he great sacrifice you are
making. He cannot refuse you: 'tis but the first step. A youth feels a
little repugnance to launching into the great world: 'tis shyness; but
after the plunge, the great difficulty is to restrain rather than to
incite. Let him but once enter the world, and be tranquil, he will soon
find something to engage him.'

'As long as he does not take to play,' said the duke, 'I do not much
care what he does.'

'My dear George!' said the duchess, 'how can you say such things! I was
in hopes,' she added, in a mournful tone, 'that we might have settled
him, without his entering what you call the world, Henry. Dearest child!
I fancy him surrounded by pitfalls.'

CHAPTER XII.

_The Dreamer Enters Society_

AFTER this consultation with Lord Eskdale, the duchess became easier in
her mind. She was of a sanguine temper, and with facility believed what
she wished. Affairs stood thus: it was agreed by all that Tancred should
go to the Holy Land, but he was to go in his own yacht; which yacht
was to be of a firstrate burthen, and to be commanded by an officer in
H.M.S.; and he was to be accompanied by Colonel Brace, Mr. Bernard, and
Mr. Roby; and the servants were to be placed entirely under the control
of some trusty foreigner accustomed to the East, and who was to be
chosen by Lord Eskdale. In the meantime, Tancred had acceded to the wish
of his parents, that until his departure he should mix much in society.
The duchess calculated that, under any circumstances, three months
must elapse before all the arrangements were concluded; and she felt
persuaded that, during that period, Tancred must become enamoured of his
cousin Katherine, and that the only use of the yacht would be to take
them all to Ireland. The duke was resolved only on two points: that his
son should do exactly as his son liked, and that he himself would never
take the advice, on any subject, of any other person than Lord Eskdale.

In the meantime Tancred was launched, almost unconsciously, into the
great world. The name of the Marquess of Montacute was foremost in those
delicate lists by which an eager and admiring public is apprised who,
among their aristocracy, eat, drink, dance, and sometimes pray. From the
saloons of Bel-grave and Grosvenor Square to the sacred recesses of
the Chapel Royal, the movements of Lord Montacute were tracked and
registered, and were devoured every morning, oftener with a keener
relish than the matin