London Pride, Or, When the World Was Younger
CHAPTER XXI.
GOOD-BYE, LONDON.
Sitting in her own room before supper, a letter was brought to Angela--along letter, closely written, in a neat, firm hand she knew very well.
It was from Denzil Warner; a letter full of earnest thought and warmfeeling, in which he pursued the subject of their morning's discourse.
"We were interrupted before I had time to open my heart to you, dearest,"he wrote; "and at a moment when we had touched on the most delicatepoint in our friendship--the difference in our religious education andobservance. Oh, my beloved, let not difference in particulars divide twohearts that worship the same God, or make a barrier between two minds thatthink alike upon essentials. The Christ who died for you is not less mySaviour because I love not to obtrude the dressed-up image of His earthlymother between His Godhead and my prayers. In the regeneration of baptism,in the sanctity of marriage, in the resurrection of the body, and thelife of the world to come, in the reality of sin and the necessity forrepentance, I believe as truly as any Papist living. Let our lives be butonce united, who knows how the future may shape and modify our minds andour faith? I may be brought to your way of thinking, or you to mine. I willpledge myself never to be guilty of disrespect to your religion, or tounkindly urge you to any change in your observances. I am not one of thosewho have exchanged one tyranny for another, and who, released from thedominion of Rome, have become the slave of the Covenant. I have been taughtby one who, himself deeply religious, would have all men free to worshipGod by the light of their own conscience; and to my wife, that dearer halfof my soul, I would allow perfect freedom. I suffer from the lack of poeticphrases with which to embellish the plain reality of my love; but be sure,Angela, that you may travel far through the world, and receive many aflowery compliment to your beauty, yet meet none who will love you asfaithfully as I have loved you for this year last past, and as I doubt Ishall love you--happy or unfortunate in my wooing--for all the rest of mylife. Think, dearest, whether it were not wise on your part to accept thechaste and respectful homage of a suitor who is free to love and cherishyou, and thus to shield yourself from the sinful pursuit of one who offendsHeaven and dishonours you whenever he looks at you with the eyes of alover. I would not write harshly of a man whose very sin I pity, and whomI believe not wholly vile; but for him, as for me, that were a happy daywhich should make you my wife, and thus end the madness of unholy hopes. Iwould again urge that Lady Fareham desires our union with all a sister'sconcern for you, and more than a friend's tenderness to me.
"I beseech your pardon and indulgence for my rough words of this morning.God forbid that I should impute one unworthy thought to her whose virtues Ihonour above all earthly merit. If your heart inclines towards one whom itwere misery for you to love, I know that it must be with an affection pureand ethereal as the love of the disguised girl in Fletcher's play. But, ah,dearest angel, you know not the peril in which you walk. Your innocent mindcannot conceive the audacious height to which unholy love may climb in aman's fiery nature. You cannot fathom the black depths of such a characteras Fareham--a man as capable of greatness in evil as of distinction ingood. Forget not whose fierce blood runs in those veins. Can you doubt hisaudacity in wrong-doing, when you remember that he comes of the same stockwhich produced that renegade and tyrant, Thomas Wentworth--a man who wouldhave waded deep in the blood of a nation to reach his desired goal, all thehistory of whose life was expressed by him in one word--'thorough'?
"Do you consider what that word means to a man over whose heart sin hastaken the upper hand? Thorough! How resolute in evil, how undaunted andwithout limit in baseness, is he who takes that word for his motto! Oh, mylove, there are dragons and lions about thy innocent footsteps--the dragonsof lust, the lions of presumptuous love. Flee from thy worst enemy,dearest, to the shelter of a heart which adores thee; lean upon a breastwhose pulses beat for thee with a truth that time cannot change.
"Thine till death,
"WARNER."
Angela tore up the letter in anger. How dared he write thus of LordFareham? To impute sinful passions, guilty desires--to enter into anotherman's mind, and read the secret cipher of his thoughts and wishes withan assumed key, which might be false? His letter was a bundle of falseassumptions. What right had he to insist that her brother-in-law cared forher with more than the affection authorised by affinity? He had no right.She hated him for his insolent letter. She scorned the protection of hislove. She had her refuge and her shelter in a holier love than his. Thedoors of the old home would open to her at a word.
She sat on a low stool in front of the hearth, while the pile of shiptimber on the andirons burnt itself out and turned from red to grey. Shesat looking into the dying fire and recalling the pictures of the past;the dull grey convent rooms and formal convent garden; the petty rules andrestrictions; the so-frequent functions--low mass and high, benedictions,vespers--the recurrent sound of the chapel bell. The few dull books,permitted in the hour of so-called recreation; the sombre grey gown,which was the only relief from perpetual black; the limitations ofthat colourless life. She had been happy with the Ursulines under herkinswoman's gentle sway. But could she be happy with the present Superior,whose domineering temper she knew? She had been happy in her ignorance ofthe outer world; but could she be happy again in that grey seclusion--shewho had sat at the banquet of life, who had seen the beauty and the varietyof her native land? To be an exile for the rest of her days, in thehopeless gloom of a Flemish convent, among the heavy faces of Flemish nuns!
In the intensity of introspective thought she had forgotten one who hadforbidden that gloomy seclusion, and to whom it would be as natural forher to look for protection and refuge as to convent or husband. From herthoughts to-night the image of her wandering father had been absent. Hisappearances in her life had been so rare and so brief, his influence on herdestiny so slight, that she was forgetful of him now in this crisis of herfate.
* * * * *
It was within a week of that evening that the sisters were startled by thearrival of their father, unannounced, in the dusk of the winter afternoon.He had come by slow stages from Spain, riding the greater part of thejourney--like Howell, fifty years earlier--attended only by one faithfulsoldier-servant, and enduring no small suffering, and running no slightrisk, upon the road.
"The wolves had our provender on more than one occasion," he told them."The wonder is they never had us or our hackneys. I left Madrid in July,not long after the death of my poor friend Fanshawe. Indeed, it was hisfriendship and his good lady's unvarying courtesy that took me to thecapital. We had last met at Hampton Court, with the King, shortly beforehis Majesty's so ill-advised flight; and we were bosom-friends then. Andso, he being dead of a fever early in the summer, I had no more to do butto travel slowly homeward, to end my days in my own chimney-corner, and toclaim thy promise, Angela, that thou wouldst keep my house, and comfort mydeclining years."
"Dear father!" Angela murmured, hanging over him as he sat in thehigh-backed velvet chair by the fire, while her ladyship's footmen seta table near him, with wine and provisions for an impromptu meal, LadyFareham directing them, and coming between-whiles to embrace her father ina flutter of spirits, the firelight shining on her flame-coloured velvetgown and primrose taffety petticoat, her pretty golden curls and sparklingSevigne, her ruby necklace and earrings, and her bright restless eyes.
While the elder sister was all movement and agitation, the younger stoodcalm and still beside her father's chair, her hands clasped in his, herthoughtful eyes looking down at him as he talked, stopping now and then inhis story of adventures to eat and drink.
He looked much older than when he surprised her in the Convent garden. Hishair and beard, then iron grey, were now silver white. He wore his ownhair, which was abundant, and a beard cut after the fashion she knew in theportraits of Henri Quatre. His clothes also were of that style, which livednow only in the paintings of Vandyke and his school.
"How the girl
looks at me!" Sir John said, surprising his daughter'searnest gaze. "Does she take me for a ghost?"
"Indeed, sir, she may well fancy you have come back from the other worldwhile you wear that antique suit," said Hyacinth. "I hope your firstbusiness to-morrow will be to replenish your wardrobe by the assistanceof Lord Rochester's tailor. He is a German, and has the best cut for ajustau-corps in all the West End. Fareham is shabby enough to make a wifeashamed of him; but his clothes are only too plain for his condition. YourSpanish cloak and steeple hat are fitter for a travelling quack doctor thanfor a gentleman of quality, and your doublet and vest might have come outof the ark."
"If I change them, it will be but to humour your vanity, sweetheart,"answered her father. "I bought the suit in Paris three years ago, andI swore I would cast them back upon the snip's hands if he gave me anynew-fangled finery. But a riding-suit that has crossed the Pyrenees andstood a winter's wear at Montpelier--where I have been living sinceOctober--can scarce do credit to a fine lady's saloon; and thou art finest,I'll wager, Hyacinth, where all are fine."
"You would not say that if you had seen Lady Castlemaine's rooms. I wouldwager that her gold and silver tapestry cost more than the contents of myhouse."
"Thou shouldst not envy sin in high places, Hyacinth."
"Envy! I envy a----"
"Nay, love, no bad names! 'Tis a sorry pass England has come to when themost conspicuous personage at her Court is the King's mistress. I was withQueen Henrietta at Paris, who received me mighty kindly, and bewailed withme over the contrast betwixt her never-to-be-forgotten husband and hissons. They have nothing of their father, she told me, neither in person norin mind. 'I know not whence their folly comes to them!' she cried. It wouldhave been uncivil to remind her that her own father, hero as he was, hadset no saintly example to royal husbands; and that it is possible ourprinces take more of their character from their grandfather Henry than fromthe martyr Charles. Poor lady, I am told she left London deep in debt,after squandering her noble income of these latter years, and that she hassunk in the esteem of the French court by her alliance with Jermyn."
"I can but wonder that she, above all women, should ever cease to be awidow."
"She comes of a light-minded race and nation, Angela; and it is easy to herto forget; or she would not easily forget that so-adoring husband whosefortunes she ruined. His most fatal errors came from his subservience toher. When I saw her in her new splendour at Somerset House, all smiles andgaiety, with youth and beauty revived in the sunshine of restored fortune,I could but remember all he was, in dignity and manly affection, proud andpure as King Arthur in the old romance, and all she cost him by womanishtyrannies and prejudices, and difficult commands laid upon him at ajuncture of so exceeding difficulty."
The sisters listened in respectful silence. The old cavalier cut a freshslice of chine, sighed, and continued his sermon.
"I doubt that while we, the lookers on, remember, they, the actors, forget;for could the son of such a noble victim wallow in a profligate court,surrender himself to the devilish necromancies of vicious women and vilermen, if he remembered his father's character, and his father's death? No;memory must be a blank, and we, who suffered with our royal master, arefools to prate of ingratitude or neglect, since the son who can forget sucha father may well forget his father's servants and friends. But we will nottalk of public matters in the first hour of our greeting. Nor need I prateof the King, since I have not come back to England to clap a periwig overmy grey hairs, and play waiter upon Court favour, and wear out the backof my coat against the tapestry at Whitehall, standing in the rear of thecrowd, to have my toes trampled upon by the sharp heels of Court ladies,and an elbow in my stomach more often than not. I am come, like Wolsey,girls, to lay my old bones among you. Art thou ready, Angela? Hast thouhad enough of London, and play-houses, and parks; and wilt thou share thyfather's solitude in Buckinghamshire?"
"With all my heart, sir."
"What! never a sigh for London pleasures? Thou hast the great lady's airand carriage in that brave blue taffety. The nun I knew three years ago hasvanished. Can you so lightly renounce the splendour of this house, and yoursister's company, to make a prosing old father happy?"
"Indeed, sir, I am ready to go with you."
"How she says that--with what a countenance of woeful resignation! But Iwill not make the Manor Moat too severe a prison, dearest. You shall visitLondon, and your sister, when you will. There shall be a coach and a teamof stout roadsters to pull it when they are not wanted for the plough. Andthe Vale of Aylesbury is but a long day's journey from London, while 'tisno more than a morning's ride to Chilton."
"I could not bear for her to be long away from me," said Hyacinth. "She isthe only companion I have in the world."
"Except your husband."
"Husbands such as mine are poor company. Fareham has a moody brow, and amind stuffed with public matters. He dines with Clarendon one day, and withAlbemarle another; or he goes to Deptford to grumble with Mr. Evelyn; or hecreeps away to some obscure quarter of the town to hob-nob with Milton,and with Marvel, the member for Hull. I doubt they are all of one mind inabusing his Majesty, and conspiring against him. If I lose my sister Ishall have no one."
"What, no one; when you have Henriette, who even three years ago hadshrewdness enough to keep an old grandfather amused with her impertinentprattle?"
"Grandfathers are easily amused by children they see as seldom as you haveseen Papillon. To have her about you all day, with her everlasting chatter,and questions, and remarks, and opinions (a brat of twelve with opinions),would soon give you the vapours."
"I am not so subject to vapours as you, child. Let me look at you, now thecandles are lighted."
The footmen had lighted clusters of wax candles on either side the tallchimney-piece.
Sir John drew his elder daughter to the light, and scrutinised her facewith a father's privilege of uncompromising survey.
"You paint thick enough, i' conscience' name, though not quite so thick asthe Spanish senoras. They are browner than you, and need a heavier handwith white and red. But you are haggard under all your red. You are not thewoman I left in '65."
"I am near two years older than the woman you left; and as for paint, thereis not a woman over twenty in London who uses as little red and white as Ido."
"What has become of Fareham to-night?" Sir John asked presently, whenHyacinth had picked up her favourite spaniel to nurse and fondle, whileAngela had resumed her occupation at an embroidery frame, and a reposefulair as of a long-established domesticity had fallen upon the scene.
"He is at Chilton. When he is not plotting he rushes off to Oxfordshirefor the hunting and shooting. He loves buglehorns and yelping curs,and huntsmen's cracked voices, far before the company of ladies or theconversation of wits."
"A man was never meant to sit in a velvet chair and talk fine. It is allone for a French Abbe and a few old women in men's clothing to sit roundthe room and chop logic with a learned spinster like Mademoiselle Scudery;but men must live _sub Jove_, unless they are statesmen or clerks. Theymust have horses and hounds, gun and spaniel, hawk or rod. I am gladFareham loves sport. And as for that talk of conspiring, let me not hear itfrom thee, Hyacinth. 'Tis a perilous discourse to but hint at treason;and your husband is a loyal gentleman who loves, and"--with a wryface--"reveres--his King."
"Oh, I was only jesting. But, indeed, a man who so disparages the thingsother people love must needs be a rebel at heart. Did you hear of Monsieurde Malfort while you were at Paris?"
The inquiry was made with that over-acted carelessness which betrays hiddenpain; but the soldier's senses had been blunted by the rough-and-tumble ofan adventurer's life, and he was not on the alert for shades of feeling.
Angela accepted her father's return, with the new duties it imposed uponher, as if it had been a decree of Heaven. She put aside all considerationof that refuge which would have meant so complete a renunciation andfarewell. On her knees that night, in the midst of
fervent prayers, hertears streamed fast at the thought that, secure in the shelter of herfather's love, in the peaceful solitude of her native valley, she couldlook to a far-off future when she and Fareham might meet with out fear ofsin, when no cloud of passion should darken his brotherly affection forher; when his heart, now estranged from holy things, would have returned tothe faith of his ancestors, reconciled to God and the Church. She could butthink of him now as a fallen angel--a wanderer who had strayed far from theonly light and guide of human life, and was thus a mark for the tempter.What lesser power than Satan's could have so turned good to evil; thefriendship of a brother to the base passion which had made so wide a gulfbetween them; and which must keep them strangers till he was cured of hissin? Only to diabolical possession could she ascribe the change that hadcome over him since those happy days when she had watched the slow dawnof health upon his sunken cheeks, when he and she had travelled togetherthrough the rich autumn woods, along the pleasant English roads, and when,in the leisure of the slow journey, he had poured out his thoughts to her,the story of his life, his opinions, expatiating in fraternal confidenceupon the things he loved and the things he hated. And at Chilton, shelooked back and remembered his goodness to her, the pains he had taken inchoosing horses for her to ride, their long mornings on the river withHenriette, their hawking parties, and in all his tender brotherly care ofher. The change in him had come about by almost imperceptible degrees:but it had been chiefly marked by a fitful temper that had cut her to thequick; now kind; now barely civil; courting her company to-day; to-morrowavoiding her, as if there were contagion in her presence. Then, afterthe meeting at Millbank, there had come a coldness so icy, a sarcasm socutting, that for a long time she had thought he hated as much as hedespised her. She had withered in his contempt. His unkindness hadovershadowed every hour of her life, and the longing to cry out to him"Indeed, sir, your thoughts wrong me. I am not the wretch you think,"had been almost too much for her fortitude. She had felt that she mustexculpate herself, even though in so doing she should betray her sister.But honour, and affection for Hyacinth, had prevailed; and she had bent hershoulders to the burden of undeserved shame. She had sat silent and abashedin his presence, like a guilty creature.
Sir John Kirkland spent a week at Fareham House, employed in choosing ateam of horses, suitable alike for the road and the plough, lookingout, among the coachmakers, for a second-hand travelling carriage, andeventually buying a coach of Lady Fanshawe's, which had been brought fromMadrid with the rest of her very extensive goods and chattels.
One need scarce remark that it was not one of the late Ambassador's statecarriages, his ruby velvet coach, with fringes that cost three hundredpounds, or his brocade carriage, but a coach that had been built for theeveryday use of his suite.
Sir John also bought a little plain silver, in place of that finecollection of silver and parcel-gilt which had been so willingly sacrificedto royal necessities; and though he breathed no sigh over past losses, somebitter thoughts may have come across his cheerfulness as he heard of thesplendour and superabundance of Lady Castlemaine's plate and jewels, or ofthe ring worth six hundred pounds lately presented to a pretty actress.
In a week he was ready for Buckinghamshire; and Angela had her trunkspacked, and had bid good-bye to her London friends, amidst the chatter ofLady Fareham's visiting-day, and the clear, bell-like clash of delicatechina tea-cups--miniature bowls of egg-shell porcelain, without handles,and to be held daintily between the tips of high-bred fingers.
There was a chorus of courteous bewailing at the notion of Mrs. Kirkland'sdeparture.
Sir Ralph Masaroon pretended to be in despair.
"Is it not bad enough to have had the coldest winter my youth can remember?But you must needs take the sun from our spring. Why, the maids of honourwill count for handsome when you are gone. What's that Butler says?--
'The twinkling stars begin to muster, And glitter with their borrowed lustre.'
But what's to become of me without the sun? I shall have no one toside-glass in the Ring."
"Indeed, Sir Ralph, I did not know that you ever side-glassed me!"
"What, you have suffered my devotion to pass unperceived? When I havebroken half a dozen coach windows in your service, rattling a glass downwith a vehemence which would have startled a Venus in marble to turn andrecognise an adorer! Round and round the Ring I have driven for hours, onthe chance of a look. Nay, marble is not so coy as froward beauty! And atthe Queen's chapel have I not knelt at the Mass morning after morning, atthe risk of being thought a Papist, for the sake of seeing you at prayers;and have envied the Romish dog who handed you the aspersoir as you wentout? And you to be unconscious all the time!"
"Nay, 'tis so much happier for me, Sir Ralph, since you have given me areserve of gratified vanity that will last me a year in the country, whereI shall see nothing but ploughmen and bird-boys."
"Look out for the scarecrows in Sir John's fields, for the odds are youwill see me some day disguised as one."
"Why disguised?" asked his friend Mr. Penington, who had lately produced acomedy that had been acted three afternoons at the Duke's Theatre, and oneevening at Court, which may be taken as a prosperous run for a new play.
Lady Sarah Tewkesbury held forth on the pleasures of a country life, andlamented that family connections and the necessity of standing well withthe Court constrained her to spend the greater part of her existence intown.
"I am like Milton," she said. "I adore a rural life. To hear the cock--
'From his watchtower in the skies, When the horse and hound do rise.'
Oh, I love buttercups and daisies above all the Paris finery in theExchange; and to steep one's complexion in May-dew, and to sup on asyllabub or a dish of frumenty--so cheap, too, while it costs a fortune butto scrape along in London."
"The country is well enough for a month at hay-making, to romp with a bevyof London beauties in the meadows near Tunbridge Wells, or to dance toa couple of fiddles on the Common by moonlight," said Mr. Penington;whereupon all agreed that Tunbridge Wells, Epsom, Doncaster, and Newmarketwere the only country possible to people of intellect.
"I would never go further than Epsom, if I had my will," said Sir Ralph;"for I see no pleasure in Newmarket for a man who keeps no running-horses,and has no more interest in the upshot of a race than he might have ina maggot match on his own dining-table, did he stake high enough on theresult."
"But my sister is not to be buried in Buckinghamshire all the year round,"explained Hyacinth. "I shall fetch her here half a dozen times in a season;and her shortest visits must be long enough to take the country freshnessout of her complexion, and save her from becoming a milkmaid."
"Gud, to see her freckled!" cried Penington. "I could as soon imagineHelen with a hump. That London pallor is the choicest charm in a girlof quality--a refined sickliness that appeals to the heart of a man offeeling, an 'if-you-don't-lend-me-your-arm-I-shall-swoon' sort of air. Yourcountry hoyden, with her roses-and-cream complexion, and open-air manners,is more shocking than Medusa to a man of taste."
The talk drifted to other topics at the mention of Buckingham, who had butlately been let out of the Tower, where he and Lord Dorchester had beencommitted for scuffling and quarrelling at the Canary Conference.
"Has your ladyship seen the Duke and Lord Dorchester since they came out ofthe house of bondage?" asked Lady Sarah. "I think Buckingham was never sogay and handsome, and takes his imprisonment as the best joke that everwas, and is as great at Court as ever."
"His Majesty is but too indulgent," said Masaroon, "and encourages the Duketo be insolent and careless of ceremony. He had the impertinence to showhimself at chapel before he had waited on his Majesty."
"Who was very angry and forbade him the Court," said Penington. "ButBuckingham sent the King one of his foolish, jesting letters, capped witha rhyme or two; and if you can make Charles Stuart laugh you may pick hispocket----"
"Or seduce his mistress----"
&nb
sp; "Oh, he will forgive much to wit and gaiety. He learnt the knack of takinglife easily, while he led that queer, shifting life in exile. He was acosmopolitan and a soldier of fortune before he was a King _de facto;_ andstill wears the loose garments of those easy, beggarly days, when he hadneither money nor care. Be sure he regrets that roving life--Madrid, Paris,the Hague--and will never love a son as well as little Monmouth, the childof his youth."
"What would he not give to make that base-born brat Prince of Wales?Strange that while Lord Ross is trying to make his offspring illegitimateby Act of Parliament, his master's anxieties should all tend the otherway."
"Don't talk to me of Parliament!" cried Lady Sarah; "the tyranny of theRump was nothing to them. Look at the tax upon French wines, which willmake it almost impossible for a lady of small means to entertain herfriends. And an Act for burying us all in woollen, for the benefit of theEnglish trade in wool."
"But, indeed, Lady Sarah, it is we of the old faith who have most need tocomplain," said Lady Fareham, "since these wretches make us pay a doublepoll-tax; and all our foreign friends are being driven away for the samereason--just because the foolish and the ignorant must needs put down thefire to the Catholics."
"Indeed, your ladyship, the Papists have had an unlucky knack at lightingfires, as Smithfield and Oxford can testify," said Penington; "and perhaps,having no more opportunity of roasting martyrs, it may please some ofyour creed to burn Protestant houses, with the chance of cooking a fewProtestants inside 'em."
* * * * *
Angela had drawn away from the little knot of fine ladies and finergentlemen, and was sitting in the bay window of an ante-room, withHenriette and the boy, who were sorely dejected at the prospect of losingher. The best consolation she could offer was to promise that they shouldbe invited to the Manor Moat as soon as she and her father had settledthemselves comfortably there--if their mother could spare them.
Henriette laughed outright at this final clause.
"Spare us!" she cried. "Does she ever want us? I don't think she knows whenwe are in the room, unless we tread upon her gown, when she screams out'Little viper!' and hits us with her fan."
"The lightest touch, Papillon; not so hard as you strike your favouritebaby."
"Oh, she doesn't hurt me; but the disrespect of it! Her only daughter, andnearly as high as she is!"
"You are an ungrateful puss to complain, when her ladyship is so kind as tolet you be here to see all her fine company."
"I am sick of her company, almost always the same, and always talking aboutthe same things. The King, and the Duke, and the General, and the navy;or Lady Castlemaine's jewels, or the last new head from Paris, or herladyship's Flanders lace. It is all as dull as ditch-water now Monsieur deMalfort is gone. He was always pleasant, and he let me play on his guitar,though he swore it excruciated him. And he taught me the new Versaillescoranto. There's no pleasure for any one since he fell ill and leftEngland."
"You shall come to the Manor. It will be a change, even though you hate thecountry and love London."
"I have left off loving London. I have had too much of it. If his lordshiplet us go to the play-house often it would be different. Oh, how Iloved Philaster--and that exquisite page! Do you think I could act thatcharacter, auntie, if his lordship's tailor made me such a dress?"
"I think thou hast impudence for anything, dearest."
"I would rather act that page than Pauline in _Polyeucte_, thoughMademoiselle swears I speak her tirades nearly as well as an actress sheonce saw at the Marais, who was too old and fat for the character. How Ishould love to be an actress, and to play tragedy and comedy, andmake people cry and laugh! Indeed, I would rather be anything than alady--unless I could be exactly like Lady Castlemaine."
"Ah, Heaven forbid!"
"But why not? I heard Sir Ralph tell mother that, let her behave as badlyas she may, she will always be atop of the tree, and that the young sparksat the Chapel Royal hardly look at their prayer-books for gazing at her,and that the King----"
"Ah, sweetheart, I want to hear no more of her!"
"Why, don't you like her? I thought you did not know her. She never comeshere."
"Are there any staghounds in the Vale of Aylesbury?" asked the boy, who hadbeen looking out of the window, watching the boats go by, unheeding hissister's babble.
"I know not, love; but there shall be dogs enough for you to play with,I'll warrant, and a pony for you to ride. Grandfather shall get them forhis dearest."
Sir John was fond of Henriette, whom he looked upon as a marvel ofprecocious brightness; but the boy was his favourite, whom he loved with anold man's half-melancholy affection for the creature which is to live andact a part in the world when he, the greybeard, shall be dust.