ung days of joyless, careless mirth, of which
his mechanical gayety now was but a mocking ghost; and the other seemed
a satire, a parody, on the fierce but noiseless rapture of gaming,
through which his passions had passed, when thousands had slipped away
with a bland smile, provoking not one of those natural ebullitions
of emotion which there accompanied the loss of a shilling point. And
besides this, Vernon had been so accustomed to the success of the
drawing-room, to be a somebody and a something in the company of wits
and princes, that he felt, for the first time, a sense of insignificance
in this provincial circle. Those fat squires had heard nothing of Mr.
Vernon, except that he would not have Laughton,--he had no acres, no
vote in their county; he was a nobody to them. Those ruddy maidens,
though now and then, indeed, one or two might steal an admiring glance
at a figure of elegance so unusual, regarded him not with the female
interest he had been accustomed to inspire. They felt instinctively that
he could be nothing to them, nor they to him,--a mere London fop, and
not half so handsome as Squires Bluff and Chuff.

Rousing himself from this little vexation to his vanity with a conscious
smile at his own weakness, Vernon turned his looks towards the door,
waiting for Lucretia's entrance, and since her uncle's address to him,
feeling that new and indescribable interest in her appearance which is
apt to steal into every breast when what was before but an indifferent
acquaintance, is suddenly enhaloed with the light of a possible wife.
At length the door opened, and Lucretia entered. Mr. Vernon lowered
his book, and gazed with an earnestness that partook both of doubt and
admiration.

Lucretia Clavering was tall,--tall beyond what is admitted to be tall
in woman; but in her height there was nothing either awkward or
masculine,--a figure more perfect never served for model to a sculptor.
The dress at that day, unbecoming as we now deem it, was not to her--at
least, on the whole disadvantageous. The short waist gave greater
sweep to her majestic length of limb, while the classic thinness of the
drapery betrayed the exact proportion and the exquisite contour. The
arms then were worn bare almost to the shoulder, and Lucretia's arms
were not more faultless in shape than dazzling in their snowy colour;
the stately neck, the falling shoulders, the firm, slight, yet rounded
bust,--all would have charmed equally the artist