Part 26 (2/2)

Mr. Rodney and Sylvia were at Conington on a visit to Lord Beaumaris, hunting. It was astonis.h.i.+ng how Sylvia had ridden to the hounds, mounted on the choicest steeds, and in a scarlet habit which had been presented to her by Mr. Vigo. She had created quite an enthusiasm in the field, and Lord Beaumaris was proud of his guests. When Endymion parted with his sister at the Albany, where they had been examining his rooms, he had repaired to Warwick Street, with some expectation that the Rodneys would have returned from Conington, and he intended to break to his host the impending change in his life. The Rodneys, however, had not arrived, and so he ascended to his room, where he had been employed in arranging his books and papers, and indulging in the reverie which we have indicated. When he came downstairs, wis.h.i.+ng to inquire about the probable arrival of his landlord, Endymion knocked at the door of the parlour where they used to a.s.semble, and on entering, found Imogene writing.

”How do you do, Mr. Ferrars?” she said, rising. ”I am writing to Sylvia.

They are not returning as soon as they intended, and I am to go down to Conington by an early train to-morrow.”

”I want to see Mr. Rodney,” said Endymion moodily.

”Can I write anything to him, or tell him anything?” said Imogene.

”No,” continued Endymion in a melancholy tone. ”I can tell you what I wanted to say. But you must be occupied now, going away, and unexpectedly, to-morrow. It seems to me that every one is going away.”

”Well, we have lost the prince, certainly,” said Imogene, ”and I doubt whether his rooms will be ever let again.”

”Indeed!” said Endymion.

”Well, I only know what Mr. Waldershare tells me. He says that Mr.

Rodney and Mr. Vigo have made a great speculation, and gained a great deal of money; but Mr. Rodney never speaks to me of such matters, nor indeed does Sylvia. I am myself very sorry that the prince has gone, for he interested me much.”

”Well, I should think Mr. Rodney would not be very sorry to get rid of me then,” said Endymion.

”O Mr. Ferrars! why should you say or think such things! I am sure that my brother and sister, and indeed every one in this house, always consider your comfort and welfare before any other object.”

”Yes,” said Endymion, ”you have all been most kind to me, and that makes me more wretched at the prospect of leaving you.”

”But there is no prospect of that?”

”A certainty, Imogene; there is going to be a change in my life,” and then he told her all.

”Well,” said Imogene, ”it would be selfish not to be happy at what I hear; but though I hope I am happy, I need not be joyful. I never used to be nervous, but I am afraid I am getting so. All these great changes rather shake me. This adventure of the prince--as Mr. Waldershare says, it is history. Then Miss Myra's great marriage, and your promotion--although they are exactly what we used to dream about, and wished a fairy would accomplish, and somehow felt that, somehow or other, they must happen--yet now they have occurred, one is almost as astounded as delighted. We certainly have been very happy in Warwick Street, at least I have been, all living as it were together. But where shall we be this time next year? All scattered, and perhaps not even the Rodneys under this roof. I know not how it is, but I dread leaving the roof where one has been happy.”

”Oh! you know you must leave it one day or other, Imogene. You are sure to marry; that you cannot avoid.”

”Well, I am not by any means sure about that,” said Imogene. ”Mr.

Waldershare, in educating me, as he says, as a princess, has made me really neither fish, flesh, nor fowl, nor even that coa.r.s.er but popular delicacy never forgotten. I could not unite my life with a being who was not refined in mind and in manners, and the men of my cla.s.s in life, who are the only ones after all who might care to marry me, shock my taste, I am ashamed to say so. I am not sure it is not wicked to think it even; but so it is.”

”Why do you not marry Waldershare?” said Endymion.

”That would be madness! I do not know any alliance that could prove more unfortunate. Mr. Waldershare must never marry. All people of imagination, they say, are difficult to live with; but a person who consists solely of imagination, like Mr. Waldershare, who has indeed no other attribute--before a year was past, married, he would fly to the desert or to La Trappe, commit terrible scandals from mere weariness of feeling, write pasquinades against the wife of his bosom, and hold us both up to the fierce laughter of the world. No, no; he is the best, the dearest, and the most romantic of friends; tender as a father, and sometimes as wise, for genius can be everything. He is going to rise early to-morrow, which he particularly dislikes, because he will not let me go to the station alone; though I tell him, as I often tell him, those are the becoming manners of my cla.s.s.”

”But you might meet a person of the refinement you require,” said Endymion, ”with a moderate and yet a sufficient income, who would not be unworthy of you.”

”I doubt it,” said Imogene.

”But, do not doubt it, dear Imogene,” said Endymion, advancing; ”such charms as yours, both of body and of mind, such a companion in life, so refined, so accomplished, and yet endowed with such clear sense, and such a sweet disposition--believe me”----

But at this moment a splendid equipage drove up to the door, with powdered footmen and long canes behind, and then a terrible rap, like the tattoo of a field-marshal.

”Good gracious! what is all this?” exclaimed Imogene.

”It is my sister,” said Endymion, blus.h.i.+ng; ”it is Lady Roehampton.”

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