So Puddock, in a not unpleasant fuss and excitement,
sat down in his dressing-gown before the glass; and
while Moore the barber, with tongs, powder, and pomade,
repaired the dilapidations of the day, he contemplated
his own plump face, not altogether unapprovingly, and
thought with a charming anticipation of the adventures
of the approaching evening.
RELATING HOW THE GENTLEMEN SAT OVER THEIR CLARET,
AND HOW DR. STURK SAW A FACE.
Puddock drove up the avenue of gentlemanlike old poplars,
and over the little bridge, and under the high-arched
bowers of elms, walled up at either side with evergreens,
and so into the court-yard of Belmont. Three
sides of a parellelogram, the white old house being
the largest, and offices white and in keeping, but
overgrown with ivy, and opening to yards of their
own on the other sides, facing one another at the flanks,
and in front a straight Dutch-like moat, with a stone
balustrade running all along from the garden to the
bridge, with great stone flower pots set at intervals,
the shrubs and flowers of which associated themselves
in his thoughts with beautiful Gertrude Chattesworth,
and so were wonderfully bright and fragrant.
And there were two swans upon the water, and several
peacocks marching dandily in the court-yard; and a
grand old Irish dog, with a great collar, and a Celtic
inscription, dreaming on the steps in the evening
sun.
It was always pleasant to dine at Belmont. Old
General Chattesworth was so genuinely hospitable and
so really glad to see you, and so hilarious himself,
and so enjoying. A sage or a scholar, perhaps,
might not have found a great deal in him. Most
of his stories had been heard before. Some of
them, I am led to believe, had even been printed.
But they were not very long, and he had a good natured
word and a cordial smile for everybody; and he had
a good cook, and explained his dishes to those beside
him, and used sometimes to toddle out himself to the
cellar in search of a curious bon-bouche; and of nearly
every bin in it he had a little anecdote or a pedigree
to relate. And his laugh was frequent and hearty,
and somehow the room and all in it felt the influence
of his presence like the glow, and cheer, and crackle
of a bright Christmas fire.
Miss Becky Chattesworth, very stately in a fine brocade,
and a great deal of point lace, received Puddock very
loftily, and only touched his hand with the tips of
her fingers. It was plain he was not yet taken
into favour. When he entered the drawing-room,
that handsome stranger, with the large eyes, so wonderfully
elegant and easy in the puce-coloured cut velvet—Mr.
Mervyn—was leaning upon the high back of
a chair, and talking agreeably, as it seemed, to Miss
Gertrude. He had a shake of the hand and a fashionable
greeting from stout, dandified Captain Cluffe, who
was by no means so young as he would be supposed,
and made up industriously and braced what he called
