chapter 7.
the first fancy
easter was over, the sun shone, the world was mad, and the young duke made his début at almack’s. he determined to prove that he had profited by a winter at vienna. his dancing was declared consummate. he galloped with grace and waltzed with vigour. it was difficult to decide which was more admirable, the elegance of his prance or the precision of his whirl. a fat russian prince, a lean austrian count, a little german baron, who, somehow or other, always contrived to be the most marked characters of the evening, disappeared in despair.
there was a lady in the room who attracted the notice of our hero. she was a remarkable personage. there are some sorts of beauty which defy description, and almost scrutiny. some faces rise upon us in the tumult of life like stars from out the sea, or as if they had moved out of a picture. our first impression is anything but fleshly. we are struck dumb, we gasp, our limbs quiver, a faintness glides over our frame, we are awed; instead of gazing upon the apparition, we avert the eyes, which yet will feed upon its beauty. a strange sort of unearthly pain mixes with the intense pleasure. and not till, with a struggle, we call back to our memory the commonplaces of existence, can we recover our commonplace demeanour. these, indeed, are rare visions, early feelings, when our young existence leaps with its mountain torrents; but as the river of our life rolls on, our eyes grow dimmer or our blood more cold.
some effect of this kind was produced on the duke of st. james by the unknown dame. he turned away his head to collect his senses. his eyes again rally; and this time, being prepared, he was more successful in his observations.
the lady was standing against the wall; a young man was addressing some remarks to her which apparently were not very interesting. she was tall and young, and, as her tiara betokened, married; dazzling fair, but without colour; with locks like night and features delicate, but precisely defined. yet all this did not at first challenge the observation of the young duke. it was the general and peculiar expression of her countenance which had caused in him such emotion. there was an expression of resignation, or repose, or sorrow, or serenity, which in these excited chambers was strange, and singular, and lone. she gazed like some genius invisible to the crowd, and mourning over its degradation.
he stopped st. maurice, as his cousin passed by, to inquire her name, and learnt that she was lady aphrodite grafton, the wife of sir lucius grafton.
‘what, lucy grafton!’ exclaimed the duke. ‘i remember; i was his fag at eton. he was a handsome dog; but i doubt whether he deserves such a wife. introduce me.’
lady aphrodite received our hero with a gentle bow, and did not seem quite as impressed with his importance as most of those to whom he had been presented in the course of the evening. the duke had considerable tact with women, and soon perceived that the common topics of a hack flirtation would not do in the present case. he was therefore mild and modest, rather piquant, somewhat rational, and apparently perfectly unaffected. her ladyship’s reserve wore away. she refused to dance, but conversed with more animation. the duke did not leave her side. the women began to stare, the men to bet: lady aphrodite against the field. in vain his grace laid a thousand plans to arrange a tea-room tête-à-tête. he was unsuccessful. as he was about to return to the charge her ladyship desired a passer-by to summon her carriage. no time was to be lost. the duke began to talk hard about his old friend and schoolfellow, sir lucius. a greenhorn would have thought it madness to take an interest in such a person of all others; but women like you to enter their house as their husband’s friend. lady aphrodite could not refrain from expressing her conviction that sir lucius would be most happy to renew his acquaintance with the duke of st. james, and the duke of st. james immediately said that he would take the earliest opportunity of giving him that pleasure.