THE
EXCLUSIVES.
VOL. III.

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

THE EXCLUSIVES.

CHAPTER I.

THOUGHTS FOR COUNSEL.

When Lady Delamere returned with her niece, and the latter had been left in a state of comparative composure to the best of all earthly restoratives, sleep, Lady Dunmelraise listened with anxious interest to the relation of her daughter's sudden indisposition, which Lady Delamere did not hesitate to attribute to her having witnessed Lord Albert's attentions to Lady Hamlet Vernon during the whole evening, in the very box opposite to them at the Opera.

"I observed her," said Lady Delamere, "for some time struggling with her feelings, and hesitated whether it were best to take notice of, or allow them to subside uncommented upon: seeing, however, that at length all her efforts were unavailing, and that her agitation rather increased than the reverse, I judged it necessary to propose our returning home. At that instant, Adeline fainted; and now, dear sister, I think that, for Adeline's sake, it is my duty to speak to you without reserve on the subject of Lord Albert D'Esterre. The state of your health, on your arrival in London, and the fear of agitating you, have alone prevented my touching on this subject sooner; but I hope you will forgive me, and feel that I was right, when I acknowledge that I have already spoken generally to Adeline herself upon the prospects attendant on her engagement.

"You will also readily believe, I trust, that, knowing your sentiments and principles, I could not say any thing that you would disapprove, nor that I would assume to myself any parental authority, which is alone your right, in what I said; but at the same time I ventured upon what I conceived to be Lord Albert's very culpable neglect; and, although I fear much more might have been said with truth, yet my counsel went merely to impress on Adeline's mind a sense of the seriousness of married life, and of the necessity of both parties examining thoroughly the grounds on which they rest their hopes of happiness, before they become bound indissolubly together. I also expatiated upon the propriety of her mixing in the great world during your stay in London, which would afford her an opportunity of judging many things which she could not do in a life of retirement. I added, that the same person is too often not the same, when placed in different scenes, and with different objects of attraction and temptation around him; for I wished to open Adeline's eyes to a clear discernment of whatever might be necessary for her to know; and, having done this, leave it to her own excellent understanding to draw the salutary conclusion."

"You are right, my dear sister, and I thank you; but it is strange that Adeline should never have mentioned this conversation to me. She never had a secret from me before in her lifetime."

"Do not blame Adeline, I entreat you. If there be any blame any where, it must rest with me; for dreading the effect which my suspicions might have produced on your mind, while still suffering from your recent increase of malady, I could not at that time bring myself to enter upon a subject which I knew must harass you; and, acquainted as I am with Adeline's superior prudence and rectitude of conduct,—qualities which she possesses, indeed, beyond most persons of her age,—I deemed it quite sufficient to give her that species of warning which would make her look warily to certain points, respecting the observation of which her very purity might have blinded her, but yet without saying any thing sufficiently decided for her to deem it a breach of duty not to repeat the conversation to you. Having explained this affair, I trust I have absolved the dear, ingenuous Adeline from the least blame, which might otherwise have attached to her concealing any thing of importance from you, her mother."

"Oh certainly, my dear sister; entirely so; and it is needless to dwell on this longer. The matter of great moment, which I wish to discuss with you, is, what steps should now be taken in regard to Lord Albert D'Esterre, for some active measure does appear necessary after this night's occurrence?"

"Indeed it is a delicate business, and one on which I feel very diffident in giving advice; but since you ask my opinion, I will not conceal from you, that Lord Albert's character appears to me to be much changed since his last visit to you, immediately after his return from the continent: indeed, how should it be otherwise, when, by all I can learn, he has associated only with those persons who form a distinct circle; and amongst whom he must have imbibed, at least superficially, all those habits and prejudices which are directly opposed to his former life.

"You knew, my dear sister, that our opinion of that coterie is pretty much the same; and I believe it to be impossible for a young man to become entangled in such a society, and not lose all correct principle. This in itself would be a reason which would make me anxious for our Adeline's happiness, if she were so connected; for to what dangers would she not be exposed as a married woman, living in that class of persons! Notwithstanding her firmness of character, I could not but dread the contamination of perpetual bad example; and the more so, as it does not appear in its own appalling form, but wears the semblance of elegance and innocent pleasure. Thinking of these things, and knowing, as I do, besides, that not only Lord Albert attaches himself in particular to one of the circle, (I mean Lady Hamlet Vernon) but that the world are beginning to talk openly on the subject, I really think it is time some decision on your part should be taken."

"All that you say makes me very sorrowful, my dear sister," replied Lady Dunmelraise; "and I see too clearly the truth of your advice not to follow it; but then, you know, we must consider the dear Adeline's feelings; we must endeavour to spare her present pain, so far as we consistently can with future and lasting happiness. But I fear, let the blow come as it may, it will fall heavily on her. I have myself not been without my suspicions, as I already told you, of Lord Albert's change of sentiments in respect to my daughter; but knowing her deep attachment to him, and dreading the effects of a hasty overthrow of all her long-cherished hopes, having at the same time no positive proof of Lord Albert's delinquency, I could do no more, hitherto, than you have done; that is, speak in general terms of the very great importance of a strict examination of oneself, and the object of one's attachment, previously to marriage, not only in regard to the more weighty considerations of principle and temper, but also in respect to those habits and pursuits, which either cement the delights of daily communication, or, if dissimilar, produce at first estrangement, and in time, it may be, indifference or disgust. Of all these, and such as these, I spoke minutely, and even ventured to throw out doubts respecting Lord Albert's occupations and recreations continuing to be of a nature that accorded with her own. I then hinted at a change of associates naturally leading to a change of feelings; 'but,' I added, 'you are the only person, my dearest child, after all, who can decide upon the truth of these observations in this instance; and what I recommend to you is, to look narrowly yourself to these points, and employ the interval before your final decision in determining this momentous question for yourself.'

"Thus far I have spoken to her. Since, however, the scene of to-night seems to have precipitated matters to a climax,—to the necessity, at least, of a disclosure of the extent of our fears,—I must endeavour to break them to her to-morrow in such a manner as will be least likely to shock her feelings; but, alas! I much fear that the shock has already been felt, has come to her in its worst and keenest guise, and on such a heart as hers I dread the consequences. At her years the blight of a cherished hope is often physically fatal; the frame is not strengthened to bear the crush of sorrow, and life itself yields to the pressure." Lady Dunmelraise's voice faltered, and her sister felt an answering pang to that which she so touchingly expressed. "Still," resumed Lady Dunmelraise, after a moment's pause, "it will be kinder and wiser, in as far as respects addressing myself to Lord Albert, to let the matter take its own course, and end itself. The time when a final decision must be made is now very short; I shall then have a right to demand an explicit avowal of his intentions, or to put a final termination to my daughter's engagement with him.

"Meanwhile, I shall speak unreservedly to her. Now that she has (poor dear! my heart bleeds for her!) witnessed, at least once, a scene that confirms all my worst fears, she will be alive to the justice of my representations, and with her own quickness of perception and delicacy of feeling, will judge for herself on similar occasions, should such recur; in which case, the dignity of her offended affection will strengthen her for the trial: for what we take upon ourselves to bear is always a burden more easily endured than that imposed upon us by another. If, however, we should be mistaken; if, haply, we do Lord Albert injustice; if appearances are deceptive, and that he is in fact unchanged; we shall have spared much unnecessary pain, and all self-accusation for undue precipitation." The sisters having thus settled the point which involved the happiness of one so dear to them, separated for the night.

Lord Albert D'Esterre, on his part, when he reached home from the Opera, became the victim of those baffling feelings which had more than once torn his heart in pieces; for although he felt that he had stronger grounds than ever to suspect Lady Adeline of a preference for another, yet so long and so deeply rooted had been his dream of attachment for her, that at intervals a tide of tenderness returned, and he involuntarily dwelt on the idea, that one who had been considered by him as his own, one who professed to feel herself bound to him, could not, without some fault on his part, prove false to herself and him. And was he without fault in respect to his treatment of her? It was a question he did not dare to answer; but he felt sure, that whatever fancy played on the surface of his heart, Adeline alone was enshrined there; and this assurance came to him with greater power, as the excitement he experienced while he had been in the society of Lady Hamlet Vernon gradually died away when no longer in her presence.

The next morning he wavered for a considerable time, whether to go in person to inquire for Lady Adeline, or merely send; and his feelings of wounded pride and genuine affection, which latter surpasses all pride, alternately rose and fell in his breast. "I would not betray displeasure," he said to himself; "for, if the offence is real, displeasure would be too weak a feeling for so deep an injury, and, to a coquette, the knowledge that she gives pain is a triumph: I will not go, therefore; I will write." And he decided on despatching a note, pleading important business as the cause of his not attending personally to inquire for her, which excuse was in part true. After having so far satisfied himself by doing what he thought best under all circumstances, he went to Lord Glenmore's, to lose, if possible, the sense of his sorrow, in matters of so high and engrossing a nature, that he knew, could any thing prove a cure for love, they must.

Far different, however, from the feelings and thoughts which had agitated the breast of Adeline, her affectionate relatives, and Lord Albert himself, were those which agitated Lady Hamlet Vernon. She had but one thought, one intense interest, and she cared not by what means she followed up its success. In recalling the last scene in which she had been an actor, she was not likely to lose sight for a moment of the advantage she perceived that she had obtained over the object of her pursuit; and although entertaining little doubt as to the cause of Lady Adeline's indisposition, she was still anxious to assure herself that her surmises were right in regard to it, and also to learn the visible effect which had been produced when Lord Albert hastened to her in the Opera House; for although she thought she could not be at a loss to unravel the clue, yet, for a thousand reasons, she was most anxious to be acquainted, beyond all possibility of doubt, with every thing respecting the occurrence.

For this purpose, she sent a note, early in the morning, to Mr. Foley, requesting him to lose no time in calling upon her. He was not tardy in obeying her summons, and when he came, she cautiously avoided at first entering upon the subject nearest her heart, and turned his attention to the circumstance of a change of ministry, asking him if he had heard any thing decisive on the subject. He repeated what had been reported the preceding evening, namely, that Lord Glenmore had certainly accepted office, and Lord Albert D'Esterre a post under him. This led to the subject of Lady Adeline's indisposition, and the question, whether the marriage between her and Lord Albert would ever take place. Mr. Foley replied, that he thought the thing very unlikely. A man engaged as Lord Albert now was, required, he conceived, a different sort of wife, if any wife were not de trop.

"But what occasioned the scene she made last night?" asked Lady Hamlet Vernon.

Mr. Foley replied, he thought there could be little doubt as to the cause; adding, courteously, "You know Lord Albert was in your box all the evening; and it could hardly be supposed, that any person at all attached to him could see him engaged in earnest conversation with you so long a time, without apprehension as to the consequences."

Lady Hamlet Vernon endeavoured to suppress, at least to conceal, the agitation of pleasure which she felt; and said, smiling, he was always a flatterer, but that there could be no foundation for the uneasiness ascribed to Lady Adeline's feelings, and that she was sure there was some other cause; but really, she added,

"My great interest was to ascertain that your interests were safe in this ministerial change; and if Lord Albert be really in power, I feel certain you have nothing to apprehend. As to Lady Adeline Seymour, I am quite of your opinion; she is not at all calculated to be his wife. From the interest which Lord Albert has shown in my welfare, I really have a feeling of regard for him, and I should be sorry to see him united to a woman who I am certain would not promote his happiness. Now do you think she would?"

"To confess the truth, I do not believe it. Lady Adeline is very amiable, very sweet, very simple-minded, but not at all fitted to play a part in the busy world. I could not imagine her the wife of a minister, or throwing any degree of lustre round an exalted station. Elegant and endearing in private life as she certainly is; depend upon it that is her sphere; take her thence, and she would be nothing."

Lady Hamlet Vernon seemed busy in thought, was silent for a few moments, then turned to Mr. Foley, and fixing her eyes on his, asked pointedly,

"But do you think she is fond of Lord Albert?"

"Fond! yes, perhaps so; the fondness of a child that has been told it ought to love something, and has never made any comparisons whereby to know what it likes."

"That will not do for Lord Albert D'Esterre, I am certain, and it would be madness in him to persevere in forming such a union. You, dear Mr. Foley, are intimate with her mother, Lady Dunmelraise; does she ever speak to you on the subject?" Then, without waiting for an answer, Lady Hamlet Vernon went on to say, "If an opportunity should occur, do you not think that, as a friend of the families, you ought to state your opinion of this unpropitious marriage; I mean without prejudice to Lord Albert D'Esterre, for I would not for the world be supposed to say any thing which could be offensive or undervaluing in regard to him. If you knew him intimately, which I hope you will do, you would, I feel confident, not only like, but esteem him. It is from my doing so, who have had opportunities of reading his real character, that I think it a duty in any friend of Lady Dunmelraise to make her aware that her daughter is not suited to him, from an opposition of tastes and pursuits, different habits, and different ends in life, all which would render a union between them destructive of mutual happiness."

During Lady Hamlet Vernon's conversation, Mr. Foley's countenance underwent many changes, of which she was at first doubtful how to read the meaning. At length, after a considerable pause, he replied—"Lady Dunmelraise has never spoken to me on the business, and I do not see how I could, with any propriety, touch on any part of the subject on which we have been conversing, unless, indeed, she were first to open the matter to me; besides," (he added, with increasing agitation,) "an attempt of the kind, on my part, would most probably defeat the end, as Lady Dunmelraise might suppose such advice, coming from me, was perhaps influenced by wishes and views of my own, and I would not——."

"You would not," interrupted Lady Hamlet Vernon, "so far confess the truth, for I see plainly that you yourself love Lady Adeline," keeping her eyes on him as she spoke. Mr. Foley hesitated; he seemed to wish to answer her, but knew not how.

"Now do not, my dear Mr. George Foley, from any false delicacy, be desirous of concealing the truth from me: you do love Lady Adeline Seymour; and if so, why should you not urge your suit? For you, I conceive this alliance to be very desirable; it is quite different with regard to Lord Albert D'Esterre. A quiet, simple, domestic companion, such as you pourtray Lady Adeline to be, would prove exactly consonant with your wishes; her fortune is vast; and the general tenor of her education and life were well adapted to form her character to that sort of tranquil obedience which I know you deem a prime requisite in a wife. Lady Dunmelraise's interest in you is a great step in your favour; fortune to you is a great object; and the marriage would be such as would, I think, contribute to your wishes and your welfare."

Lady Hamlet Vernon saw that she had touched a theme in which Mr. Foley's interests were deeply involved; for as she proceeded to expatiate on the various advantages which would attend Mr. Foley's adopting her advice, he listened with more and more attention, and even betrayed the greatest apparent pleasure. Lady Hamlet Vernon marked the progress she had made, and felt sure that the discovery at which she had now arrived, of the coincidence of his feelings with her own, laid a sure foundation for the accomplishment of her plans, while, at the same time, it removed from herself, in a great measure, the danger of being thought to be the principal mover in a matter which required so much tact and delicacy to carry it through successfully: she saw clearly, that it was only requisite, by following up her counsel to Mr. Foley (which was in fact to confirm him in his own wishes), to overcome any scruples which he might have entertained, from the fear of appearing to act on selfish motives alone; and Lady Hamlet Vernon was confident, from this conversation, that she had already made very great progress. It had required only a spark to set the train on fire; and she felt certain that every word she uttered would render him more alive to the true state of his feelings, and consequently more apt to betray them in his conduct towards Lady Adeline.

Lady Hamlet Vernon had too much knowledge of the world, and of human nature, to press the matter further at the present moment, or to attempt to bind, by any direct promise, a person who only required the spring of his desires to be set in action, in order to play his own part. Mr. Foley, too, seemed little inclined, at the present moment, to enter any further on the subject, and by tacit consent it was suffered to drop; but when he took leave of Lady Hamlet Vernon, it was only a natural consequence of the counsel she had given him, that he should bend his steps towards South Audley-street, to make his inquiries for Lady Adeline. How easy is it for the stronger to direct the weaker mind to good or evil, without exciting any suspicion in the latter that it is assuming the mastery, or doing any thing but what it meant to do of its own proper movement; and what small occurrences sometimes determine a line of conduct either virtuously or the reverse!

Thus it was with Mr. George Foley in the present instance. It certainly had crossed his mind more than once, that Lady Adeline Seymour would make him a very eligible wife, and his affections (such at least as he could have entertained for any object, blazé and apathetic as he had become from a long course of idleness and dissipation) had undoubtedly been directed towards her; but the knowledge of the existing engagement between Lord Albert D'Esterre and herself, and a certain apprehension, frequent in timid minds that are neither quite good nor quite bad, lest he should forfeit Lady Dunmelraise's protection, had always checked his hopes, and kept these aspirations in subjection: but it required only the suggestions of one somewhat less timid than himself on this head, to direct his views to a determined pursuit of the object; and he resolved, with proper caution, to feel his way, but, at the same time, to lose no opportunity of following up Lady Hamlet Vernon's advice.

CHAPTER II.

A VISIT TO THE NEW-MADE MINISTER'S WIFE.

When Lord Albert had sent his note of inquiry to Lady Adeline Seymour, he proceeded to Downing-street to meet Lord Glenmore, there to enter on his official duties; and, notwithstanding the agitation of his mind on other subjects, he went prepared to commence his new career with that glow of ardour, which, when tempered by prudence, is so conducive to honourable success. The reports which had so strongly prevailed for the last two days in the great world, of Lord Glenmore's appointment in the ministry, and of Lord Albert D'Esterre's being joined with him in the office which he had accepted, were now confirmed by a public announcement of the changes that had taken place.

Of course there were different opinions as to the eligibility of the measures resorted to, as there always are in similar cases; but which were, for the most part, formed according to the interests and wishes of opposing parties, without any real feeling or care for the public welfare: but, fortunately for the well-being of that public, there are higher powers over-ruling the petty engines of mortal government, and even the evil passions of mankind are sometimes made subservient to the ways of Providence. Henry the Eighth, when he threw off the papal yoke, and became an instrument of mighty and effective operation in the religious and moral destinies of Britain, thought little of any other end than that of securing his own illicit and ambitious projects; but in his day and generation he was the appointed means to bring about that invaluable constitution, which, resting on a firmer basis than mere worldly wisdom could devise, we may be confident will always have able defenders raised up for its support—whether they be those who pursue worldly ends alone, and entertain no other dream in their philosophy, or whether some hand of conscientious and religious principle guide the helm: not that the choice of persons can therefore be indifferent, for human means are still to be employed for human measures; only that in this circumstance, as in all others, there remains a point of confiding refuge to flee to, even when the political horizon appears to good men overcast.

At the present season, when difficulties of an almost insurmountable nature seemed to gather round the minister, and to impede the easy course of government, the accession of such a man as Lord Glenmore, whose character stood too high for any suspicion to attach to his integrity, and whose situation was too independent to admit the surmise of his being influenced by motives of personal interest, was a matter of the last importance: the same might in a degree be said of Lord Albert D'Esterre, with the exception that he was younger, and that this was his first step in the career of his public life.

To Lady Tilney and her political friends, the recent changes were certainly any thing but agreeable; for, so long as Lord Glenmore remained unconnected with party, she considered that he was yet to be gained over to that whose interests she espoused: and Lord Albert D'Esterre having likewise taken the same course, was an additional cause of regret to her; for she had looked upon him as a much easier prize than the other, and one of nearly equivalent value. It was therefore with unqualified disappointment that she heard the confirmation of those fears which the current whisper of the preceding days had not prepared her to receive with calmness.

On Lady Hamlet Vernon, this circumstance acted with a different effect. When she heard the intelligence of the changes in the ministry confirmed, she considered it as an additional circumstance of self-congratulation, superadded to those which had arisen from the occurrence at the Opera and her conversation with Mr. Foley. Lady Hamlet Vernon, though ambitious, was a person attached to no party; and though the love of power was predominant in her nature, it was for the sake of its own exercise, without any reference to any political side of the question: she only saw, therefore, in Lord Albert's appointment, the first step towards a career which would involve him at once in absorbing interests, and leave his mind more easy to be diverted into a channel in accordance with her wishes, and more likely to be drawn off from that attachment which was destructive of them. She thought too, and with some probability, that it was a measure which would be discordant with Lady Adeline's views of private happiness, and might possibly therefore influence the fulfilment of the engagement between her and Lord Albert D'Esterre.

Whilst the parties in question took these two opposite views of the business, there was a third who deplored it in all sincerity of heart, and already sickened under the idea of the protracted absences, and the bustle of the public career, in which she was alternately either to be the sufferer, or be called upon to share: with the sense, however, of submission due in a wife to the interests and views of her husband, she prepared to receive the congratulations of her friends, and to fulfil the duties which she foresaw must attend on her situation, with as much cheerfulness and alacrity as she could command.

Lord Glenmore having told her that concealment was no longer necessary respecting the arrangements now finally adjusted, he bade her in the course of the day acquaint her family with the event; and, on his leaving her, she immediately communicated the intelligence to her parents. The first to congratulate her was Lord Melcombe, who considered the matter as a piece of good fortune, and rejoiced in this addition to his child's happiness. While offering his fond wishes for Lord Glenmore's success, he added, with a smile;

"I think, Georgina, he ought to be satisfied with your first coup d'essai in diplomacy, for you almost persuaded me yesterday that this event was quite as improbable as my own appointment to office."

In the course of the day a host of friends—for what persons in power ever lacked these?—called to pay their compliments to the wife of the newly-created minister: some came from curiosity, some in sincerity, some with envious feelings, and some with views of interest. Among those of the latter class may be enumerated the Leinsengens, the Tenderdens, and the Tilneys, with smiles on their lips and detraction in their hearts; the one not believing Lady Glenmore's indifference to her situation to be real, and the other two, who knew her better, despising her for her childish folly.

"Well, my dear," said the Comtesse Leinsengen, entering her apartment like a figure made of clock-work, that glides into the room on a stand, "let me see how you do look under this changement de decoration; just the same, I declare! est il bien possible?" Staring at her, "Tout cela ne vous fait ni froid ni chaud—dat is impossible. Au reste—you seem de very ting for your poste, et je vous en fait mon compliment; for you will never be at a loss to know vat countenance tenir, as yours does not undergo any change." The beautiful colour which tinged Lady Glenmore's cheek at this speech proved the contrary, as she replied;

"You are mistaken, Comtesse; there are many things which would affect me in a lively manner; and indeed the present subject of your congratulations is far from indifferent to me; but——."

"Allons donc, une confidence; at last we shall know what you do or do not care for," interrupted the Comtesse Leinsengen.

"As far as that confidence goes, certainly. I do not care, for instance, in the least, either for power or place, in as far as regards myself, and I prefer a quiet country life to that of London; but as my husband has considered it right to take this step, I must teach myself to like it too." The announcement of Lady Tenderden and Lady Tilney interrupted this uncongenial tête-à-tête; and the latter, to hide her chagrin and disappointment under an apparent friendly zeal, flew up to Lady Glenmore in her most energetic manner, and assured her, that although she could never agree with Lord Glenmore in politics, yet from personal regard she sincerely wished him joy of his public success, and hoped, that now he had the ball at his foot, he would use it to a good purpose. "It is one thing to be at the bottom of the ladder, and another upon it," she added; "and perhaps we may see Lord Glenmore doing as so many others have done before now, looking down on his old prejudices and mistakes, and taking up quite a different view of the subject."

Lady Glenmore was silent, but received Lady Tilney's expressions of kindness with her usual sweetness and courtesy of manner. Lady Tenderden joined in the congratulation.

"At length, my sweet lady," she said, "you are enthroned, and we all come to do you homage. But how very discreet you were; never betrayed by word, look, or gesture, the secret which you were quite sure of; you are really cut out for the part you have to play. I envy you votre petite air moue et doucereux; don't you, Lady Tilney?"

"Nothing can be better," she replied; "I prophesy that she will play her part well."

"You are all exceedingly obliging," Lady Glenmore replied, "but I have no part to play. My husband, being in the ministry, luckily does not impose any duty upon me, besides that of living more in the world than I might otherwise do."

"Poor lady, I pity you!" said Lady Tenderden ironically.

"You will change your ideas, I foresee that," said Lady Tilney prophetically.

"You will remain just vat you are," said the Comtesse Leinsengen impertinently, when the door opened, and the Duke of Mercington entered.

"I beg you to receive my warmest congratulation, my dear Lady Glenmore," he said, approaching her in his most empressé manner, as if his whole heart was in his words, and bowing to the other ladies slightly as he passed them. "I give you and Glenmore joy alike; him that he has gained his wish, and you in the consciousness that he has done so; for I know that your happiness must be mutual to render it really happiness."

"Oh, duke, I assure you all your compliments are trown away upon dat ladi, on dat subject at least, for she declare not to like to be a minister's wife at all."

"Impossible! she is joking," replied the duke, looking at Lady Glenmore with one of those apparently ingenuous smiles which habit had forced upon his features, and which once were captivating so long as they were natural; "impossible that you who were formed to shine in society should shrink from a situation for which you are so singularly well adapted."

"You are too good, duke, and I accept your flattering judgment upon credit, for I have not been tried yet, and I may disappoint you."

"Oh never, we all know how charming you are; don't we, Lady Tilney?"

"Yes, duke, you know we all bow to your judgment in every thing, and I am sure we shall not begin to differ on this point," she replied, with an air of pique that was ill concealed under an affected bonhommie.

"We are not come here," said the Leinsengen, whispering to Lady Tenderden, "to listen to all his fadaises; c'est le radotage dat we have been used to hear uttered by turns to every object of a fresh engouement for these last ten years." Then gliding up to Lady Glenmore, she added, "I am quite charmed to see you en des mains si sures, persons who vill give you such excellent advice; and now dat I have rendered you mes hommages, I make mes adieus. Monsieur le duc, I hope to see you at my next levée; Lady Glenmore of course; Lady Tilney, au revoir." And then, when she reached the door, "Ah ça, by de way, vill you, Lady Tenderden, go vid me to-night to le théàtre Français?"

"I should be delighted, but I am engaged to Lady Glenmore. Is not this our evening?" turning to the latter.

"Yes; but I beg you will not consider that binding."

"Oh but I do, though, so you must go with me."

"Of course," said the Comtesse Leinsengen contemptuously, "I am extremely sorry, mais il faut se consoler;" and turning, she glided away, but first whispered to Lady Tilney as she passed, "We shall have nothing now but this tiresome petite nouveauté;" and she shrugged her shoulders and departed.

"What is the matter with the comtesse?" asked the Duke of Mercington; "that air d'imperatrice enragée does not at all become her."

"No," replied Lady Glenmore, laughing, "I never knew any one that it did."

"Some persons," rejoined the duke, "some dark beauties, may look well under the effect of a storm, though I confess I had always rather see the lambent flame than the forked lightning;" and he looked his implied admiration of Lady Glenmore.

Lady Tilney did not know exactly what part to play in a scene where she felt she was not the principal, although it is said there have been times and seasons when she thought it politic to kiss even the foot of a person placed in a situation of imaginary greatness, and whose favour she forgot herself so far as to court. She had come, however, to Lady Glenmore with other views than either those of curiosity or congratulation. Lady Tilney felt, that in the situation which Lady Glenmore now held, she might with ease have led a party in society independent of Lady Tilney or any of her coterie; and a fear that she might take this step determined her on endeavouring, by counsel and an assumption of directing how Lady Glenmore should conduct herself in her station, to obtain in the first instance an influence over her, and hold her in subserviency to her own wishes regarding society. She saw, therefore, the Duke of Mercington and several others, who had come and gone on the same errand, take their leave with satisfaction, and seized the first moment when she was alone with Lady Glenmore to say:

"Now, my dear Lady Glenmore, you, I am sure, will believe, that of all who have paid their court to you on this happy event, there is no one more sincere than myself: but I will go a step further than any other of your friends, though perhaps I may be giving you offence; I would counsel, I would advise you; for yours, my dear Lady Glenmore, you will find to be a situation of some delicacy: there will be so many ready to take offence if you do not do all they ask or expect of you; and yet, you know, you must not compromettez yourself, nor our society; you must, in short, be discreet, and not too good-humoured. It will require great tact to please those whom I am sure you wish to please, and to give offence to none. Now Glenmore will be constantly engaged, and you cannot expect him to give due attention to these affaires de société. I really wish, that if ever you feel in any difficulty, you would consider me as your friend, always ready to serve you; apply to me, and I will give you my best advice: there are many, I know, who will be ready to do the same thing by you, but beware of those in whom you repose confidence. For instance, between ourselves, there is the Comtesse Leinsengen, who is very charming, very clever, but not sufficiently aware how our society must be constituted, as indeed no foreigners possibly can or ever will be, and not at all capable of guiding intricate points connected with it: and then, you know, she is diplomate by nature and art; she will of course endeavour to win you to an intimacy. At least, c'est son metiér. But again, I say, beware of this, or you will compromise Lord Glenmore as well as yourself. Against Lady Tenderden, too, though there is nobody I like better, you must also be upon your guard; for she is not altogether to be trusted, and she will betray your secrets from habit."

Lady Glenmore, who had, hitherto, listened to this long harangue in silence, and without showing any emotion, now looked a little surprised at this last caution given by Lady Tilney, for she remembered the opinion her husband had pronounced on Lady Tenderden; but still she said nothing. The expression, however, which played in her countenance, was not unobserved by Lady Tilney, as she added, "Oh, I know what you are thinking; Lady Tenderden is a great favourite with Lord Glenmore; but it's an old friendship, and now he is married, of course all that will be on another footing."

Lady Glenmore blushed, and felt the tears rising to her eyes, at the renewal of an insinuation respecting her husband, which had once before cost her much acute pain. Lady Tilney did not choose to observe the effect which she saw her words had produced on the innocent Lady Glenmore, and proceeded to object, in rotation, to every one whom she thought might become powerful rivals in her influence over her. Then, having proceeded to discuss every point political and influential in society, and having persuaded Lady Glenmore to fix an early day for a cercle choisie at her house, and canvassed the pretensions of the persons who were to be allowed to form it, she at length took her departure, leaving Lady Glenmore perfectly overcome with the torrent of eloquence and advice which she had so gratuitously given.

While these empty insincerities, these crooked policies of polite life, had been passing under Lady Glenmore's roof, and while Lord Albert D'Esterre was busied in the graver but perhaps not less intricate and deceptive details of public affairs, the realities of whose endless mazes he had that morning for the first time entered upon, Lady Dunmelraise, in a far different scene, and on a far other occasion, was preparing for one of the most painful tasks that duty demands of true affection; that of probing the breast of a beloved object, with the moral certainty of its being right so to do, in the hope of protecting it from yet more cruel wounds. These are the heroisms of private life, which pass unknown and unhonoured by the world, although they are noted elsewhere, and are of frequent occurrence in the annals of daily existence; and it was under the pressure of this painful determination that Lady Dunmelraise passed a sleepless night, endeavouring to prepare herself for to-morrow's duty.

When she met her daughter at breakfast, her pale and altered countenance half spoke the nature of her intended counsel before she gave it utterance. Lady Adeline's own feelings were too much in accordance with her mother's, for her not to read the cause of the expression she saw painted on her face; and although she had forced herself to leave her apartment, and to appear at the usual hour, and even endeavoured to wear her own placid smile, in order not to give Lady Dunmelraise unnecessary anxiety, still the very endeavour betrayed the real state of her heart. The business of the breakfast passed mechanically and in silence, with the exception of an interchange of those few kindly monosyllables which convinced them mutually of the participation each took in the other's anguish; and while Lady Adeline was trying to suppress starting tears, Lady Dunmelraise determined to break this cruel silence, and without preamble to come at once to the subject.

"My dearest Adeline, I need not tell you, love, that I feel with you the sorrow and mortification of the occurrence of yesterday evening; and it has come with double force on me, seeing the anguish it has brought upon you. However much I may have been prepared for it by what I have observed in Lord Albert's altered manner, yet I confess I am surprised at the want of openness in his conduct, a want with which I never should have thought he could have been charged. Love, it is true, is easily directed into a new channel, unless religious principle confirm it in its original course; but even where there is no sin, according to the world's acceptation of sin in such change, still, from the opinion I have hitherto entertained of his natural disposition, I thought he would, with that ingenuousness of character for which I have given him unbounded credit, have at least confessed the truth openly; a line of conduct which, had he adopted, I am confident that, however heavily the avowal might have fallen on your heart, there would yet have remained a consolation in thinking that he was still worthy of your esteem, and then an honest pride of the consciousness of self-desert would have come in aid to sustain you to bear up against desertion. I begin, however, to fear that esteem can have no part in our sentiment towards him; for why should concealment be necessary, if, at least, the cause of his estrangement from us were worthy of himself?" Lady Adeline covered her face with her hands, as she rested her arms on the table before her, and her tears trickled through her delicate fingers, but she could not speak. "Calm yourself, my dearest Adeline; for my sake, for your own sake, for resignation's sake, bear up under this heavy affliction: it is a sore and early trial for you, I well know; but if rightly entertained, it will bring its blessing with it, as all our trials do. I do not mean to pretend that you are not to suffer, or give a cold unfeeling philosophy to still the throbbings of a young wounded heart; but I would lead you to sources of consolation, which, although they may seem harsh and bitter at first, will in time, and with God's blessing, have a beneficial effect."

"I know," replied Lady Adeline, making an effort to speak, "I know, dearest mamma, that all you say is meant in love, and is balm to me, but these tears, these sobs, must have their course."

Lady Dunmelraise replied to this natural appeal with answering tears; and having first regained composure, she went on to say:

"Think for a moment, my best child, how hopeless, how truly wretched, would have been your situation, had you, when united to Lord Albert, discovered, when it was too late, that his affections were not entirely yours; and that he had, on his part, either from motives of false delicacy, or, from what was still worse, a desire to possess your fortune, persisted in fulfilling an engagement in which his heart at best had a divided interest;—think, dearest, what would have been your feelings in such a case, and how mercifully you are dealt by in the present suffering, in comparison of the irremediable sorrow which would then have been your portion!

"I need not now recall to your mind what I said on Lord Albert's apparently altered state of feelings on our arrival in town. You, I am certain, saw the change as well as myself, and felt it,—how deeply, I hardly can bear to think; though we both seemed tacitly to agree, that it would be better to await the result, than precipitate it by any premature remarks, either to himself, or between each other. And indeed this conduct, in a great measure, it is still my opinion should be preserved; only, in as far as regards ourselves, my dearest child, neither my sense of duty, nor my sense of sorrow, will permit of longer silence on a subject which, I grieve to confess, judging by appearances, is already settled; and it is with a view to prepare you for such an issue, rather than to direct you to show any alteration in your conduct towards Lord Albert, that I have thus spoken: when I say show no alteration, it is impossible that that advice could be literally followed, after having seen a person avowedly under the most sacred engagement to yourself pass the entire evening in the society of another, whose general character will not authorize the supposition that such attentions were without an especial object, and that too on a day on which he had pleaded important business as his excuse for your not seeing him; but what I mean by your showing no alteration of manner towards him is, that neither our opinions nor our decisions should be made known to him in this stage of the business."

Lady Adeline had now mastered herself sufficiently to listen with calmness to all her mother said; and she had drawn a seat near her, and held Lady Dunmelraise's hand tenderly in hers, replying by a gentle pressure to the sentiments she uttered: and now, when she could again give her thoughts utterance, she said:

"Speak on, dearest mamma, for even my rebel heart is soothed by listening to your gentle voice."

Lady Dunmelraise continued, "There are many reasons, you see, love, for this line of conduct:—

"In the first place, we have only, my sweet child, our own observations and surmises to guide us; and although these, I grant, are strong," (Lady Adeline sighed heavily in answer to this remark) "yet to act upon them would look like forcing Lord Albert to an immediate decision, a step unwise, and unworthy of us, and whichever way it ended would leave a doubt whether the decision were entirely from his heart or not. Besides, as yet he may have erred, and perhaps become penitent; if so, his own spontaneous confession alone could be a surety for his sincerity. Then too, my love, I must also remind you, that by nothing do a young woman's prospects suffer so much, on her first entry into life, as by becoming the object of the world's observation and idle talk, especially on the subject of a disappointment in love or marriage. All that the generality of the world know at present, concerning the existing engagement between yourself and Lord Albert, is, that your dear father and his parents having considered that you were by birth, fortune, and apparently by disposition when children, united to each other; should you grow up, mutually entertaining the same affection which you then evinced, that in such a case your union would be a matter of congratulation to the families of both parties. In short, it was one of those alliances that are often talked of amongst children seemingly adapted to each other, but to be finally dissolved or fulfilled, as circumstances should hereafter decide.

"How far your own affections have become bound up in this engagement, or how far Lord Albert has proved himself worthy or not of the intended union, is hitherto a matter wholly unknown, and uncared for, by the world at large: but now, however, that you are in the scene of London, young, new, and with various extraneous advantages to excite envy, if the affair were made a topic of discussion, the ill-natured part of the community will be too glad to seize upon any esclandre that might answer them for a nine days' novelty; and such a hazard, your own delicacy will point out to you, is therefore carefully to be avoided. Till lately, the happy termination of our wishes had seemed probable, and you, dearest child, have, I fear, given way to the belief that it was impossible it should fail: but, however painful it may be to us both, in the several relations in which we stand implicated in this business, it is, you will allow, some satisfaction to think, that the sacredness of these feelings will not necessarily be broken in upon by a vulgar prying public; and that, in short, the world need know no more of the matter than what I have already stated.

"We have only, therefore, as I before remarked, to await the period when decision must of course be made; that will be when we are in the country, and when we shall escape all the unpleasant remarks which would take place were we actually on the scene. Let me hope also, dearest Adeline, that your eyes being self-opened to the disappointment, you will know where to seek for succour against yourself, and which alone can enable you to bear the blow, come when it may."

"Indeed, dearest mamma," said Lady Adeline, with that under tone of voice that seems to fear its own sound, "whatever pain I endure, I perfectly agree with you in all you have said, and implicitly yield to your counsel; not only because it is my duty and interest to do so, but because I see the matter exactly in the same light. Oh, I could have borne all, had Albert only been more open and honest with me: but why was he so cruel as to deceive me? why was he so tenderly affectionate to me at Dunmelraise, after his return from abroad? why did he write to me so kindly? why has he, since we have been in London even, made such constant allusions to past and future happiness? Why all this, and then so suddenly and cruelly neglect me for another? for I am sure he does love another; mamma, do you not think he does?"

"Alas! what comfort can I give you? You have seen with your own eyes, and I must refer you, love, to your own feelings; who can so well tell all things as they?"

"But, dearest mamma, do you not think, that if he really did love another he would have told me so?"

"Why, dearest, it is difficult to reply to that question. Albert's good feelings and principles could not be overthrown at once. It is never thus. In a vicious career, people become unprincipled and hardened by degrees. He may have found his heart estranged from you, and yet in the first instance have been ashamed to own it, even to himself. The first step to evil is the deceitfulness of sin: with how many subterfuges does it not conceal its true nature: it blinds the eyes, lest, looking upon its native deformity, it should terrify its victim. There is nothing so likely to have this fatal tendency, as the constant society and intercourse with persons whose conduct, if not licentious (though I fear too many of them deserve that epithet), is yet not guided by any fixed or determined principle of action; whose lives at best are spent from day to day without any serious thought, and without regard to any thing but selfish indulgence. Albert has great influence, and there may be more reasons than one why the party with whom he seems at present to associate should wish to entangle him. I augured ill of his happiness from the moment I heard of the circle in which he lived; and it came to me with as much surprise as sorrow, for I never could have thought to find one of his dispositions and habits (setting aside principle) making such a choice of society. This it is which leads me to suppose that some stronger power of evil than a mere love of idle pleasure has lured him into the danger. But let this be your greatest comfort, that you are not his wife, and are not to be thrown among persons of such a stamp as his present associates; for whatever worldly advantages they may possess, I should tremble for you, my dear child, were you cast into a situation of such imminent peril to reason and to virtue. A woman, to a certain extent, must mingle with the associates of her husband; and such as these are, so in time must become, likewise, her own character: for however incongruous they may be to her tastes and feelings at first, yet if she is young, inexperienced, and pliant, the brilliancy and polish of their exterior, and their whole attractions, must dazzle and mislead her better judgment; and from the idea alone of pleasing her husband, in as far as virtue and religion do not seem to forbid it, she will conform herself to the habits and manners of those around her, not being aware how these re-act again upon the general tone of her own character."

"But perhaps," said Lady Adeline timidly, and while a feverish flush of hope and tenderness deepened in her cheek, "perhaps, were I his wife, I might reclaim——."

"Ah, dearest child," interrupted Lady Dunmelraise, "never hazard evil that good may come of it; never rely upon such a precarious contingency, nor upon your own strength; seek not temptation,—that is presumptuous. Were you indeed his wife—as there is every reason at present to be thankful you are not—then would have come the duty of that trial; but now another is appointed you, my love. Let us take what is, and think only of that. We must not wilfully rush into danger, to indulge selfish gratification."

Lady Adeline threw herself into her mother's arms, and wept unrestrainedly. "My dearest child, it has been a painful task to me to give you pain. Soothe this anguish, I beseech you, and assist me in the performance of what I feel is my duty, by regaining as much command over yourself as you possibly can."

While Lady Dunmelraise was yet speaking, a servant brought in a note addressed to Lady Dunmelraise: it was from Lord Albert. She opened, and having read it, gave it to Lady Adeline, who had known by its very twist who it came from, and was in breathless anxiety to see its contents.

"It is worded kindly," said Lady Dunmelraise, "but he could not do otherwise; and at the same time, I dare say, he felt much awkwardness, and did not know how to come in person. I shall answer it, my love, in the same spirit of gentleness; merely saying you are quite recovered, only suffering the remains of languor after the sickness produced by the heat of the Opera last night. And if Lord Albert should call in the course of the day, do, I entreat you, betray no unusual symptoms of agitation."

Lady Adeline, with an aching head and still sobbing breath, promised acquiescence; and in despite of herself, a ray of hope seemed to emanate from the note, which cheered her, she scarce knew why, and enabled her to suppress her emotion. Then retiring to her own chamber, she there sought in prayer that strength and resignation which she knew no earthly comforter could bestow on her.

After the exhaustion of spirits which this conversation with her daughter had produced, Lady Dunmelraise felt the promised visit of her sister would be a cordial to her; nor did she wait long ere Lady Delamere came. As soon as the latter was made acquainted with what had passed, she said, "Dear Adeline! I expected this from her; yet her behaviour is super-eminently amiable on this occasion, and must reward you for all your sorrows. I perfectly agree with you on the policy of the line of conduct you are to adopt with Lord Albert; and in pursuance of this, should you not call upon the Tresyllians? You know they are arrived."

"Certainly I will; for although my health has for many years precluded my mixing with the world, and exonerated me from all visiting, I shall forego my general rule, and call on them without delay."

"Come with me now," said Lady Delamere; "my carriage is at the door, and I will bring you home again." To this proposal the sisters agreed, and they departed together. The Tresyllians were not at home, and Lady Dunmelraise felt glad to escape the meeting. On her return, she learnt from Adeline, whom she found admirably serene and composed, though pale, and with her eyes swollen with weeping, that Lord Albert had not been there. The fact was, that the latter had been in reality occupied the whole day; and it was only on his return to his house, late in the afternoon, that he received Lady Dunmelraise's answer to his note, his mind having been as it were forcibly taken off from the subject nearest to his heart. He had profited by that wholesome constraint which the occupations of men afford them, and prevents that musing of the tenderer feelings which enervates and unfits for useful exertion. Something like reason, and the distinct perception of things which it never fails to bring in its train, had consequently resumed a sway over him; and, when this was the case, his heart could not avoid turning to the object of its first pure and honourable affection with that ineffable sweetness of sensation that attends on innocent and happy love. Then, half forgetting, half scorning, the suspicions he had entertained, and which the scene of the preceding evening had but too plausibly confirmed, he determined to call in South Audley-street to see Lady Dunmelraise at least, if not Adeline; and as he walked along, absorbed in mingled feelings that made him insensible to all the noise and bustle of the busy crowd he passed through, he found himself quickly at the door: his hand was on the knocker, when a cabriolet drove up, and out of it stepped Mr. Foley.

All Lord Albert's philosophy was overthrown by this incident; all his love for and trust in Lady Adeline was destroyed; and his first impulse was to leave a house in which he conceived he had no longer any interest in seeking its inhabitants. But, the next moment, his better judgment, if not his pride in not seeming to yield to a successful rival, determined him to fulfil his first intention; and making rather a cold and haughty return to Mr. Foley's salutation, they both entered the door together.

CHAPTER III.

THE FRENCH PLAY.

It was late when Lady Glenmore returned from Lady Melcombe's; and as she drove home she pleased herself with the idea of talking over with her husband the insipid and insignificant scene of the morning, as well as losing in his society the recollection of those uneasy feelings respecting Lady Tenderden, which Lady Tilney's allusion to past times had created: and then glowed in her breast the one natural, honest hope, which was ever uppermost in Lady Glenmore's heart, of meeting her husband for the simple, single pleasure she enjoyed of being in his presence.

"Is Lord Glenmore come home?" was her first question when she alighted from her carriage: the "No" was chilling.

"Did he leave any message? has he sent any note?" Still "No, no," sounded heavily in her ears. She prepared, however, for his return, by taking more pains with her toilette than usual; and when she had finished arraying herself, not according to the code of the Belle Assemblée or Feuilles des Modes, but in accordance with that of her own young innocent face, her glass told her she had not done so in vain. She then sat for some time with tolerable patience, first taking up one book, then another, then throwing them down again; going to the instrument, touching a few chords; turning over the ornamented leaves of a Lilliputian music-book, invisibly written with a crow-quill; pushing it away, leaving it to tumble down off the desk as it might, and going to the window, the shutters of which she had not allowed the servant to close, in order that she might listen to every cabriolet that passed. At length she rang the bell, and was told that it was eight o'clock.

"Is there no message from Lord Glenmore?" "No, my lady. Shall dinner be served?" "No—yes—no—yes; bring up something, any thing is enough;" and away she went to her splendid board in her splendid apartment, with a train of liveried domestics, to sit down to a lonely dinner with an aching heart. She hastily dismissed the servants, and then leaning back on her chair, and suffering the tears that were choking her to flow over her face—

"I wish we were poor, and he not political," she said, sobbing; "I should not then be left alone, I should not be absent from him." A servant entered with a note. She endeavoured to conceal her tears, and, hastily opening it, read a few kind words from Lord Glenmore, which spoke his regret at being prevented from meeting her at dinner; and hoping she would go early to the French play with Lady Tenderden, where he would join them if possible. The ebb and flow of young feelings are very quick; and this note was such a cordial, that, as she ran up stairs, she carolled in the gaiety of her altered feelings: so soon had she forgot disappointment in anticipated pleasure.

In a few minutes more she was in her carriage on the way to the French play. When she came into the box, she found it empty, and the play begun. Lady Tenderden was not arrived; and by the time she had cast a glance round the house, bowed to some of her acquaintance, and settled her shawls, &c., she turned all her attention to the stage. It was a play which had collected a class of audience seldom frequenting that house; for it was one of those sterling comedies of Molière's, apart from his too frequent grossness, which, with the true legitimate intention of comedy, lashed the follies of the age for which it was written, and was not without its prototype in the present. Les Précieuses Ridicules is a play that all unsophisticated natures must enjoy, even those who, as in the case of Lady Glenmore, were not acquainted with the times and the persons it was written to satirize; and she herself evinced the pleasure she derived from it, by laughing naturally and frequently. Her merry laugh called the observation of several persons, not accustomed to see pain, or pleasure, or amusement, ever expressed by any outward sign, and who attributed to the uneducated only such marks of unconstrained nature; but others, again, (some few), were pleased at any thing so unlike what they generally beheld; and it conveyed to them a reflected sensation of freshness of enjoyment, such as they remembered to have felt when life was new, and before they were schooled by the false fastidious system of the world of ton, or blazéd to the zest of pleasure.

"What a pity," observed Lord Baskerville, speaking between his teeth, in his company voice, "that that very pretty Lady Glenmore should make herself so conspicuous."—He was in the Comtesse Leinsengen's box, within one of that in which Lady Glenmore was sitting.

"Not at all," replied Mr. Spencer Newcombe; "she only draws attention; and one cannot look at a prettier woman."

"Peut-être," said the Comtesse Leinsengen, "she does it for dat very purpose, and takes dis new way of being distingué."

"Insufferable!" rejoined Lord Baskerville; "if she were as beautiful as an angel, she would disgust me with those roturière manners."

"I believe," said Mr. Leslie Winyard with a yawn, "that I must really take compassion on her, and give her some good advice on the subject of education."

"L'affaire est faite," rejoined the comtesse, "if you take her en main; mais tout est pour le mieux dans ce meilleur des mondes possibles."

Having thus settled the matter in Lady Tilney's box, Mr. Leslie Winyard proceeded to that of Lady Glenmore, there to commence his destined essay on education. "I am delighted," he said, "to see you in such good health, and so intent on immortalizing Molière. If he could only know what homage you are paying his talents in these expressions of your mirth, how delighted he would be!"

"Hush," said Lady Glenmore, "I will talk presently; but now I want to listen to the play—it is so amusing."

"So it is," he replied; "and I am glad to be with any one so natural, and so much of my own way of thinking. I will, if you allow me, occupy this place," taking the front seat, "and we will enjoy the thing together."

"Certainly," said Lady Glenmore, with a pleased expression of countenance, which, though he knew better than to ascribe its influence to himself, he was yet gratified to think that others might do so; and while she continued intent on what was passing on the stage, Mr. Winyard was busily looking round, à-la-derobée, to see what remarks were passing on his being alone with the new minister's wife. This, however, was a privilege which he did not long enjoy; for Lord Raynham and Mr. Spencer Newcombe came in to make their bows and give their meed of homage. After having courteously received them, Lady Glenmore turned again to the stage, and they went on talking in an under tone together at the back of the box.

"I wish," said Lord Raynham, addressing Mr. Spencer Newcombe, "I wish that we had any dramatist as clever now-a-days to lash our follies."

"Do you think you would like it if you had?" asked his friend. "Somehow or another, for my own part, I feel I get on just as well without, and I suspect I am too old to be whipped. Depend upon it, the reason why we are so well amused with this and some of the other comedies of Molière is, because we think we are only laughing at another generation, and another nation, whose ridicules have nothing in common with our own. No, no; believe me, we English do not like to be satirized; we can bear it less well than any other nation I know. Broad farce is our sauce piquant; but the exact delineation of our peculiar vices and follies would not be well received, and indeed I doubt if legitimate comedy, however well acted or written, would go down at all."

"My good friend," said Lord Raynham, "this very piece is not so widely different from the follies of the present day as you may at first sight imagine."

"Perhaps so," replied his friend; "but one need not put on the cap, you know; and then nobody can tell whether it fits or not."

Lord Raynham continued (following the thread of his own fancy, rather than replying to the speaker, as was his wont), "Change the names and the modes of Les Précieuses Ridicules to those of a certain set existing now-a-days, and the principle of vanity and folly is much the same in both; only that, perhaps, on the whole, those of the Hôtel de Rambouillet were more to women's advantage after all; and had they not pushed their system too far, it might have lasted longer than the present dynasty of ton is likely to do. Both are entirely false, both equally far from the real, nay, genuine charm of true good society.

"However, in all the freaks that vanity and fashion play, there have been, and ever will be, some redeeming characters, who mix with all the fanfaronnade of the day, and yet remain uninfected with the epidemic follies. She, for instance," indicating Lady Glenmore with a look; "can any thing be more young and fresh, in mind and heart as well as years, more gay, more natural?"