he always expressed for
this amusement may have originated in some bitter pang, felt in his
youth, on seeing "the lady of his love" led out by others to the gay
dance from which he was himself excluded. On the present occasion, the
young heiress of Annesley having had for her partner (as often happens
at Matlock) some person with whom she was wholly unacquainted, on her
resuming her seat, Byron said to her pettishly, "I hope you like your
friend?" The words were scarce out of his lips when he was accosted by
an ungainly-looking Scotch lady, who rather boisterously claimed him
as "cousin," and was putting his pride to the torture with her
vulgarity, when he heard the voice of his fair companion retorting
archly in his ear, "I hope _you_ like your friend?"

His time at Annesley was mostly passed in riding with Miss Chaworth
and her cousin, sitting in idle reverie, as was his custom, pulling at
his handkerchief, or in firing at a door which opens upon the terrace,
and which still, I believe, bears the marks of his shots. But his
chief delight was in sitting to hear Miss Chaworth play; and the
pretty Welsh air, "Mary Anne," was (partly, of course, on account of
the name) his especial favourite. During all this time he had the pain
of knowing that the heart of her he loved was occupied by
another;--that, as he himself expresses it,

"Her sighs were not for him; to her he was
Even as a brother--but no more."

Neither is it, indeed, probable, had even her affections been
disengaged, that Lord Byron would, at this time, have been selected as
the object of them. A seniority of two years gives to a girl, "on the
eve of womanhood," an advance into life with which the boy keeps no
proportionate pace. Miss Chaworth looked upon Byron as a mere
school-boy. He was in his manners, too, at that period, rough and odd,
and (as I have heard from more than one quarter) by no means popular
among girls of his own age. If, at any moment, however, he had
flattered himself with the hope of being loved by her, a circumstance
mentioned in his "Memoranda," as one of the most painful of those
humiliations to which the defect in his foot had exposed him, must
have let the truth in, with dreadful certainty, upon his heart. He
either was told of, or overheard, Miss Chaworth saying to her maid,
"Do you think I could care any thing for that lame boy?" This speech,
as he himself described it, was like a shot through his heart. Though
late at n