re fancifully
and brilliantly than their mamma. They resembled each other, and had the
same brilliant complexion, rich chestnut hair, delicately arched brows,
and dark blue eyes. Though only eight years of age, a most unchildlike
self-possession distinguished them. The expression of their countenances
was haughty, disdainful, and supercilious. Their beautiful features
seemed quite unimpassioned, and they moved as if they expected
everything to yield to them. The girl, whose long ringlets were braided
with pearls, was ushered to a seat next to her father, and, like her
brother, who was placed by Mrs. Ferrars, was soon engaged in negligently
tasting delicacies, while she seemed apparently unconscious of any one
being present, except when she replied to those who addressed her with a
stare and a haughty monosyllable. The boy, in a black velvet jacket
with large Spanish buttons of silver filagree, a shirt of lace, and a
waistcoat of white satin, replied with reserve, but some condescension,
to the good-natured but half-humorous inquiries of the husband of
Zenobia.

"And when do you go to school?" asked his lordship in a kind voice and
with a laughing eye.

"I shall go to Eton in two years," replied the child without the
slightest emotion, and not withdrawing his attention from the grapes he
was tasting, or even looking at his inquirer, "and then I shall go to
Christ Church, and then I shall go into Parliament."

"Myra," said an intimate of the family, a handsome private secretary of
Mr. Ferrars, to the daughter of the house, as he supplied her plate with
some choicest delicacies, "I hope you have not forgotten your engagement
to me which you made at Wimbledon two years ago?"

"What engagement?" she haughtily inquired.

"To marry me."

"I should not think of marrying any one who was not in the House of
Lords," she replied, and she shot at him a glance of contempt.

The ladies rose. As they were ascending the stairs, one of them said to
Mrs. Ferrars, "Your son's name is very pretty, but it is very uncommon,
is it not?"

"'Tis a family name. The first Carey who bore it was a courtier of
Charles the First, and we have never since been without it. William
wanted our boy to be christened Pomeroy but I was always resolved, if I
ever had a son, that he should be named ENDYMION."

CHAPTER IV

About the time that the ladies rose from the dinner-table in Hill
Street, Mr. Sidney Wilton entered the hall of the Clarendon