when at
Coningsby Castle in 1837, was by any means the same lady who then strove
to amuse and struggled to be noticed. By no means. In 1837, Mrs. Guy
Flouncey was nobody; in 1845, Mrs. Guy Flouncey was somebody, and
somebody of very great importance. Mrs. Guy Flouncey had invaded
society, and had conquered it, gradually, but completely, like the
English in India. Social invasions are not rare, but they are seldom
fortunate, or success, if achieved, is partial, and then only sustained
at immense cost, like the French in Algiers.

The Guy Flounceys were not people of great fortune. They had a good
fortune; seven or eight thousand a year. But then, with an air of great
expenditure, even profusion, there was a basis of good management. And a
good fortune with good management, and without that equivocal luxury, a
great country-house, is almost equal to the great fortune of a peer.
But they not only had no country-house, they had no children. And a good
fortune, with good management, no country-house, and no children, is
Aladdin's lamp.

Mr. Guy Flouncey was a sporting character. His wife had impressed upon
him that it was the only way in which he could become fashionable and
acquainted with 'the best men.' He knew just enough of the affair not
to be ridiculous; and, for the rest, with a great deal of rattle and
apparent heedlessness of speech and deed, he was really an extremely
selfish and sufficiently shrewd person, who never compromised himself.
It is astonishing with what dexterity Guy Flouncey could extricate
himself from the jaws of a friend, who, captivated by his thoughtless
candour and ostentatiously good heart, might be induced to request Mr.
Flouncey to lend him a few hundreds, only for a few months, or, more
diplomatically, might beg his friend to become his security for a few
thousands, for a few years.

Mr. Guy Flouncey never refused these applications; they were exactly
those to which it delighted his heart to respond, because nothing
pleased him more than serving a friend. But then he always had to write
a preliminary letter of preparation to his banker, or his steward, or
his confidential solicitor; and, by some contrivance or other,
without offending any one, rather with the appearance of conferring an
obligation, it ended always by Mr. Guy Flouncey neither advancing the
hundreds, nor guaranteeing the thousands. He had, indeed, managed,
like many others, to get the reputation of being what is called 'a g