al conduct
to disprove the assumption. As little is it affectation; it is simply
an acquired habit of stoical indifference, supposed to be--why, Heaven
knows!--the essential ingredient of the best breeding. If the practice
extinguish all emotion, and obliterate all trace of feeling from the
heart, we deplore the system. If it only gloss over the working of human
sympathy, we pity the men. At all events, they are very uninteresting
company, with whom longer dalliance would only be wearisome.

CHAPTER XXI. SOME TRAITS OF LIFE

It was the night Lady Glencore received; and, as usual, the street
was crowded with equipages, which somehow seemed to have got into
inextricable confusion,--some endeavoring to turn back, while others
pressed forward,--the court of the palace being closely packed with
carriages which the thronged street held in fast blockade. As the
apartments which faced the street were not ever used for these
receptions, the dark unlighted windows suggested no remark; but they who
had entered the courtyard were struck by the gloomy aspect of the vast
building: not only that the entrance and the stairs were in darkness,
but the whole suite of rooms, usually brilliant as the day, were now in
deep gloom. From every carriage window heads were protruded, wondering
at this strange spectacle; and eager inquiries passed on every side
for an explanation. The explanation of "sudden illness" was rapidly
disseminated, but as rapidly contradicted, and the reply given by
the porter to all demands quickly repeated from mouth to mouth, "Her
Ladyship will not receive."

"Can no one explain this mystery?" cried the old Princess Borinsky, as,
heavy with fat and diamonds, she hung out of her carriage window.
"Oh, there 's Major Scaresby; he is certain to know, if it be anything
malicious."

Scaresby was, however, too busy in recounting his news to others to
perceive the signals the old Princess held out; and it was only as
her chasseur, six feet three of green and gold, bent down to give her
Highness's message, that the Major hurried off, in all the importance of
a momentary scandal, to the side of her carriage.

"Here I am, all impatience. What is it, Scaresby? Tell me quickly,"
cried she.

"A smash, my dear Princess,--nothing more or less," said he, in a voice
which nature seemed to have invented to utter impertinences, so harsh
and grating, and yet so painfully distinct in all its accents,--"as
complete a smash as eve