Part 19 (1/2)

”Oh! the Talbot--the ci-devant jeune homme!”

”What, that charming, clever, animated old gentleman, who used to dress so oddly, and had been so celebrated a beau garcon in his day?”

”Exactly so,” said Lord St. George, taking snuff, and delighted to find he had set his young acquaintance on so honourable a footing.

”I did not know he was still alive,” said Lady Westborough, and then, turning her eyes towards Clarence and her daughter, she added carelessly, ”Mr. Talbot is very rich, is he not?”

”Rich as Croesus,” replied Lord St. George, with a sigh.

”And Mr. Linden is his heir, I suppose?”

”In all probability,” answered Lord St. George; ”though I believe I can boast a distant relations.h.i.+p to Talbot. However, I could not make him fully understand it the other day, though I took particular pains to explain it.”

While this conversation was going on between the Marchioness of Westborough and Lord St. George, a dialogue equally interesting to the parties concerned, and I hope, equally light, witty, and entertaining to readers in general, was sustained between Clarence and Lady Flora.

”How long shall you stay in England?” asked the latter, looking down.

”I have not yet been able to decide,” replied Clarence, ”for it rests with the ministers, not me. Directly Lord Aspeden obtains another appointment, I am promised the office of Secretary of Legation; but till then, I am--

”'A captive in Augusta's towers To beauty and her train.'”

”Oh!” cried Lady Flora, laughing, ”you mean Mrs. Desborough and her train: see where they sweep! Pray go and render her homage.”

”It is rendered,” said Linden, in a low voice, ”without so long a pilgrimage, but perhaps despised.”

Lady Flora's laugh was hushed; the deepest blushes suffused her cheeks, and the whole character of that face, before so playful and joyous, seemed changed, as by a spell, into a grave, subdued, and even timid look.

Linden resumed, and his voice scarcely rose above a whisper. A whisper!

O delicate and fairy sound! music that speaketh to the heart, as if loth to break the spell that binds it while it listens! Sigh breathed into words, and freighting love in tones languid, like homeward bees, by the very sweets with which they are charged! ”Do you remember,” said he, ”that evening at ---- when we last parted? and the boldness which at that time you were gentle enough to forgive?”

Lady Flora replied not.

”And do you remember,” continued Clarence, ”that I told you that it was not as an unknown and obscure adventurer that I would claim the hand of her whose heart as an adventurer I had won?”

Lady Flora raised her eyes for one moment, and encountering the ardent gaze of Clarence, as instantly dropped them.

”The time is not yet come,” said Linden, ”for the fulfilment of this promise; but may I--dare I hope, that when it does, I shall not be--”

”Flora, my love,” said Lady Westborough, ”let me introduce to you Lord Borodaile.”

Lady Flora turned: the spell was broken; and the lovers were instantly transformed into ordinary mortals. But, as Flora, after returning Lord Borodaile's address, glanced her eye towards Clarence, she was struck with the sudden and singular change of his countenance; the flush of youth and pa.s.sion was fled, his complexion was deadly pale, and his eyes were fixed with a searching and unaccountable meaning upon the face of the young n.o.bleman, who was alternately addressing, with a quiet and somewhat haughty fluency, the beautiful mother, and the more lovely though less commanding daughter. Directly Linden perceived that he was observed, he rose, turned away, and was soon lost among the crowd.

Lord Borodaile, the son and heir of the powerful Earl of Ulswater, was about the age of thirty, small, slight, and rather handsome than otherwise, though his complexion was dark and sallow; and a very aquiline nose gave a stern and somewhat severe air to his countenance.

He had been for several years abroad, in various parts of the Continent, and (no other field for an adventurous and fierce spirit presenting itself) had served with the gallant Earl of Effingham, in the war between the Turks and Russians, as a volunteer in the armies of the latter. In this service he had been highly distinguished for courage and conduct; and, on his return to England about a twelvemonth since, had obtained the command of a cavalry regiment. Pa.s.sionately fond of his profession, he entered into its minutest duties with a zeal not exceeded by the youngest and poorest subaltern in the army.

His manners were very cold, haughty, collected, and self-possessed, and his conversation that of a man who has cultivated his intellect rather in the world than the closet. I mean, that, perfectly ignorant of things, he was driven to converse solely upon persons, and, having imbibed no other philosophy than that which worldly deceits and disappointments bestow, his remarks, though shrewd, were bitterly sarcastic, and partook of all the ill-nature for which a very scanty knowledge of the world gives a sour and malevolent mind so ready an excuse.

”How very disagreeable Lord Borodaile is!” said Lady Flora, when the object of the remark turned away and rejoined some idlers of his corps.

”Disagreeable!” said Lady Westborough. ”I think him charming: he is so sensible. How true his remarks on the world are!”