k and
affectionate demeanour, for which the Duke of St. James had been
so remarkable in his early youth, and with the aid of which Lord
Fitz-pompey had built so many Spanish castles, had quite disappeared.

Nothing could be more artificial, more conventional, more studied, than
his whole deportment. In vain Lord Fitz-pompey pumped; the empty bucket
invariably reminded him of his lost labour. In vain his Lordship laid
his little diplomatic traps to catch a hint of the purposes or an
intimation of the inclinations of his nephew; the bait was never seized.
In vain the Earl affected unusual conviviality and boundless affection;
the Duke sipped his claret and admired his pictures. Nothing would
do. An air of habitual calm, a look of kind condescension, and an
inclination to a smile, which never burst into a beam, announced that
the Duke of St. James was perfectly satisfied with existence, and
conscious that he was himself, of that existence, the most distinguished
ornament. In fact, he was a sublime coxcomb; one of those rare
characters whose finished manner and shrewd sense combined prevent
their conceit from being contemptible. After many consultations it was
determined between the aunt and uncle that it would be most prudent to
affect a total non-interference with their nephew's affairs, and in
the meantime to trust to the goodness of Providence and the charms of
Caroline.

Lady Fitz-pompey determined that the young Duke should make his debut at
once, and at her house. Although it was yet January, she did not despair
of collecting a select band of guests, Brahmins of the highest caste.
Some choice spirits were in office, like her lord, and therefore in
town; others were only passing through; but no one caught a flying-fish
with more dexterity than the Countess. The notice was short, the whole
was unstudied. It was a felicitous impromptu, and twenty guests were
assembled, who were the Corinthian capitals of the temple of fashion.

There was the Premier, who was invited, not because he was a minister,
but because he was a hero. There was another Duke not less celebrated,
whose palace was a breathing shrine which sent forth the oracles of
mode. True, he had ceased to be a young Duke; but he might be consoled
for the vanished lustre of youth by the recollection that he had enjoyed
it, and by the present inspiration of an accomplished manhood. There
were the Prince and the Princess Protocoli: his Highness a first-rate
diplo