Very stiffly and very haughtily did Lord Borodaile
draw up, when Clarence approached and addressed Lady
Flora; much more stiffly and much more haughtily did
he return, though with old-fashioned precision of
courtesy, Clarence’s bow, when Lady Westborough
introduced them to each other. Not that this
hauteur was intended as a particular affront:
it was only the agreeability of his lordship’s
general manner.
“Are you engaged?” said Clarence to Flora.
“I am, at present, to Lord Borodaile.”
“After him, may I hope?”
Lady Flora nodded assent, and disappeared with Lord
Borodaile.
His Royal Highness the Duke of ——
came up to Lady Westborough; and Clarence, with a
smiling countenance and an absent heart, plunged into
the crowd. There he met Lord Aspeden, in conversation
with the Earl of Holdenworth, one of the administration.
“Ah, Linden,” said the diplomatist, “let
me introduce you to Lord Holdenworth,—a
clever young man, my dear lord, and plays the flute
beautifully.” With this eulogium, Lord
Aspeden glided away; and Lord Holdenworth, after some
conversation with Linden, honoured him by an invitation
to dinner the next day.
’T is true his nature
may with faults abound;
But who will cavil when the
heart is sound?—Stephen Montague.
Dum vitant stulti vitia, in
contraria currant.-Horace.
["The foolish while avoiding
vice run into the opposite
extremes.”]
The next day Sir Christopher Findlater called on Clarence.
“Let us lounge in the park,” said he.
“With pleasure,” replied Clarence; and
into the park they lounged.
By the way they met a crowd, who were hurrying a man
to prison. The good-hearted Sir Christopher
stopped: “Who is that poor fellow?”
said he.
“It is the celebrated” (in England all
criminals are celebrated. Thurtell was a hero,
Thistlewood a patriot, and Fauntleroy was discovered
to be exactly like Buonaparte!) “it is the celebrated
robber, John Jefferies, who broke into Mrs. Wilson’s
house, and cut the throats of herself and her husband,
wounded the maid-servant, and split the child’s
skull with the poker.” Clarence pressed
forward: “I have seen that man before,”
thought he. He looked again, and recognized
the face of the robber who had escaped from Talbot’s
house on the eventful night which had made Clarence’s
fortune. It was a strongly-marked and rather
handsome countenance, which would not be easily forgotten;
and a single circumstance of excitement will stamp
features on the memory as deeply as the commonplace
intercourse of years.
“John Jefferies!” exclaimed the baronet;
“let us come away.”
