h a sunny
smile, win to renewed excesses, each more sweet! My feasting days are
over: me no more the charms of fish, or flesh, still less of fowl, can
make the fool of that they made before. The fricandeau is like a dream
of early love; the fricassee, with which I have so often flirted, is
like the tattle of the last quadrille; and no longer are my dreams
haunted with the dark passion of the rich ragout. Ye soups! o'er whose
creation I have watched, like mothers o'er their sleeping child! Ye
sauces! to which I have even lent a name, where are ye now? Tickling,
perchance, the palate of some easy friend, who quite forgets the boon
companion whose presence once lent lustre even to his ruby wine and
added perfume to his perfumed hock!

Our Duke, however, had not reached the age of retrospection. He pecked
as prettily as any bird. Seated on the right hand of his delightful
hostess, nobody could be better pleased; supervised by his jaeger, who
stood behind his chair, no one could be better attended. He smiled,
with the calm, amiable complacency of a man who feels the world is quite
right.

CHAPTER IX.

_The Chatelaine of Castle Dacre_

HOW is your Grace's horse, Sans-pareil?' asked Sir Chetwode Chetwode
of Chetwode of the Duke of St. James, shooting at the same time a sly
glance at his opposite neighbour, Sir Tichborne Tichborne of Tichborne.

'Quite well, sir,' said the Duke in his quietest tone, but with an air
which, he flattered himself, might repress further inquiry.

'Has he got over his fatigue?' pursued the dogged Baronet, with a short,
gritty laugh, that sounded like a loose drag-chain dangling against the
stones. 'We all thought the Yorkshire air would not agree with him.'

'Yet, Sir Chetwode, that could hardly be your opinion of Sanspareil,'
said Miss Dacre, 'for I think, if I remember right, I had the pleasure
of making you encourage our glove manufactory.'

Sir Chetwode looked a little confused. The Duke of St. James, inspirited
by his fair ally, rallied, and hoped Sir Chetwode did not back his steed
to a fatal extent. 'If,' continued he, 'I had had the slightest idea
that any friend of Miss Dacre was indulging in such an indiscretion, I
certainly would have interfered, and have let him known that the horse
was not to win.'

'Is that a fact?' asked Sir Tichborne Tichborne of Tichborne, with a
sturdy voice.

'Can a Yorkshireman doubt it?' rejoined the Duke. 'Was it possible for
anyone but a