It was about this time that the dinner-party at the King's House came off. Old Colonel and Mrs. Strafford were hospitable, if not very entertaining, and liked to bring their neighbours together, without ceremony, round a saddle of mutton and a gooseberry pie, and other such solid comforts; and then, hey for a round game!for the young people, Pope Joan, or what you please, in the drawing-room, with lots of flirting and favouritism, and a jolly little supper of broiled bones and whipt cream, and toasts and sentiments, with plenty of sly allusions and honest laughter all round the table. But twice or thrice in the year the worthy couple made a more imposing gathering at the King's House, and killed the fatted calf, and made a solemn feast to the big wigs and the notables of Chapelizod, with just such a sprinkling of youngsters as sufficed to keep alive the young people whom they brought in their train. There was eating of venison and farced turkeys, and other stately fare; and they praised the colonel's claret, and gave the servants their veils in the hall, and drove away in their carriages, with flambeaux and footmen, followed by the hearty good-night of the host from the hall-door steps, and amazing the quiet little town with their rattle and glare.
Dinner was a five o'clock affair in those days, and the state parlour was well filled. There was old Bligh from the MagazineI take the guests in order of arrivaland the Chattesworths, and the Walsinghams; and old Dowager Lady GlenvarloghColonel Stratford's cousinwho flashed out in the evening sun from Dublin in thunder and dust and her carriage-and-four, bringing her mild little country niece, who watched her fat painted aunt all the time of dinner, with the corners of her frightened little eyes, across the table; and spoke sparingly, and ate with diffidence; and Captain Devereux was there; and the next beau who appeared wasof all men in the worldMr. Mervyn! and Aunt Becky watched, and saw with satisfaction, that he and Gertrude met as formally and coldly as she could have desired. And then there was an elaborate macaroni, one of the Lord Lieutenant's household,Mr. Beauchamp; and last,
Devereux could not help seeing pretty Lilias over the way, who was listening to handsome Mervyn, as it seemed, with interest, and talking also her pleasant little share. He was no dunce, that Mervyn, nor much of a coxcomb, and certainly no clown, Devereux thought; but as fine a gentleman, to speak honestly, and as handsome, as well dressed, and as pleasant to listen to, with that sweet low voice and piquant smile, as any. Besides he could draw, and had more yards of French and English verses by rote than Aunt Becky owned of Venetian lace and satin ribbons, and was more of a scholar than he. He? He!whyhe? What the deuce had Devereux to do with itwas he vexed?A fiddle-stick! He began to flag with Miss Ward, the dowager's niece, and was glad when the refined Beauchamp, at her other side, took her up, and entertained her with Lady Carrickmore's ball and the masquerade, and the last levee, and the withdrawing-room. There are said to have been persons who could attend to half a dozen different conversations going on together, and take a rational part in them all, and indulge, all the time, in a distinct consecutive train of thought beside. I dare say, Mr. Morphy, the chess-player, would find no difficulty in it. But Devereux was not by any means competent to the feat, though there was one conversation, perhaps, the thread of which he would gladly have caught up and disentangled. So the talk at top and bottom and both sides of the table, with its cross-readings, and muddle, and uproar, changed hands, and whisked and rioted, like a dance of Walpurgis, in his lonely brain.
What he heard, on the whole, was very like thishubble-bubble-rubble-dubblethe great match of shuttlecock played between the gentlemen of the north and those of hubble-bubblethe Methodist persuasion; butha-ha-ha!a squeeze of a
And this did not make him much wiser or merrier. Love has its fevers, its recoveries, and its relapses. The patientnay even his nurse and his doctor, if he has taken to himself such officers in his distressmay believe the malady quite curedthe passion burnt outthe flame extincteven the smoke quite over, when a little chance puff of rivalry blows the white ashes off, and, lo! the old liking is still smouldering. But this was not Devereux's case. He remembered when his fevernot a love oneand his leave of absence at Scarborough, and that long continental tour of hers with Aunt Rebecca and Gertrude Chattesworth, had carried the grave, large-eyed little girl away, and hid her from his sight for more than a year, very nearly two years, the strange sort of thrill and surprise with which he saw her againtall and slight, and very beautifulno, not beautiful, perhaps, if you go to rule and compass, and Greek trigonometrical theories; but there was an indescribable prettiness in all her features, and movements, and looks, higher, and finer, and sweeter than all the canons of statuary will give you.
How prettily she stands! how prettily she walks! what a sensitive, spirited, clear-tinted face it is! This was pretty much the interpretation of his reverie, as Colonel Strafford's large and respectable party obligingly vanished for a while into air. Is it sad? I think it is sadI don't knowand how sweetly and how drolly it lighted up; at that moment he saw her smilethe pleasant mischief in itthe dark violet glancethe wonderful soft dimple in chin and cheekthe little crimson mouth, and
Devereux's contemplation of the animated tête-à-tête, for such, in effect, it seemed to him at the other side of the table, was, however, by no means altogether pleasurable. He began to think Mervyn conceited; there was a provoking probability of succeeding about him, and altogether something that was beginning to grow offensive and odious.
She knows well enough I like her, so his liking said in confidence to his vanity, and even he hardly overheard them talk; better a great deal than I knew it myself, till old Strafford got together this confounded stupid dinner-party (he caught Miss Chattesworth glancing at him with a peculiar look of enquiry). Why the plague did he ask me here? it was Puddock's turn, and he likes venison and compots, andandbut 'tis like themthe women fall in love with the man who's in love with himself, like Narcissus yonderand they can't help itnot theyand what care I?hang it! I say, what is't to me?and yetif she were to leave itwhat a queer unmeaning place Chapelizod would be!
And what do you say to that, Captain Devereux? cried the hearty voice of old General Chattesworth, and, with a little shock, the captain dropped from the clouds into his chair, and a clear view of the larded fowl before him, and his own responsibilities and situation
Some turkey! he said, awaking, and touching the carving-knife and fork, with a smile and a bow; and he mingled once more in the business and bustle of life.
And soon there came in the general talk and business one of those sudden lulls which catch speakers unawares, and Mr. Beauchamp was found sayingI saw her play on Thursday, and, upon my honour, the Bellamy is a mockery, a skeleton and a spectacle.
That's no reason, said Aunt Becky, who, as usual, had got up a skirmish, and was firing away in the cause of Mossop and Smock-alley play-house; why, she would be fraudulently arrested in her own chair, on her way to the play-house, by the contrivance of the rogue Barry, and that wicked mountebank, Woodward.
You're rather hard upon them, Madam, said Mrs. Colonel
Very true, indeed, Mistress Chattesworth, cried the dowager, overlooking Madam Strafford's parenthesis, and tapping an applause with her fan, and, at the same time, rewarding the champion of Smock-alley, for she was one of the faction, with one of her large, painted smiles, followed by a grave and somewhat supercilious glance at the gentleman of the household; and I don't believe they, at least, can think her a spectacle, andathe like, or they'd hardly have conspired to lock her in a sponging-house, while she should have been in the play-house. What say you, Mistress Chattesworth?
Ha, ha! no, truly, my lady; but you know she's unfortunate, and a stranger, and the good people in this part of the world improve so safe an opportunity of libelling a friendless gentlewoman.
This little jet of vitriol was intended for the eye of the Castle beau; but he, quite innocent of the injection, went on serenely
So they do, upon my honour, Madam, tell prodigious naughty tales about her: yet upon my life I do pity her from my soul: how that fellow Calcraft, by Joveshe says, you know, she's married to him, but we know betterhe has half broken her heart, and treated her with most refined meanness, as I live; in the green-room, where she looks an infinity worse than on the stage, she told me
I dare say, said Aunt Becky, rather stiffly, pulling him up; for though she had fought a round for poor George Anne Bellamy for Mossop's sake, she nevertheless had formed a pretty just estimate of that faded, good-natured, and insolvent demirep, and rather recoiled from any anecdotes of her telling.
And Calcraft gave her his likeness in miniature, related the macaroni, never minding; set round with diamonds, and, will you believe it? when she came to examine it, they were not brilliants, but rose-diamondsdespicable fellow!
Here the talk began to spring up again in different places, and the conversation speedily turned into what we have heard it before, and the roar and confusion became universal, and swallowed up what remained of poor George Anne's persecutions.