn said, that when he had called on him a few days before, he found him in a storm of rage with this poor servant-girl, for having dared, while he was engaged with some company in his sitting-room, to brush out his bed-chamber, in the door of which he had, _par miracle_, left the key.--"And I am sure, Sir," said the girl, crying, "I never touched nothing but that great wooden man" (meaning a layman which always stands in Mr. Dorrington's room), "that's enough to frighten a body; and he I only just moved, for master never won't have nothing like other people; and I thought if he brought the gentlefolks in his bed-room, as he sometimes will, it was a shame to see such a place, and such a dirty table cover; so I was only just going to make it a little tidy, and I never broke nothing at all."

"I comforted the poor girl," said St. Aubyn, "by giving her a trifle, and advised her by no means to provoke her master, by presuming to touch a brush in his rooms again without order: and she promised me she would in future be contented with cleaning her own kitchen and pa.s.sages--'And never touch nothing belonging to master's rooms, nor any of them outlandish things, that be all full of dust, and enough to breed moths and all manner of flies all over the house.'----And I think," said he, laughing, "she appears to have kept her promise very exactly."

CHAP. V.

---- So perfumed, that The winds were love-sick with it.

---- She did lie In her pavilion, cloth of gold.

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

Lady St. Aubyn set down the Earl in Cavendish Square, and proceeded alone to the house of Lady Meredith in Portland Place. A carriage which appeared to be in waiting drove from the door to make way for her's, by which Ellen guessed Lady Meredith had company. To the inquiry whether her Ladyship were at home, she was answered in the affirmative, and requested to walk up stairs. Ellen was now tolerably well accustomed to magnificent houses; but there was something in the style of this different from any thing she had yet seen: the hall was not only warmed by superb stoves, but bronze figures, nearly as large as life, stood in different att.i.tudes in every corner, and all bearing censers or urns, in which costly aromatics perpetually burnt, diffusing around a rich but almost overpowering perfume. As she ascended the staircase she found every possible recess filled with baskets, vases, &c. full of the most rare and expensive exotics, which bloomed even amidst the cold winds of March, with nearly as much luxuriance as they would have done in their native climes; for every part of this mansion was kept in a regular degree of heat by flues pa.s.sing through the walls and beneath the floors communicating with fires, which were not visible: when, on the other hand, the weather became warm, the cambric sun-blinds at every window were kept perpetually moistened with odoriferous waters, by two black servants, whose whole employment it was to attend to this branch of luxury; indeed, to luxury alone the whole mansion appeared to be dedicated. The floors were not merely covered, but carpetted with materials, whose softness and elasticity seemed produced by a mixture of silk and down: the sofas, ottomans, &c. were not merely stuffed, but every one had piles of cushions appertaining to it, filled with eider-down, and covered with the richest silks or velvets. To the presiding G.o.ddess of this superb temple Lady St. Aubyn was presently introduced. In her boudoir Lady Meredith sat, or rather lay, not on a chair or sofa, but on piles of cushions, covered with the finest painted velvet. Her majestic, though somewhat large figure, appeared to great advantage in the studied half-dress in which she now appeared; yet there was something in her att.i.tude, in the disposal of her drapery, from which the modest eye of Ellen was involuntarily averted. Her dress was of the finest and whitest muslin that India ever produced, and clung around her so closely as fully to display the perfect symmetry of her form: the sleeves were full, and so short, they scarcely descended below the shoulder, which not the slightest veil shaded from the beholder's gaze, while the delicate arms thus exposed were decorated with rows of what she called undress pearls: they were of an extraordinary size and beauty, and were formed into armlets and bracelets of fanciful but elegant fashion: two or three strings, and a large Maltese cross of the same, were the only covering of her fair bosom, and a few were twisted loosely amongst her dark but glossy and luxuriant hair. At her feet sat a lovely little girl about four years old, with a low ha.s.sock before her, on which she was displaying the contents of one of mamma's caskets of jewels, as well amused as the great Potemkin himself could have been by arranging his diamonds in different figures on black velvet; a favourite entertainment of that extraordinary man.

On one side of Lady Meredith sat a gay young officer in the uniform of the guards, and on the other a stiff formal looking old lady in a dress somewhat old fashioned, but more remarkable for being excessively neat and prim: she had a sour contemptuous look, and her stays and whole figure had the stiff appearance of a portrait of the last century. She levelled her eye-gla.s.s at Ellen, as she followed the servant who announced her into the room, and with an emphatic _humph!_ (not unlike poor Mrs. Ross's) let it fall again as if perfectly satisfied with one look, and not feeling any wish to repeat it; yet repeat it she did, again and again, and, as if the review displeased or agitated her, her countenance became still more and more sour. In the meantime Lady Meredith half rose from her cushions, and holding out her hand, languidly said:--

"My dear Lady St. Aubyn, how good you are to come and see me! I am delighted I happened to be at home. Andrew," (to the servant, who, having placed a chair, was retiring) "don't give Lady St. Aubyn that shocking chair: bring a heap of those cushions and arrange them like mine: do rest on them, my dear creature; you must be fatigued to death."

"Excuse me," said Ellen, smiling with modest grace; "I am not accustomed to such a luxurious seat, and prefer a chair."

"Do you really? Is it possible!" exclaimed the languishing Lady, sinking back again as if the exertion of speaking had been too much for her.

"Well, I should absolutely die in twelve hours if I might not be indulged in this delicious mode of reposing."

"Nonsense!" said the stiff old lady, in no very conciliating tone; "how can you be so ridiculous: pray how do you manage when you sit six or eight hours at pharo, or go to the Opera--you have none of those silly things there?"

"Oh, as to pharo, dear delightful pharo, that keeps me alive, prevents my feeling fatigued even when my unfortunate feet cannot command so much as a poor little footstool; and as to the Opera, I wonder your Ladyship asks, for you know very well, my box, and the cushions belonging to it, are stuffed with eider-down, like these," and she sunk still more indolently on her yielding supporters. "Apropos of the Opera," added she; "have you obtained a box there, Lady St. Aubyn?"

"No," replied Ellen: "Lord St. Aubyn had one offered to him, but as it is so late in the season, and our stay in town will not be long, I begged him to decline it."

Lady Meredith here exchanged a smile of contempt with the officer, which seemed to say "how rustic that is!" then half yawning she said:--

"Oh, but indeed that was very wrong: what can a woman of fashion do without a box at the Opera? I am sure, from all I have heard of the former Lady St. Aubyn, for I had not the honour of knowing her, she would not have lived a month in London without one."

"Very likely," said the old lady, "but for all that _I_ think _this young person_ quite in the right, and as to the late Lady St. Aubyn, I am sure _she_ was no pattern for any body, and I wonder, Lady Meredith, you will name her in my hearing."

"I beg your Ladyship's pardon," replied Lady Meredith; "I forgot."

"Well, no matter; don't say any more."

To paint Ellen's surprize would be difficult: the odd epithet this strange lady had applied to her, "_this young person_," the allusions to the late countess, of whom she never heard without an indescribable sort of emotion, and the suspicion she now entertained that her ungracious neighbour was Lady Juliana Mordaunt, all conspired to overpower her; and the heat of the apartment, the strong smell of perfumes from immense China jars, with which the room was ornamented, completed it; in short, though wholly unaccustomed to such sensations, she had nearly fainted.

The young officer, who had long been watching her interesting and lovely countenance, saw her change colour, and said hastily:--

"The lady is ill."

"What's the matter, child?" said the old lady; and rising hastily, she untied her bonnet and the strings of her mantle, which, falling aside, discovered enough of her figure to render her situation obvious.