starts; my passion for it comes in with the early
strawberries, and goes out with the hautboys. I lead so artificial a
life; but then I hope it is a useful one. I want nothing but a home to
make it a happy one."

"What is the latest news?--dear London! I am so sorry Grandmamma, Lady
Elizabeth, is not going there this year, so I am compelled to rusticate.
Is Lady Jane D----- to be married at last?"

"Commend me to a young lady's idea of news,--always marriage! Lady Jane
D-----! yes, she is to be married, as you say--_at last_! While she
was a beauty, our cold sex was shy of her; but she has now faded into
plainness,--the proper colour for a wife."

"Complimentary!"

"Indeed it is--for you beautiful women we love too much for our own
happiness--heigho!--and a prudent marriage means friendly indifference,
not rapture and despair. But give me beauty and love; I never was
prudent: it is not my weakness."

Though Caroline was his sole supporter in this dialogue, Lord Vargrave's
eyes attempted to converse with Evelyn, who was unusually silent and
abstracted. Suddenly Lord Vargrave seemed aware that he was scarcely
general enough in his talk for his hearers. He addressed himself to Mrs.
Leslie, and glided back, as it were, into a former generation. He spoke
of persons gone and things forgotten; he made the subject interesting
even to the young, by a succession of various and sparkling anecdotes.
No one could be more agreeable; even Evelyn now listened to him with
pleasure, for to all women wit and intellect have their charm. But still
there was a cold and sharp levity in the tone of the man of the world
that prevented the charm sinking below the surface. To Mrs. Leslie he
seemed unconsciously to betray a laxity of principle; to Evelyn, a
want of sentiment and heart. Lady Vargrave, who did not understand
a character of this description, listened attentively, and said to
herself, "Evelyn may admire, but I fear she cannot love him." Still,
time passed quickly in Lumley's presence, and Caroline thought she had
never spent so pleasant an evening.

When Lord Vargrave retired to his room, he threw himself in his
chair, and yawned with exceeding fervour. His servant arranged his
dressing-robe, and placed his portfolios and letter-boxes on the table.

"What o'clock is it?" said Lumley.

"Very early, my lord; only eleven."

"The devil! The country air is wonderfully exhausting. I am very sleepy;
you may go."

"This little gi