"most obedient servant,
"BYERDALE."

CHAPTER XXXIII.
For nearly ten days after the events which we have recorded in the
thirtieth chapter of this volume, and while the principal part of the
events were taking place of which we have just spoken, Lord
Sherbrooke remained absent from London. Knowing the circumstances in
which he was placed, Wilton felt anxious lest the delay of his return
might attract the attention of Lord Byerdale, and lead him to suspect
some evil. No suspicion, however, seemed to cross the mind of the
Earl, who was more accustomed than Wilton knew to find his son absent
without knowing where he was, or how employed.
At length, however, one morning Lord Sherbrooke made his appearance
again; and Wilton saw that he was on perfect good terms with his
father, who never quarrelled with his vices, or interfered with his
pursuits, when there was any veil of decency thrown over the one, or
the Earl's own views were not openly opposed by the other.
When Wilton entered the room where the father and son were seated at
breakfast, he found Lord Sherbrooke descanting learnedly upon the
fancy of damask table-cloths and napkins. He vowed that his father
was behind all the world, especially the world of France, and that it
was absolutely necessary, in order to make himself like other men of
station and fashion, that he should have his coronet and cipher
embroidered with gold in the corners, and his arms, in the same
manner, made conspicuous in the centre.
"And pray, my good son," said Lord Byerdale to him, "as your intimacy
with washerwomen is doubtless as great as your intimacy with
embroiderers and sempstresses, pray tell me how these gilded napkins
are to be washed?"
"Washed, my lord!" exclaimed Lord Sherbrooke in a tone of horror. "Do
you ever have your napkins washed? I did not know there was a
statesman in Europe whose fingers were so clean as to leave his
napkin in such a state that the stains could ever be taken out, after
he had once used it."
"I am afraid, my dear boy," replied Lord Byerdale, "that, if you had
not--as many men of sharp wit do--confounded a figure with a reality,
for the purpose of playing with both, and if there were in truth such
a thing as a moral napkin, what you say would be very true. But as
far as I can judge, my dear Sherbrooke, yours would not bear washing
any better than mine."
"It would be very presumptuous of me if it did, my dear father,"
replied Lord Sherbrooke