BEING A CHAPTER OF TRIFLES.
THE Abby disappeared! It is astonishing how well everybody bore his
departure. My mother scarcely spoke on the subject; but along the
irrefragable smoothness of her temperament all things glided without
resistance to their course, or trace where they had been. Gerald, who,
occupied solely in rural sports or rustic loves, seldom mingled in the
festivities of the house, was equally silent on the subject. Aubrey
looked grieved for a day or two: but his countenance soon settled into
its customary and grave softness; and, in less than a week, so little
was the Abbe spoken of or missed that you would scarcely have imagined
Julian Montreuil had ever passed the threshold of our gate. The oblivion
of one buried is nothing to the oblivion of one disgraced.
Meanwhile I pressed for my departure; and, at length, the day was
finally fixed. Ever since that conversation with Lady Hasselton
which has been set before the reader, that lady had lingered and
lingered--though the house was growing empty, and London, in all
seasons, was, according to her, better than the country in any--until
the Count Devereux, with that amiable modesty which so especially
characterized him, began to suspect that the Lady Hasselton lingered on
his account. This emboldened that bashful personage to press in earnest
for the fourth seat in the beauty’s carriage, which we have seen in
the conversation before mentioned had been previously offered to him
in jest. After a great affectation of horror at the proposal, the Lady
Hasselton yielded. She had always, she said, been dotingly fond of
children, and it was certainly very shocking to send such a chit as the
little Count to London by himself.
My uncle was charmed with the arrangement. The beauty was a peculiar
favourite of his, and, in fact, he was sometimes pleased to hint that he
had private reasons for love towards her mother’s daughter. Of the truth
of this insinuation I am, however, more than somewhat suspicious, and
believe it was only a little ruse of the good knight, in order to excuse
the vent of those kindly affections with which (while the heartless tone
of the company his youth had frequented made him ashamed to own it) his
breast overflowed. There was in Lady Hasselton’s familiarity--her ease
of manner--a certain good-nature mingled with her affectation, and a
gayety of spirit, which never flagged,--something greatly calculated to
win favour with a man of my uncle’s temper.
An old gentleman who filled in her family the office of “the
_chevalier_” in a French one; namely, who told stories; not too long,
and did not challenge you for interrupting them; who had a good air, and
unexceptionable pedigree,--a turn for wit, literature, note-writing,
and the management of lap-dogs; who could attend _Madame_ to auctions,
plays, courts, and the puppet-show; who had a right to the best
company, but would, on a signal, give up his seat to any one the pretty
_capricieuse_ whom he served might select from the worst,--in short
a very useful, charming personage, “vastly” liked by all, and
“prodigiously” respected by none,--this gentleman, I say, by name Mr.
Lovell, had attended her ladyship in her excursion to Devereux Court.
Besides him there came also a widow lady, a distant relation, with one
eye and a sharp tongue,--the Lady Needleham, whom the beauty carried
about with her as a sort of _gouvernante_ or duenna. These excellent
persons made my _compagnons de voyage_, and filled the remaining
complements of the coach. To say truth, and to say nothing of my
_tendresse_ for the Lady Hasselton, I was very anxious to escape the
ridicule of crawling up to the town like a green beetle, in my uncle’s
verdant chariot, with the four Flanders mares trained not to exceed two
miles an hour. And my Lady Hasselton’s _private_ raileries--for she was
really well bred, and made no jest of my uncle’s antiquities of taste,
in his presence, at least--had considerably heightened my intuitive
dislike to that mode of transporting myself to the metropolis. The day
before my departure, Gerald, for the first time, spoke of it.
Glancing towards the mirror, which gave in full contrast the magnificent
beauty of his person, and the smaller proportions and plainer features
of my own, he said with a sneer, “Your appearance must create a
wonderful sensation in town.”
“No doubt of it,” said I, taking his words literally, and arraying my
laced cravat with the air of a _petit-maitre_.
“What a wit the Count has!” whispered the Duchess of Lackland, who had
not yet given up all hope of the elder brother.
“Wit!” said the Lady Hasselton; “poor child, he is a perfect simpleton!”