CHAPTER XL. Relates to Mr. Harry Foker's Affairs
Since that fatal but delightful night in Grosvenor Place, Mr. HarryFoker's heart had been in such a state of agitation as you would hardlyhave thought so great a philosopher could endure. When we remember whatgood advice he had given to Pen in former days, how an early wisdom andknowledge of the world had manifested itself in this gifted youth; howa constant course of self-indulgence, such as becomes a gentleman of hismeans and expectations, ought by right to have increased his cynicism,and made him, with every succeeding day of his life, care less and lessfor every individual in the world, with the single exception of Mr.Harry Foker, one may wonder that he should fall into the mishap to whichmost of us are subject once or twice in our lives, and disquiet hisgreat mind about a woman. But Foker, though early wise, was still a man.He could no more escape the common lot than Achilles, or Ajax, or LordNelson, or Adam our first father, and now, his time being come, youngHarry became a victim to Love, the All-conqueror.
When he went to the Back Kitchen that night after quitting ArthurPendennis at his staircase-door in Lamb Court, the gin-twist anddevilled turkey had no charms for him, the jokes of his companionsfell flatly on his ear; and when Mr. Hodgen, the singer of 'The BodySnatcher,' had a new chant even more dreadful and humorous than thatfamous composition, Foker, although he appeared his friend, and said"Bravo, Hodgen," as common politeness and his position as one of thechiefs of the Back Kitchen bound him to do, yet never distinctlyheard one word of the song, which under its title of 'The Cat in theCupboard,' Hodgen has since rendered so famous. Late and very tired, heslipped into his private apartments at home and sought the downy pillow,but his slumbers were disturbed by the fever of his soul, and the veryinstant that he woke from his agitated sleep, the image of Miss Amorypresented itself to him, and said, "Here I am, I am your princessand beauty, you have discovered me, and shall care for nothing elsehereafter."
Heavens, how stale and distasteful his former pursuits and friendshipsappeared to him! He had not been, up to the present time, muchaccustomed to the society of females of his own rank in life. When hespoke of such, he called them "modest women." That virtue which, let ushope, they possessed, had not hitherto compensated to Mr. Foker for theabsence of more lively qualities which most of his own relatives did notenjoy, and which he found in Mesdemoiselles, the ladies of the theatre.His mother, though good and tender, did not amuse her boy; hiscousins, the daughters of his maternal uncle, the respectable Earl ofRosherville, wearied him beyond measure. One was blue, and a geologist;one was a horsewoman, and smoked cigars; one was exceedingly Low Church,and had the most heterodox views on religious matters; at least, so theother said, who was herself of the very Highest Church faction, and madethe cupboard in her room into an oratory, and fasted on every Friday inthe year. Their paternal house of Drummington, Foker could very seldombe got to visit. He swore he had rather go on the treadmill than staythere. He was not much beloved by the inhabitants. Lord Erith, LordRosherville's heir, considered his cousin a low person, of deplorablyvulgar habits and manners; while Foker, and with equal reason, votedErith a prig and a dullard, the nightcap of the House of Commons, theSpeaker's opprobrium, the dreariest of philanthropic spouters. Nor couldGeorge Robert, Earl of Gravesend and Rosherville, ever forget that onone evening when he condescended to play at billiards with his nephew,that young gentleman poked his lordship in the side with his cue, andsaid, "Well, old cock, I've seen many a bad stroke in my life, but Inever saw such a bad one as that there." He played the game out withangelic sweetness of temper, for Harry was his guest as well as hisnephew; but he was nearly having a fit in the night; and he kept tohis own rooms until young Harry quitted Drummington on his return toOxbridge, where the interesting youth was finishing his education atthe time when the occurrence took place. It was an awful blow to thevenerable earl; the circumstance was never alluded to in the family; heshunned Foker whenever he came to see them in London or in the country,and could hardly be brought to gasp out a "How d'ye do?" to theyoung blasphemer. But he would not break his sister Agnes's heart, bybanishing Harry from the family altogether; nor, indeed, could he affordto break with Mr. Foker, senior, between whom and his lordship there hadbeen many private transactions, producing an exchange of bank-chequesfrom Mr. Foker, and autographs from the earl himself, with the letters IO U written over his illustrious signature.
Besides the four daughters of Lord Gravesend whose various qualitieshave been enumerated in the former paragraph, his lordship was blessedwith a fifth girl, the Lady Ana Milton, who, from her earliest yearsand nursery, had been destined to a peculiar position in life. It wasordained between her parents and her aunt, that when Mr Harry Fokerattained a proper age, Lady Ann should become his wife. The idea hadbeen familiar to her mind when she yet wore pinafores, and when Harrythe dirtiest of little boys, used to come back with black eyes fromschool to Drummington, or to his father's house of Logwood, where LadyAnn lived, much with her aunt. Both of the young people coincidedwith the arrangement proposed by the elders, without any protests ordifficulty. It no more entered Lady Ann's mind to question the order ofher father, than it would have entered Esther's to dispute the commandsof Ahasuerus. The heir-apparent of the house of Foker was also obedient,for when the old gentleman said, "Harry, your uncle and I have agreedthat when you're of a proper age, you'll marry Lady Ann. She won't haveany money, but she's good blood, and a good one to look at, and I shallmake you comfortable. If you refuse, you'll have your mother's jointure,and two hundred a year during my life"--Harry, who knew that his sire,though a man of few words, was yet implicitly to be trusted, acquiescedat once in the parental decree, and said, "Well, sir, if Ann'sagreeable, I say ditto. She's not a bad-looking girl."
"And she has the best blood in England, sir. Your mother's blood, yourown blood, sir," said the Brewer. "There's nothing like it, sir."
"Well, sir, as you like it," Harry replied. "When you want me, pleasering the bell. Only there's no hurry, and I hope you'll give us a longday. I should like to have my fling out before I marry."
"Fling away, Harry," answered the benevolent father. "Nobody preventsyou, do they?" And so very little more was said upon this subject, andMr. Harry pursued those amusements in life which suited him best; andhung up a little picture of his cousin in his sitting-room, amidstthe French prints, the favourite actresses and dancers, the racing andcoaching works of art, which suited his taste and formed his gallery.It was an insignificant little picture, representing a simple round facewith ringlets; and it made, as it must be confessed, a very poorfigure by the side of Mademoiselle Petitot, dancing over a rainbow, orMademoiselle Redowa, grinning in red boots and a lancer's cap.
Being engaged and disposed of, Lady Ann Milton did not go out so muchin the world as her sisters: and often stayed at home in London at theparental house in Gaunt Square, when her mamma with the other ladieswent abroad. They talked and they danced with one man after another,and the men came and went, and the stories about them were various. Butthere was only this one story about Ann: she was engaged to Harry Foker:she never was to think about anybody else. It was not a very amusingstory.
Well, the instant Foker awoke on the day after Lady Clavering's dinner,there was Blanche's image glaring upon him with its clear grey eyes, andwinning smile. There was her tune ringing in his ears, "Yet round aboutthe spot, ofttimes I hover, ofttimes I hover," which poor Foker beganpiteously to hum, as he sat up in his bed under the crimson silkencoverlet. Opposite him was a French Print, of a Turkish lady and herGreek lover, surprised by a venerable Ottoman, the lady's husband; onthe other wall was a French print of a gentleman and lady, riding andkissing each other at full gallop; all round the chaste bedroom weremore French prints, either portraits of gauzy nymphs of the Opera, orlovely illustrations of the novels; or mayhap, an English chef-d'oeuvreor two, in which Miss Calverley of T. R. E. O. would be represented intight pantaloons in her favourite page part; or Miss Rougemont as Venus;their value enhanced by the signatures of thes
e ladies, Maria Calverley,or Frederica Rougemont, inscribed underneath the prints in an exquisitefacsimile. Such were the pictures in which honest Harry delighted. Hewas no worse than many of his neighbours; he was an idle jovial kindlyfast man about town; and if his rooms were rather profusely decoratedwith works of French art, so that simple Lady Agnes, his mamma onentering the apartments where her darling sate enveloped in fragrantclouds of Latakia, was often bewildered by the novelties which shebeheld there, why, it must be remembered, that he was richer than mostyoung men, and could better afford to gratify his taste.
A letter from Miss Calverley written in a very degage style ofspelling and handwriting, scrawling freely over the filagree paper, andcommencing by calling Mr. Harry, her dear Hokey-pokey-fokey, lay on hisbed table by his side, amidst keys, sovereigns, cigar-cases, and a bitof verbena, which Miss Amory had given him, and reminding him of thearrival of the day when he was 'to stand that dinner at the Elefant andCastle, at Richmond, which he had promised;' a card for a private boxat Miss Rougemont's approaching benefit, a bundle of tickets for 'BenBudgeon's night, the North Lancashire Pippin, at Martin Faunce's, theThree-cornered Hat, in St. Martin's Lane; where Conkey Sam, Dick theNailor, and Deadman (the Worcestershire Nobber), would put on thegloves, and the lovers of the good old British sport were invited toattend'--these and sundry other memoirs of Mr. Foker's pursuits andpleasure lay on the table by his side when he woke.
Ah! how faint all these pleasures seemed now. What did he care forConkey Sam or the Worcestershire Nobber? What for the French printsogling him from all sides of the room; those regular stunning slap-upout-and-outers? And Calverley spelling bad, and calling him Hokey-fokey,confound her impudence! The idea of being engaged to a dinner atthe Elephant and Castle at Richmond with that old woman (who wasseven-and-thirty years old, if she was a day) filled his mind withdreary disgust now, instead of that pleasure which he had only yesterdayexpected to find from the entertainment.
When his fond mamma beheld her boy that morning, she remarked on thepallor of his cheek, and the general gloom of his aspect. "Why do yougo on playing billiards at that wicked Spratt's?" Lady Agnes asked. "Mydearest child, those billiards will kill you, I'm sure they will."
"It isn't the billiards," Harry said, gloomily.
"Then it's the dreadful Back Kitchen," said the Lady Agnes. "I've oftenthought, d'you know, Harry, of writing to the landlady, and begging thatshe would have the kindness to put only very little wine in the neguswhich you take, and see that you have your shawl on before you get intoyour brougham."
"Do, ma'am. Mrs Cutts is a most kind motley woman," Harry said. "But itisn't the Back Kitchen, neither," he added, with a ghastly sigh.
As Lady Agnes never denied her son anything, and fell into all his wayswith the fondest acquiescence, she was rewarded by a perfect confidenceon young Harry's part, who never thought to disguise from her aknowledge of the haunts which he frequented; and, on the contrary,brought her home choice anecdotes from the clubs and billiard-rooms,which the simple lady relished, if she did not understand. "My son goesto Spratt's," she would say to her confidential friends. "All the youngmen go to Spratt's after their balls. It is de rigueur, my dear; andthey play billiards as they used to play macao and hazard in Mr. Fox'stime. Yes, my dear father often told me that they sate up always untilnine o'clock the next morning with Mr. Fox at Brookes's, whom I rememberat Drnmmington, when I was a little girl, in a buff waistcoat and blacksatin small-clothes. My brother Erith never played as a young man, norsate up late--he had no health for it; but my boy must do as everybodydoes, you know. Yes, and then he often goes to a place called the BackKitchen, frequented by all the wits and authors, you know, whom one doesnot see in society, but whom it is a great privilege and pleasure forHarry to meet, and there he hears the questions of the day discussed;and my dear father often said that it was our duty to encourageliterature, and he had hoped to see the late Dr. Johnson at Drummington,only Dr. Johnson died. Yes, and Mr. Sheridan came over, and drank agreat deal of wine,--everybody drank a great deal of wine in thosedays,--and papa's wine-merchant's bill was ten times as much as Erith'sis, who gets it as he wants it from Fortnum and Mason's and doesn't keepany stock at all."
"That was an uncommon good dinner we had yesterday, ma'am," the artfulHarry broke out. "Their clear soup's better than ours. Moufflet willput too much taragon into everything. The supreme de volaille was verygood--uncommon, and the sweets were better than Moufflet's sweets. Didyou taste the plombiere, ma'am, and the maraschino jelly? Stunninglygood that maraschino jelly!"
Lady Agnes expressed her agreement in these, as in almost all othersentiments of her son, who continued the artful conversation, saying--
"Very handsome house that of the Claverings. Furniture, I should say,got up regardless of expense. Magnificent display of plate, ma'am." Thelady assented to all these propositions.
"Very nice people the Claverings."
"H'm!" said Lady Agnes.
"I know what you mean. Lady C. ain't distangy exactly, but she is verygood-natured."
"Oh, very," mamma said, who was herself one of the most good-natured ofwomen.
"And Sir Francis, he don't talk much before ladies; but after dinner hecomes out uncommon strong, ma'am--a highly agreeable, well-informed man.When will you ask them to dinner? Look out for an early day, ma'am;" andlooking into Lady Agnes's pocket-book, he chose a day only a fortnighthence (an age that fortnight seemed to the young gentleman), when theClaverings were to be invited to Grosvenor-street.
The obedient Lady Agnes wrote the required invitation. She wasaccustomed to do so without consulting her husband, who had his ownsociety and habits, and who left his wife to see her own friends alone.Harry looked at the card; but there was an omission in the invitationwhich did not please him.
"You have not asked Miss Whatdyecallem--Miss Emery, Lady Clavering'sdaughter."
"Oh, that little creature!" Lady Agnes cried. "No! I think not, Harry."
"We must ask Miss Amory," Foker said. "I--I want to ask Pendennis;and--and he's very sweet upon her. Don't you think she sings very well,ma'am?"
"I thought her rather forward, and didn't listen to her singing. Sheonly sang at you and Mr. Pendennis, it seemed to me. But I will ask herif you wish, Harry," and so Miss Amory's name was written on the cardwith her mother's.
This piece of diplomacy being triumphantly executed Harry embraced hisfond parent with the utmost affection, and retired to his own apartmentswhere he stretched himself on his ottoman, and lay brooding silently,sighing for the day which was to bring the fair Miss Amory under hispaternal roof, and devising a hundred wild schemes for meeting her.
On his return from making the grand tour, Mr. Foker, Junior, hadbrought with him a polyglot valet, who took the place of Stoopid,and condescended to wait at dinner, attired in shirt fronts of workedmuslin, with many gold studs and chains, upon his master and the eldersof the family. This man, who was of no particular country, and spokeall languages indifferently ill, made himself useful to Mr. Harry in avariety of ways,--read all the artless youth's correspondence, knew hisfavourite haunts and the addresses of his acquaintance, and officiatedat the private dinners which the young gentleman gave. As Harry layupon his sofa after his interview with his mamma, robed in a wonderfuldressing-gown, and puffing his pipe in gloomy silence, Anatole, too,must have remarked that something affected his master's spirits; thoughhe did not betray any ill-bred sympathy with Harry's agitation of mind.When Harry began to dress himself in his out-of-door morning costume,he was very hard indeed to please, and particularly severe and snappishabout his toilet: he tried, and cursed, pantaloons of many differentstripes, checks, and colours: all the boots were villainously varnished;the shirts too "loud" in pattern. He scented his linen and personwith peculiar richness this day; and what must have been the valet'sastonishment, when, after some blushing and hesitation on Harry's part,the young gentleman asked, "I say, Anatole, when I engaged you, didn'tyou--hem--didn't you say that you could dress--hem--dre
ss hair?"
The valet said, "Yes, he could."
"Cherchy alors une paire de tongs,--et--curly moi un peu," Mr. Fokersaid, in an easy manner; and the valet, wondering whether his masterwas in love or was going masquerading, went in search of thearticles,--first from the old butler who waited upon Mr. Foker, senior,on whose bald pate the tongs would have scarcely found a hundred hairsto seize, and finally of the lady who had the charge of the meek auburnfronts of the Lady Agnes. And the tongs being got, Monsieur Anatoletwisted his young master's locks until he had made Harry's head as curlyas a negro's; after which the youth dressed himself with the utmost careand splendour, and proceeded to sally out.
"At what dime sall I order de drag, sir, to be to Miss Calverley's door,sir?" the attendant whispered as his master was going forth.
"Confound her!--Put the dinner off--I can't go!" said Foker. "No, hangit--I must go. Poyntz and Rougemont, and ever so many more are coming.The drag at Pelham Corner at six o'clock, Anatole."
The drag was not one of Mr. Foker's own equipages, but was hired from alivery-stable for festive purposes; Foker, however, put his own carriageinto requisition that morning, and for what purpose does the kind readersuppose? Why, to drive down to Lamb Court, Temple, taking GrosvenorPlace by the way (which lies in the exact direction of the Temple fromGrosvenor Street, as everybody knows), where he just had the pleasureof peeping upwards at Miss Amory's pink window-curtains, having achievedwhich satisfactory feat, he drove off to Pen's chambers. Why did he wantto see his dear friend Pen so much? Why did he yearn and long after him;and did it seem necessary to Foker's very existence that he should seePen that morning, having parted with him in perfect health on the nightprevious? Pen had lived two years in London, and Foker had not paidhalf a dozen visits to his chambers. What sent him thither now in such ahurry?
What?--If any young ladies read this page, I have only to inform themthat, when the same mishap befalls them, which now had for more thantwelve hours befallen Harry Foker, people will grow interesting to themfor whom they did not care sixpence on the day before; as on the otherhand persons of whom they fancied themselves fond will be found to havebecome insipid and disagreeable. Then you dearest Eliza, or Maria of theother day, to whom you wrote letters and sent locks of hair yards long,will on a sudden be as indifferent to you as your stupidest relationwhilst, on the contrary, about his relations you will begin to feel sucha warm interest! such a loving desire to ingratiate yourself with hismamma; such a liking for that dear kind old man his father! If He is inthe habit of visiting at any house, what advances you will make in orderto visit there too. If He has a married sister you will like to spendlong mornings with her. You will fatigue your servant by sending notesto her, for which there will be the most pressing occasion, twice orthrice in a day. You will cry if your mamma objects to your going toooften to see His family. The only one of them you will dislike, isperhaps his younger brother, who is at home for the holidays, and whowill persist in staying in the room when you come to see your dearnew-found friend, his darling second sister. Something like this willhappen to you, young ladies, or, at any rate, let us hope it may. Yes,you must go through the hot fits and the cold fits of that pretty fever.Your mothers, if they would acknowledge it, have passed through itbefore you were born, your dear papa being the object of the passion,of course,--who could it be but he? And as you suffer it, so will yourbrothers, in their way,--and after their kind. More selfish than you:more eager and headstrong than you: they will rush on their destinywhen the doomed charmer makes her appearance. Or if they don't, and youdon't, Heaven help you! As the gambler said of his dice, to love and winis the best thing, to love and lose is the next best. You don't die ofthe complaint: or very few do. The generous wounded heart suffers andsurvives it. And he is not a man, or she a woman, who is not conqueredby it, or who does not conquer it in his time.----Now, then, if you askwhy Henry Foker, Esquire, was in such a hurry to see Arthur Pendennis,and felt such a sudden value and esteem for him, there is no difficultyin saying it was because Pen had become really valuable in Mr. Foker'seyes: because if Pen was not the rose, he yet had been near thatfragrant flower of love. Was not he in the habit of going to her housein London? Did he not live near her in the country?--know all about theenchantress? What, I wonder, would Lady Ann Milton, Mr. Foker's cousinand pretendue, have said, if her ladyship had known all that was goingon in the bosom of that funny little gentleman?
Alas! when Foker reached Lamb Court, leaving his carriage for theadmiration of the little clerks who were lounging in the archwaythat leads thence into Flag Court which leads into Upper Temple Lane,Warrington was in the chambers but Pen was absent. Pen was gone to theprinting-office to see his proofs. "Would Foker have a pipe and shouldthe laundress go to the Cock and get him some beer?"--Warrington asked,remarking with a pleased surprise the splendid toilet of this scentedand shiny-booted young aristocrat; but Foker had not the slightest wishfor beer or tobacco: he had very important business: he rushed awayto the Pall Mall Gazette office, still bent upon finding Pen. Pen hadquitted that pace. Foker wanted him that they might go together to callupon Lady Clavering. Foker went away disconsolate, and whiled away anhour or two vaguely at clubs: and when it was time to pay a visit, hethought it would be but decent and polite to drive to Grosvenor Placeand leave a card upon Lady Clavering. He had not the courage to ask tosee her when the door was opened, he only delivered two cards, with Mr.Henry Foker engraved upon them, to Jeames, in a speechless agony. Jeamesreceived the tickets bowing his powdered head. The varnished doorsclosed upon him. The beloved object was as far as ever from him,though so near. He thought he heard the tones of a piano and of asyren singing, coming from the drawing-room and sweeping over thebalcony-shrubbery of geraniums. He would have liked to stop and listen,but it might not be. "Drive to Tattersall's," he said to the groom, ina voice smothered with emotion,--"And bring my pony round," he added, asthe man drove rapidly away.
As good luck would have it, that splendid barouche of Lady Clavering's,which has been inadequately described in a former chapter, drove up toher ladyship's door just as Foker mounted the pony which was in waitingfor him. He bestrode the fiery animal, and dodged about the arch ofthe Green Park, keeping the carriage well in view, until he saw LadyClavering enter, and with her--whose could be that angel form, but theenchantress's, clad in a sort of gossamer, with a pink bonnet and alight-blue parasol,--but Miss Amory?
The carriage took its fair owners to Madame Rigodon's cap and lace shop,to Mrs Wolsey's Berlin worsted shop,--who knows to what other resortsof female commerce? Then it went and took ices at Hunter's, for LadyClavering was somewhat florid in her tastes and amusements, and not onlyliked to go abroad in the most showy carriage in London, but that thepublic should see her in it too. And so, in a white bonnet with a yellowfeather, she ate a large pink ice in the sunshine before Hunter's door,till Foker on his pony, and the red jacket who accompanied him, werealmost tired of dodging.
Then at last she made her way into the Park, and the rapid Foker madehis dash forward. What to do? Just to get a nod of recognition from MissAmory and her mother; to cross them a half-dozen times in the drive; towatch and ogle them from the other side of the ditch, where the horsemenassemble when the band plays in Kensington Gardens. What is the use oflooking at a woman in a pink bonnet across a ditch? What is the earthlygood to be got out of a nod of the head? Strange that men will becontented with such pleasures, or if not contented, at least that theywill be so eager in seeking them. Not one word did Harry, he so fluentof conversation ordinarily, change with his charmer on that day. Mutelyhe beheld her return to her carriage, and drive away among ratherironical salutes from the young men in the Park. One said that theIndian widow was making the paternal rupees spin rapidly; another saidthat she ought to have burned herself alive, and left the money to herdaughter. This one asked who Clavering was?--and old Tom Eales, who kneweverybody, and never missed a day in the Park on his grey cob, kindlysaid that Clavering had come into an estate over head and h
eels inmortgage: that there were dev'lish ugly stories about him when he wasa young man, and that it was reported of him that he had a share ina gambling-house, and had certainly shown the white feather in hisregiment. "He plays still; he is in a hell every night almost," Mr.Eales added.
"I should think so, since his marriage," said a wag.
"He gives devilish good dinners," said Foker, striking up for the honourof his host of yesterday.
"I daresay, and I daresay he doesn't ask Eales," the wag said. "I say,Eales, do you dine at Clavering's,--at the Begum's?"
"I dine there?" said Mr. Eales, who would have dined with Beelzebub ifsure of a good cook, and when he came away, would have painted his hostblacker than fate had made him.
"You might, you know, although you do abuse him so," continued the wag."They say it's very pleasant. Clavering goes to sleep after dinner; theBegum gets tipsy with cherry-brandy, and the young lady sings songs tothe young gentlemen. She sings well, don't she, Fo?"
"Slap up," said Fo. "I tell you what, Poyntz, she sings like awhatdyecallum--you know what I mean--like a mermaid, you know, butthat's not their name."
"I never heard a mermaid sing," Mr. Poyntz, the wag, replied. "Whoeverheard a mermaid? Eales, you are an old fellow, did you?"
"Don't make a lark of me, hang it, Poyntz," said Foker, turning red,and with tears almost in his eyes, "you know what I mean: it's thosewhat's-his-names--in Homer, you know. I never said I was a goodscholar."
"And nobody ever said it of you, my boy," Mr. Poyntz remarked, and Fokerstriking spurs into his pony, cantered away down Rotten Row, his mindagitated with various emotions, ambitions, mortifications. He was sorrythat he had not been good at his books in early life--that he mighthave cut out all those chaps who were about her, and who talked thelanguages, and wrote poetry, and painted pictures in her album, and--andthat--"What am I," thought little Foker, "compared to her? She's allsoul, she is, and can write poetry or compose music, as easy as I coulddrink a glass of beer. Beer?--damme, that's all I'm fit for, is beer. Iam a poor, ignorant little beggar, good for nothing but Foker's Entire.I misspent my youth, and used to get the chaps to do my exercises. Andwhat's the consequences now? Oh, Harry Foker, what a confounded littlefool you have been!"
As he made this dreary soliloquy, he had cantered out of Rotten Row intothe Park, and there was on the point of riding down a large old roomyfamily carriage, of which he took no heed, when a cheery voice criedout, "Harry, Harry!" and looking up, he beheld his aunt, the LadyRosherville, and two of her daughters, of whom the one who spoke wasHarry's betrothed, the Lady Ann.
He started back with a pale, scared look, as a truth about which he hadnot thought during the whole day, came across him. There was his fate,there, in the back seat of that carriage.
"What is the matter, Harry? why are you so pale? You have been rakingand smoking too much, you wicked boy," said Lady Ann.
Foker said, "How do, aunt," "How do, Ann," in a perturbedmanner--muttered something about a pressing engagement,--indeed he sawby the Park clock that he must have been keeping his party in the dragwaiting for nearly an hour--and waved a good-bye. The little man and thelittle pony were out of sight in an instant--the great carriage rolledaway. Nobody inside was very much interested about his coming or going;the Countess being occupied with her spaniel, the Lady Lucy's thoughtsand eyes being turned upon a volume of sermons, and those of the LadyAnn upon a new novel, which the sisters had just procured from thelibrary.
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