The Bramleighs of Bishop's Folly. Lever Charles James
protest I think it is. Except in a few rare instances, where the men unite to the hardier qualities of the masculine intelligence the nicer, finer, most susceptible instincts of the other sex, – the organization that more than any other touches on excellence, – except, I say, in these cases, the women have the best of it. Now what chance, I ask you, would you have, pitted against such a girl as the elder Bramleigh?”
“I ‘m afraid a very poor one,” said Cutbill, with a look of deep humility.
“Just so, Cutty, a very poor one. I give you my word of honor I have learned more diplomacy beside the drawing-room fire than I ever acquired in the pages of the blue-books. You see it’s a quite different school of fence they practise; the thrusts are different, and the guards are different. A day for furs essentially, a day for furs,” broke he in, as he drew on a coat lined with sable, and profusely braided and ornamented. “What was I saying? where were we?”
“You were talking of women, my Lord.”
“The faintest tint of scarlet in the under vest – it was a device of the Regent’s in his really great day – is always effective in cold, bright, frosty weather. The tint is carried on to the cheek, and adds brilliancy to the eye. In duller weather a coral pin in the cravat will suffice; but, as David Wilkie used to say, ‘Nature must have her bit of red.’”
“I wish you would finish what you were saying about women, my Lord. Your remarks were full of originality.”
“Finish! finish, Cutty! It would take as many volumes as the ‘Abridgement of the Statutes’ to contain one-half of what I could say about them; and, after all, it would be Sanscrit to you.” His Lordship now placed his hat on his head, slightly on one side. It was the “tigerism” of a past period, and which he could no more abandon than he could give up the jaunty swagger of his walk, or the bland smile which he kept ready for recognition.
“I have not, I rejoice to say, arrived at that time of life when I can affect to praise bygones; but I own, Cutty, they did everything much better five-and-twenty years ago than now. They dined better, they dressed better, they drove better, they turned out better in the field and in the park, and they talked better.”
“How do you account for this, my Lord?”
“Simply in this way, Cutty. We have lowered our standard in taste just as we have lowered our standard for the army. We take fellows five feet seven into grenadier companies now; that is, we admit into society men of mere wealth, – the banker, the brewer, the railway director, and the rest of them; and with these people we admit their ways, their tastes, their very expressions. I know it is said that we gain in breadth; yet, as I told Lord Cocklethorpe (the mot had its success), – what we gain in breadth, said I, we lose in height. Neat, Cutty, was n’t it? As neat as a mot well can be in our clumsy language.”
And with this, and a familiar “Bye-bye,” he strolled away, leaving Cutbill to practise before the glass such an imitation of him as might serve, at some future time, to convulse with laughter a select and admiring audience.
CHAPTER XI. A WINTER DAY’S WALK
Lord Culduff and Marion set out for their walk. It was a sharp frosty morning, with a blue sky above and crisp snow beneath. We have already seen that his Lordship had not been inattentive to the charms of costume. Marion was no less so; her dark silk dress, looped over a scarlet petticoat, and a tasteful hat of black astracan, well suited the character of looks where the striking and brilliant were as conspicuous as dark eyes, long lashes, and a bright complexion could make them.
“I ‘ll take you by the shrubberies, my Lord, which is somewhat longer, but pleasanter walking; and, if you like it, we ‘ll come back by the hill path, which is much shorter.”
“The longer the road the more of your company, Miss Bramleigh. Therein lies my chief interest,” said he, bowing.
They talked away pleasantly, as they went along, of the country and the scenery, of which new glimpses continually presented themselves, and of the country people and their ways, so new to each of them. They agreed wonderfully on almost everything, but especially as to the character of the Irish, – so simple, so confiding, so trustful, so grateful for benefits, and so eager to be well governed! They knew it all, the whole complex web of Irish difficulty and English misrule was clear and plain before them; and then, as they talked, they gained a height from which the blue broad sea was visible, and thence descried a solitary sail afar off, that set them speculating on what the island might become when commerce and trade should visit her, and rich cargoes should cumber her quays, and crowd her harbors. Marion was strong in her knowledge of industrial resources; but as an accomplished aide-de-camp always rides a little behind his chief, so did she restrain her acquaintance with these topics, and keep them slightly to the rear of all his Lordship advanced. And then he grew confidential, and talked of coal, which ultimately led him to himself, – the theme of all he liked the best And how differently did he talk now! What vigor and animation, what spirit did he not throw into his sketch! It was the story of a great man, unjustly, hardly dealt with, persecuted by an ungenerous rivalry, the victim of envy. For half, ay, for the tithe of what he had done, others had got their advancement in the peerage, – their blue ribbons and the rest of it; but Canning had been jealous of him, and the Duke was jealous of him, and Palmerston never liked him. “Of course,” he said, “these are things a man buries in his own breast. Of all the sorrows one encounters in life, the slights are those he last confesses; how I came to speak of them now I can’t imagine – can you?” and he turned fully towards her, and saw that she blushed and cast down her eyes at the question.
“But, my Lord,” said she, evading the reply, “you give me the idea of one who would not readily succumb to an injustice. Am I right in my reading of you?”
“I trust and hope you are,” said he, haughtily; “and it is my pride to think I have inspired that impression on so brief an acquaintance.”
“It is my own temper, too,” she added. “You may convince, you cannot coerce me.”
“I wish I might try the former,” said he, in a tone of much meaning.
“We agree in so many things, my Lord,” said she, laughingly, “that there is little occasion for your persuasive power. There, do you see that smoke-wreath yonder? That’s from the cottage where we’re going.”
“I wish I knew where we were going,” said he, with a sigh of wonderful tenderness.
“To Roseneath, my Lord. I told you the L’Estranges lived there.”
“Yes; but it was not that I meant,” added he, feelingly.
“And a pretty spot it is,” continued she, purposely misunderstanding him; “so sheltered and secluded. By the way, what do you think of the curate’s sister? She is very beautiful, isn’t she?”
“Am I to say the truth?”
“Of course you are.”
“I mean, may I speak as though we knew each other very well, and could talk in confidence together?”
“That is what I mean.”
“And wish?” added he.
“Well, and wish, if you will supply the word.”
“If I am to be frank, then, I don’t admire her.”
“Not think her beautiful?”
“Yes; there is some beauty, – a good deal of beauty, if you like; but somehow it is not allied with that brightness that seems to accentuate beauty. She is tame and cold.”
“I think men generally accuse her of coquetry.”
“And there is coquetry, too; but of that character the French call minauderie, the weapon of a very small enchantress, I assure you.”
“You are, then, for the captivations that give no quarter?” said she, smiling.
“It is a glory to be so vanquished,” said he, heroically.
“My sister declared the other night, after Julia had