Alice, or the Mysteries — Book 07

								

with one of the she-squires, and Lord Vargrave offered his arm to the
portly Mrs. Tiddy.
Vargrave, as usual, was the life of the feast.  Mr. Howard, who sat next
to Miss Bridget, conversed with her between the courses, "in dumb show."
Mr. Onslow and the physician played second and third to Lord Vargrave.
When the dinner was over, and the ladies had retired, Vargrave found
himself seated next to Mr. Onslow, and discovered in his neighbour a most
agreeable companion.  They talked principally about Lisle Court, and from
Colonel Maltravers the conversation turned naturally upon Ernest.
Vargrave proclaimed his early intimacy with the latter gentleman,
complained, feelingly, that politics had divided them of late, and told
two or three anecdotes of their youthful adventures in the East.  Mr.
Onslow listened to him with much attention.
"I made the acquaintance of Mr. Maltravers many years ago," said he, "and
upon a very delicate occasion.  I was greatly interested in him; I never
saw one so young (for he was then but a boy) manifest feelings so deep.
By the dates you have referred to, your acquaintance with him must have
commenced very shortly after mine.  Was he at that time cheerful, in good
spirits?"
"No, indeed; hypochondriacal to the greatest degree."
"Your lordship's intimacy with him, and the confidence that generally
exists between young men, induce me to suppose that he may have told you
a little romance connected with his early years."
Lumley paused to consider; and this conversation, which had been carried
on apart, was suddenly broken into by the tall doctor, who wanted to know
whether his lordship had ever heard the anecdote about Lord Thurlow and
the late king.  The anecdote was as long as the doctor himself; and when
it was over, the gentlemen adjourned to the drawing-room, and all
conversation was immediately drowned by "Row, brothers, row," which had
only been suspended till the arrival of Mr. Tiddy, who had a fine bass
voice.
Alas! eighteen years ago, in that spot of earth, Alice Darvil had first
caught the soul of music from the lips of Genius and of Love!  But better
as it is,--less romantic, but more proper,--as Hobbs' Lodge was less
pretty, but more safe from the winds and rains, than Dale Cottage.
Miss Bridget ventured to ask the good-humoured Lord Vargrave if he sang.
"Not I, Miss Hobbs; but Howard, there!--ah, if you heard him!"  The
consequence of this hint was, that the unhappy secretary, who, alone, in
a distant corner, was unconsciously refreshing his fancy with some cool
weak coffee, was instantly beset with applications from Miss Bridget,
Mrs. Tiddy, Mr. Tiddy, and the tall doctor, to favour the company with a
specimen of his talents.  Mr. Howard could sing,--he could even play the
guitar.  But to sing at Hobbs' Lodge, to sing to the accompaniment of
Mrs. Tiddy, to have his gentle tenor crushed to death in a glee by the
heavy splayfoot of Mr. Tiddy's manly bass--the thought was insufferable!