erverted, to suppose evil designs, where
she was sure none were meant. "And this is the good meddlers get of
interfering," Harry thought to himself with much bitterness; and his
perplexity and annoyance were only the greater, because he could not speak
to my Lord Castlewood himself upon a subject of this nature, or venture to
advise or warn him regarding a matter so very sacred as his own honour, of
which my lord was naturally the best guardian.

But though Lady Castlewood would listen to no advice from her young
dependant, and appeared indignantly to refuse it when offered, Harry had
the satisfaction to find that she adopted the counsel which she professed
to reject; for the next day she pleaded a headache, when my Lord Mohun
would have had her drive out, and the next day the headache continued; and
next day, in a laughing gay way she proposed that the children should take
her place in his lordship's car, for they would be charmed with a ride of
all things; and she must not have all the pleasure for herself. My lord
gave them a drive with a very good grace, though I dare say with rage and
disappointment inwardly--not that his heart was very seriously engaged in
his designs upon this simple lady: but the life of such men is often one
of intrigue, and they can no more go through the day without a woman to
pursue, than a fox-hunter without his sport after breakfast.

Under an affected carelessness of demeanour, and though there was no
outward demonstration of doubt upon his patron's part since the quarrel
between the two lords, Harry yet saw that Lord Castlewood was watching his
guest very narrowly; and caught signs of distrust and smothered rage (as
Harry thought) which foreboded no good. On the point of honour Esmond knew
how touchy his patron was; and watched him almost as a physician watches a
patient, and it seemed to him that this one was slow to take the disease,
though he could not throw off the poison when once it had mingled with his
blood. We read in Shakespeare (whom the writer for his part considers to
be far beyond Mr. Congreve, Mr. Dryden, or any of the wits of the present
period) that when jealousy is once declared, nor poppy, nor mandragora,
nor all the drowsy syrups of the East, will ever soothe it or medicine it
away.

In fine, the symptoms seemed to be so alarming to this young physician
(who indeed young as he was had felt the kind pulses of all those dear
kinsmen), that Harry thought it would be his