ing-room. He has received two cups of tea from my mother's fair
hand; he has made himself at home. With Mr. Trevanion has come another
friend of my father's, whom he has not seen since he left college,--Sir
Sedley Beaudesert.

Now, you must understand that it is a warm night, a little after nine
o'clock,--a night between departing summer and approaching autumn. The
windows are open; we have a balcony, which my mother has taken care to
fill with flowers; the air, though we are in London, is sweet and
fresh; the street quiet, except that an occasional carriage or hackney
cabriolet rolls rapidly by; a few stealthy passengers pass to and fro
noiselessly on their way homeward. We are on classic ground,--near that
old and venerable Museum, the dark monastic pile which the taste of the
age had spared then,--and the quiet of the temple seems to hallow the
precincts. Captain Roland is seated by the fire-place, and though there
is no fire, he is shading his face with a hand-screen; my father and Mr.
Trevanion have drawn their chairs close to each other in the middle of
the room; Sir Sedley Beaudesert leans against the wall near the window,
and behind my mother, who looks prettier and more pleased than usual
since her Austin has his old friends about him; and I, leaning my elbow
on the table and my chin upon my hand, am gazing with great admiration
on Sir Sedley Beaudesert.

Oh, rare specimen of a race fast decaying,--specimen of the true fine
gentleman, ere the word "dandy" was known, and before "exquisite" became
a noun substantive,--let me here pause to describe thee! Sir Sedley
Beaudesert was the contemporary of Trevanion and my father; but
without affecting to be young, he still seemed so. Dress, tone, look,
manner,--all were young; yet all had a certain dignity which does not
belong to youth. At the age of five and twenty he had won what would
have been fame to a French marquis of the old regime; namely, the
reputation of being "the most charming man of his day,"--the most
popular of our sex, the most favored, my dear lady-reader, by yours. It
is a mistake, I believe, to suppose that it does not require talent to
become the fashion,--at all events, Sir Sedley was the fashion, and he
had talent.

He had travelled much, he had read much,--especially in memoirs,
history, and belles-lettres,--he made verses with grace and a
certain originality of easy wit and courtly sentiment, he conversed
delightfully, he was polished and u