endymion had to encounter a rather sharp volley when he went to the office next morning. after some general remarks as to the distinguished party which he had accompanied to the races, seymour hicks could not resist inquiring, though with some circumlocution, whether the lady was a countess. the lady was not a countess. who was the lady? the lady was mrs. rodney. who was mrs. rodney? she was the wife of mr. rodney, who accompanied her. was mr. rodney a relation of lord rodney? endymion believed he was not a relation of lord rodney. who was mr. rodney then?

“mr. rodney is an old friend of my father.”

this natural solution of doubts and difficulties arrested all further inquiry. generally speaking, the position of endymion in his new life was satisfactory. he was regular and assiduous in his attendance at office, was popular with his comrades, and was cherished by his chief, who had even invited him to dinner. his duties were certainly at present mechanical, but they were associated with an interesting profession; and humble as was his lot, he began to feel the pride of public life. he continued to be a regular guest at joe’s, and was careful not to seem to avoid the society of his fellow-clerks in the evenings, for he had an instinctive feeling that it was as well they should not become acquainted with his circle in warwick street. and yet to him the attractions of that circle became daily more difficult to resist. and often when he was enduring the purgatory of the divan, listening to the snarls of st. barbe over the shameful prosperity of everybody in this world except the snarler, or perhaps went half-price to the pit of drury lane with the critical trenchard, he was, in truth, restless and absent, and his mind was in another place, indulging in visions which he did not care to analyse, but which were very agreeable.

one evening, shortly after the expedition to epsom, while the rest were playing a rubber, imogene said to him, “i wish you to be friends with mr. vigo; i think he might be of use to you.”

mr. vigo was playing whist at this moment; his partner was sylvia, and they were playing against mr. rodney and waldershare.

waldershare was a tenant of the second floor. he was the young gentleman “who might some day be a peer.” he was a young man of about three or four and twenty years; fair, with short curly brown hair and blue eyes; not exactly handsome, but with a countenance full of expression, and the index of quick emotions, whether of joy or of anger. waldershare was the only child of a younger son of a patrician house, and had inherited from his father a moderate but easy fortune. he had been the earliest lodger of the rodneys, and, taking advantage of the tory reaction, had just been returned to the house of commons.

what he would do there was a subject of interesting speculation to his numerous friends, and it may be said admirers. waldershare was one of those vivid and brilliant organisations which exercise a peculiarly attractive influence on youth. he had been the hero of the debating club at cambridge, and many believed in consequence that he must become prime minister. he was witty and fanciful, and, though capricious and bad-tempered, could flatter and caress. at cambridge he had introduced the new oxford heresy, of which nigel penruddock was a votary. waldershare prayed and fasted, and swore by laud and strafford. he took, however, a more eminent degree at paris than at his original alma mater, and becoming passionately addicted to french literature, his views respecting both church and state became modified—at least in private. his entrance into english society had been highly successful, and as he had a due share of vanity, and was by no means free from worldliness, he had enjoyed and pursued his triumphs. but his versatile nature, which required not only constant, but novel excitement, became palled, even with the society of duchesses. there was a monotony in the splendour of aristocratic life which wearied him, and for some time he had persuaded himself that the only people who understood the secret of existence were the family under whose roof he lodged.

waldershare was profligate, but sentimental; unprincipled, but romantic; the child of whim, and the slave of an imagination so freakish and deceptive, that it was always impossible to foretell his course. he was alike capable of sacrificing all his feelings to worldly considerations or of forfeiting the world for a visionary caprice. at present his favourite scheme, and one to which he seemed really attached, was to educate imogene. under his tuition he had persuaded himself that she would turn out what he styled “a great woman.” an age of vast change, according to waldershare, was impending over us. there was no male career in which one could confide. most men of mark would probably be victims, but “a great woman” must always make her way. whatever the circumstances, she would adapt herself to them; if necessary, would mould and fashion them. his dream was that imogene should go forth and conquer the world, and that in the sunset of life he should find a refuge in some corner of her palace.

imogene was only a child when waldershare first became a lodger. she used to bring his breakfast to his drawing-room and arrange his table. he encountered her one day, and he requested her to remain, and always preside over his meal. he fell in love with her name, and wrote her a series of sonnets, idealising her past, panegyrising her present, and prophetic of her future life. imogene, who was neither shy nor obtrusive, was calm amid all his vagaries, humoured his fancies, even when she did not understand them, and read his verses as she would a foreign language which she was determined to master.

her culture, according to waldershare, was to be carried on chiefly by conversations. she was not to read, or at least not to read much, until her taste was formed and she had acquired the due share of previous knowledge necessary to profitable study. as waldershare was eloquent, brilliant, and witty, imogene listened to him with wondering interest and amusement, even when she found some difficulty in following him; but her apprehension was so quick and her tact so fine, that her progress, though she was almost unconscious of it, was remarkable. sometimes in the evening, while the others were smoking together or playing whist, waldershare and imogene, sitting apart, were engaged in apparently the most interesting converse. it was impossible not to observe the animation and earnestness of waldershare, and the great attention with which his companion responded to his representations. yet all this time he was only giving her a lecture on madame de sevigne.

waldershare used to take imogene to the national gallery and hampton court, and other delightful scenes of popular education, but of late mrs. rodney had informed her sister that she was no longer young enough to permit these expeditions. imogene accepted the announcement without a murmur, but it occasioned waldershare several sonnets of heartrending remonstrance. imogene continued, however, to make his breakfast, and kept his parliamentary papers in order, which he never could manage, but the mysteries of which imogene mastered with feminine quickness and precision. whenever waldershare was away he always maintained a constant correspondence with imogene. in this he communicated everything to her without the slightest reserve; describing everything he saw, almost everything he heard, pages teeming with anecdotes of a world of which she could know nothing—the secrets of courts and coteries, memoirs of princes and ministers, of dandies and dames of fashion. “if anything happens to me,” waldershare would say to imogene, “this correspondence may be worth thousands to you, and when it is published it will connect your name with mine, and assist my grand idea of your becoming ‘a great woman.’”

“but i do not know mr. vigo,” whispered endymion to imogene.

“but you have met him here, and you went together to epsom. it is enough. he is going to ask you to dine with him on saturday. we shall be there, and mr. waldershare is going. he has a beautiful place, and it will be very pleasant.” and exactly as imogene had anticipated, mr. vigo, in the course of the evening, did ask endymion to do him the honour of being his guest.

the villa of mr. vigo was on the banks of the thames, and had once belonged to a noble customer. the palladian mansion contained a suite of chambers of majestic dimensions—lofty ceilings, rich cornices, and vast windows of plate glass; the gardens were rich with the products of conservatories which mr. vigo had raised with every modern improvement, and a group of stately cedars supported the dignity of the scene and gave to it a name. beyond, a winding walk encircled a large field which mr. vigo called the park, and which sparkled with gold and silver pheasants, and the keeper lived in a newly-raised habitation at the extreme end, which took the form of a swiss cottage.

the rodney family, accompanied by mr. waldershare and endymion, went to the cedars by water. it was a delightful afternoon of june, the river warm and still, and the soft, fitful western breeze occasionally rich with the perfume of the gardens of putney and chiswick. waldershare talked the whole way. it was a rhapsody of fancy, fun, knowledge, anecdote, brilliant badinage—even passionate seriousness. sometimes he recited poetry, and his voice was musical; and, then, when he had attuned his companions to a sentimental pitch, he would break into mockery, and touch with delicate satire every mood of human feeling. endymion listened to him in silence and admiration. he had never heard waldershare talk before, and he had never heard anybody like him. all this time, what was now, and ever, remarkable in waldershare were his manners. they were finished, even to courtliness. affable and winning, he was never familiar. he always addressed sylvia as if she were one of those duchesses round whom he used to linger. he would bow deferentially to her remarks, and elicit from some of her casual observations an acute or graceful meaning, of which she herself was by no means conscious. the bow of waldershare was a study. its grace and ceremony must have been organic; for there was no traditionary type in existence from which he could have derived or inherited it. he certainly addressed imogene and spoke to her by her christian name; but this was partly because he was in love with the name, and partly because he would persist in still treating her as a child. but his manner to her always was that of tender respect. she was almost as silent as endymion during their voyage, but not less attentive to her friend. mr. rodney was generally silent, and never opened his mouth on this occasion except in answer to an inquiry from his wife as to whom a villa might belong, and it seemed always that he knew every villa, and every one to whom they belonged.

the sisters were in demi-toilette, which seemed artless, though in fact it was profoundly devised. sylvia was the only person who really understood the meaning of “simplex munditiis,” and this was one of the secrets of her success. there were some ladies, on the lawn of the cedars when they arrived, not exactly of their school, and who were finely and fully dressed. mrs. gamme was the wife of a sporting attorney of mr. vigo, and who also, having a villa at hand, was looked upon as a country neighbour. mrs. gamme was universally recognised to be a fine woman, and she dressed up to her reputation. she was a famous whist-player at high points, and dealt the cards with hands covered with diamond rings. another country neighbour was the chief partner in the celebrated firm of hooghley, dacca, and co., dealers in indian and other shawls. mr. hooghley had married a celebrated actress, and was proud and a little jealous of his wife. mrs. hooghley had always an opportunity at the cedars of meeting some friends in her former profession, for mr. vigo liked to be surrounded by genius and art. “i must have talent,” he would exclaim, as he looked round at the amusing and motley multitude assembled at his splendid entertainments. and today upon his lawn might be observed the first tenor of the opera and a prima-donna who had just arrived, several celebrated members of the english stage of both sexes, artists of great reputation, whose principal works already adorned the well-selected walls of the cedars, a danseuse or two of celebrity, some literary men, as mr. vigo styled them, who were chiefly brethren of the political press, and more than one member of either house of parliament.

just as the party were preparing to leave the lawn and enter the dining-room arrived, breathless and glowing, the young earl who had driven the rodneys to the derby.

“a shaver, my dear vigo! only returned to town this afternoon, and found your invitation. how fortunate!” and then he looked around, and recognising mrs. rodney, was immediately at her side. “i must have the honour of taking you into dinner. i got your note, but only by this morning’s post.”

the dinner was a banquet,—a choice bouquet before every guest, turtle and venison and piles of whitebait, and pine-apples of prodigious size, and bunches of grapes that had gained prizes. the champagne seemed to flow in fountains, and was only interrupted that the guests might quaff burgundy or taste tokay. but what was more delightful than all was the enjoyment of all present, and especially of their host. that is a rare sight. banquets are not rare, nor choice guests, nor gracious hosts; but when do we ever see a person enjoy anything? but these gay children of art and whim, and successful labour and happy speculation, some of them very rich and some of them without a sou, seemed only to think of the festive hour and all its joys. neither wealth nor poverty brought them cares. every face sparkled, every word seemed witty, and every sound seemed sweet. a band played upon the lawn during the dinner, and were succeeded, when the dessert commenced, by strange choruses from singers of some foreign land, who for the first time aired their picturesque costumes on the banks of the thames.

when the ladies had withdrawn to the saloon, the first comic singer of the age excelled himself; and when they rejoined their fair friends, the primo-tenore and the prima-donna gave them a grand scene, succeeded by the english performers in a favourite scene from a famous farce. then mrs. gamme had an opportunity of dealing with her diamond rings, and the rest danced—a waltz of whirling grace, or merry cotillon of jocund bouquets.

“well, clarence,” said waldershare to the young earl, as they stood for a moment apart, “was i right?”

“by jove! yes. it is the only life. you were quite right. we should indeed be fools to sacrifice ourselves to the conventional.”

the rodney party returned home in the drag of the last speaker. they were the last to retire, as mr. vigo wished for one cigar with his noble friend. as he bade farewell, and cordially, to endymion, he said, “call on me tomorrow morning in burlington street in your way to your office. do not mind the hour. i am an early bird.”