miss dacre, although she was prepared to greet the duke of st. james with cordiality, did not anticipate with equal pleasure the arrival of the page and the j?ger. infinite had been the disturbances they had occasioned during their first visit, and endless the complaints of the steward and the housekeeper. the men-servants were initiated in the mysteries of dominoes, and the maid-servants in the tactics of flirtation. karlstein was the hero of the under-butlers, and even the trusty guardian of the cellar himself was too often on the point of obtaining the german’s opinion of his master’s german wines. gaming, and drunkenness, and love, the most productive of all the teeming causes of human sorrow, had in a week sadly disordered the well-regulated household of castle dacre, and nothing but the impetuosity of our hero would have saved his host’s establishment from utter perdition. miss dacre was, therefore, not less pleased than surprised when the britzska of the duke of st. james discharged on a fine afternoon, its noble master, attended only by the faithful luigi, at the terrace of the castle.
a few country cousins, fresh from cumberland, who knew nothing of the duke of st. james except from a stray number of ‘the universe,’ which occasionally stole down to corrupt the pure waters of their lakes, were the only guests. mr. dacre grasped our hero’s hand with a warmth and expression which were unusual with him, but which conveyed, better than words, the depth of his friendship; and his daughter, who looked more beautiful than ever, advanced with a beaming face and joyous tone, which quite reconciled the duke of st. james to being a ruined man.
the presence of strangers limited their conversation to subjects of general interest. at dinner, the duke took care to be agreeable: he talked in an unaffected manner, and particularly to the cousins, who were all delighted with him, and found him ‘quite a different person from what they had fancied.’ the evening passed over, and even lightly, without the aid of écarté, romances, or gallops. mr. dacre chatted with old mr. montingford, and old mrs. montingford sat still admiring her ‘girls,’ who stood still admiring may dacre singing or talking, and occasionally reconciled us to their occasional silence by a frequent and extremely hearty laugh; that cumberland laugh which never outlives a single season in london.
and the duke of st. james, what did he do? it must be confessed that in some points he greatly resembled the misses montingford, for he was both silent and admiring; but he never laughed. yet he was not dull, and was careful not to show that he had cares, which is vulgar. if a man be gloomy, let him keep to himself. no one has a right to go croaking about society, or, what is worse, looking as if he stifled grief. these fellows should be put in the pound. we like a good broken heart or so now and then; but then one should retire to the sierra morena mountains, and live upon locusts and wild honey, not ‘dine out’ with our cracked cores, and, while we are meditating suicide, the gazette, or the chiltern hundreds, damn a vintage or eulogise an entrée.
and as for cares, what are cares when a man is in love? once more they had met; once more he gazed upon that sunny and sparkling face; once more he listened to that sweet and thrilling voice, which sounded like a bird-like burst of music upon a summer morning. she moved, and each attitude was fascination. she was still, and he regretted that she moved. now her neck, now her hair, now her round arm, now her tapering waist, ravished his attention; now he is in ecstasies with her twinkling foot; now he is dazzled with her glancing hand.
once more he was at dacre! how different was this meeting to their first! then, she was cold, almost cutting; then she was disregardful, almost contemptuous; but then he had hoped; ah! madman, he had more than hoped. now she was warm, almost affectionate; now she listened to him with readiness, ay! almost courted his conversation. and now he could only despair. as he stood alone before the fire, chewing this bitter cud, she approached him.
‘how good you were to come directly!’ she said with a smile, which melted his heart. ‘i fear, however, you will not find us so merry as before. but you can make anything amusing. come, then, and sing to these damsels. do you know they are half afraid of you? and i cannot persuade them that a terrible magician has not assumed, for the nonce, the air and appearance of a young gentleman of distinction.’
he smiled, but could not speak. repartee sadly deserts the lover; yet smiles, under those circumstances, are eloquent; and the eye, after all, speaks much more to the purpose than the tongue. forgetting everything except the person who addressed him, he offered her his hand, and advanced to the group which surrounded the piano.