FERDINAND quitted his kind friend Mr. Levison in no very amiable mood; but just as he was leaving the house, a cabriolet, beautifully painted, of a brilliant green colour picked out with a somewhat cream-coloured white, and drawn by a showy Holstein horse of tawny tint, with a flowing and milk-white tail and mane, and caparisoned in harness almost as precious as Mr. Levison’s sideboard, dashed up to the door.

‘Armine, by Jove!’ exclaimed the driver, with great cordiality.

‘Ah! Catch, is it you?’ said Ferdinand. ‘What! have you been here?’ said Lord Catchimwhocan. ‘At the old work, eh? Is “me and my pardner” troublesome? for your countenance is not very radiant.’

‘By Jove, old fellow!’ said Ferdinand, in a depressed tone, ‘I am in a scrape, and also in a rage. Nothing is to be done here.’

‘Never mind,’ said his lordship; ‘keep up your spirits, jump into my cab, and we will see how we can carry on the war. I am only going to speak one word to “me and my pardner.”’

So saying, his lordship skipped into the house as gay as a lark, although he had a bill for a good round sum about to be dishonoured in the course of a few hours.

‘Well, my dear Armine,’ he resumed, when he reappeared and took the reins; ‘now as I drive along, tell me all about it; for if there be a man in the world whom I should like to “sarve,” it is thyself, my noble Ferdinand.’

With this encouragement, Captain Armine was not long in pouring his cares into a congenial bosom.

‘I know the man to “sarve” you,’ said Catchimwhocan.

‘The fact is, these fellows here are regular old-fashioned humbugs. The only idea they have is money, money. They have no enlightened notions. I will introduce you to a regular trump; and if he does not do our business, I am much mistaken. Courage, old fellow! How do you like this start?’

‘Deuced neat. By-the-bye, Catch, my boy, you are going it rather, I see.’

‘To be sure. I have always told you there is a certain system in affairs which ever prevents men being floored. No fellow is ever dished who has any connection. What man that ever had his run was really ever fairly put hors de combat, unless he was some one who ought never to have entered the arena, blazing away without any set, making himself a damned fool and everybody his enemy. So long as a man bustles about and is in a good set, something always turns up. I got into Parliament, you see; and you, you are going to be married.’

All this time the cabriolet was dashing down Regent-street, twisting through the Quadrant, whirling along Pall Mall, until it finally entered Cleveland-row, and stopped before a newly painted, newly pointed, and exceedingly compact mansion, the long brass knocker of whose dark green door sounded beneath the practised touch of his lordship’s tiger. Even the tawny Holstein horse, with the white flowing mane, seemed conscious of the locality, and stopped before the accustomed resting-place in the most natural manner imaginable. A tall serving-man, well-powdered, and in a dark and well-appointed livery, immediately appeared.

‘At home?’ enquired Lord Catchimwhocan, with a peculiarly confidential expression.

‘To you, my lord,’ responded the attendant.

‘Jump out, Armine,’ said his lordship; and they entered the house.

‘Alone?’ said his lordship.

‘Not alone,’ said the servant, ushering the friends into the dining-room, ‘but he shall have your lordship’s card immediately. There are several gentlemen waiting in the third drawing-room; so I have shown your lordship in here, and shall take care that he sees your lordship before anyone.’

‘That’s a devilish good fellow,’ said Lord Catchimwhocan, putting his hand into his waistcoat pocket to give him a sovereign; but not finding one, he added, ‘I shall remember you.’

The dining-room into which they were shown was at the back of the house, and looked into agreeable gardens. The apartment was in some little confusion at this moment, for their host gave a dinner to-day, and his dinners were famous. The table was arranged for eight guests; its appointments indicated refined taste. A candelabrum of Dresden china was the centre piece; there was a whole service of the same material, even to the handles of the knives and forks; and the choice variety of glass attracted Ferdinand’s notice. The room was lofty and spacious; it was simply and soberly furnished; not an object which could distract the taste or disturb the digestion. But the sideboard, which filled a recess at the end of the apartment, presented a crowded group of gold plate that might have become a palace; magnificent shields, tall vases, ancient tankards, goblets of carved ivory set in precious metal, and cups of old ruby glass mounted on pedestals, glittering with gems. This accidental display certainly offered an amusing contrast to the perpetual splendour of Mr. Levison’s buffet; and Ferdinand was wondering whether it would turn out that there was as marked a difference between the two owners, when his companion and himself were summoned to the presence of Mr. Bond Sharpe.

They ascended a staircase perfumed with flowers, and on each landing-place was a classic tripod or pedestal crowned with a bust. And then they were ushered into a drawing-room of Parisian elegance; buhl cabinets, marqueterie tables, hangings of the choicest damask suspended from burnished cornices of old carving. The chairs had been rifled from a Venetian palace; the couches were part of the spoils of the French revolution. There were glass screens in golden frames, and a clock that represented the death of Hector, the chariot wheel of Achilles conveniently telling the hour. A round table of mosaic, mounted on a golden pedestal, was nearly covered with papers; and from an easy-chair, supported by air cushions, half rose to welcome them Mr. Bond Sharpe. He was a man not many years the senior of Captain Armine and his friend; of elegant appearance, pale, pensive, and prepossessing. Deep thought was impressed upon his clear and protruding brow, and the expression of his grey sunken eyes, which were delicately arched, was singularly searching. His figure was slight but compact. His dress was plain, but a model in its fashion. He was habited entirely in black, and his only ornament were his studs, which were turquoise and of great size: but there never were such boots, so brilliant and so small!

He welcomed Lord Catchimwhocan in a voice scarcely above a whisper, and received Captain Armine in a manner alike graceful and dignified.

‘My dear Sharpe,’ said his lordship, ‘I am going to introduce to you my most particular friend, and an old brother officer. This is Captain Armine, the only son of Sir Ratcliffe, and the heir of Armine Castle. He is going to be married very soon to his cousin, Miss Grandison, the greatest heiress in England.’

‘Hush, hush,’ said Ferdinand, shrinking under this false representation, and Mr. Sharpe with considerate delicacy endeavoured to check his lordship.

‘Well, never mind, I will say nothing about that,’ continued Lord Catchimwhocan. ‘The long and the short of it is this, that my friend Armine is hard up, and we must carry on the war till we get into winter quarters. You are just the man for him, and by Jove, my dear Sharpe, if you wish sensibly to oblige me, who I am sure am one of your warmest friends, you will do everything for Armine that human energy can possibly effect.’

‘What is the present difficulty that you have?’ enquired Mr. Sharpe of our hero, in a calm whisper.

‘Why, the present difficulty that he has,’ said Lord Catchimwhocan, ‘is that he wants 1,500L.’

‘I suppose you have raised money, Captain Armine?’ said Mr. Sharpe.

‘In every way,’ said Captain Armine.

‘Of course,’ said Mr. Sharpe, ‘at your time of life one naturally does. And I suppose you are bothered for this 1,500L.’

‘I am threatened with immediate arrest, and arrest in execution.’

‘Who is the party?’

‘Why, I fear an unmanageable one, even by you. It is a house at Malta.’

‘Mr. Bolus, I suppose?’

‘Exactly.’

‘I thought so.’

‘Well, what can be done?’ said Lord Catchimwhocan.

‘Oh! there is no difficulty,’ said Mr. Sharpe quietly. ‘Captain Armine can have any money he likes.’

‘I shall be happy,’ said Captain Armine, ‘to pay any consideration you think fit.’

‘Oh! my dear sir, I cannot think of that. Money is a drug now. I shall be happy to accommodate you without giving you any trouble. You can have the 1,500L., if you please, this moment.’

‘Really, you are very generous,’ said Ferdinand, much surprised, ‘but I feel I am not entitled to such favours. What security can I give you?’

‘I lend the money to you. I want no security. You can repay me when you like. Give me your note of hand.’ So saying, Mr. Sharpe opened a drawer, and taking out his cheque-book drew a draft for the 1,500L. ‘I believe I have a stamp in the house,’ he continued, looking about. ‘Yes, here is one. If you will fill this up, Captain Armine, the affair may be concluded at once.’

‘Upon my honour, Mr. Sharpe,’ said Ferdinand, very confused, ‘I do not like to appear insensible to this extraordinary kindness, but really I came here by the merest accident, and without any intention of soliciting or receiving such favours. And my kind friend here has given you much too glowing an account of my resources. It is very probable I shall occasion you great inconvenience.’

‘Really, Captain Armine,’ said Mr. Sharpe with a slight smile, ‘if we were talking of a sum of any importance, why, one might be a little more punctilious, but for such a bagatelle we have already wasted too much time in its discussion. I am happy to serve you.’

Ferdinand stared, remembering Mr. Levison and the coals. Mr. Sharpe himself drew up the note, and presented it to Ferdinand, who signed it and pocketed the draft.

‘I have several gentlemen waiting,’ said Mr. Bond Sharpe; ‘I am sorry I cannot take this opportunity of cultivating your acquaintance, Captain Armine, but I should esteem it a great honour if you would dine with me to-day. Your friend Lord Catchimwhocan favours me with his company, and you might meet a person or two who would amuse you.’

‘I really shall be very happy,’ said Ferdinand.

And Mr. Bond Sharpe again slightly rose and bowed them out of the room.

‘Well, is not he a trump?’ said Lord Catchimwhocan, when they were once more in the cab.

‘I am so astonished,’ said Ferdinand, ‘that I cannot speak. Who in the name of fortune is this great man?’

‘A genius,’ said Lord Catchimwhocan. ‘Don’t you think he is a deuced good-looking fellow?’

‘The best-looking fellow I ever saw,’ said the grateful Ferdinand.

‘And capital manners?’

‘Most distinguished.’

‘Neatest dressed man in town!’

‘Exquisite taste!’

‘What a house!’

‘Capital!’

‘Did you ever see such furniture? It beats your rooms at Malta.’

‘I never saw anything more complete in my life.’

‘What plate!’ ‘Miraculous!’ ‘And, believe me, we shall have the best dinner in town.’

‘Well, he has given me an appetite,’ said Ferdinand. ‘But who is he?’

‘Why, by business he is what is called a conveyancer; that is to say, he is a lawyer by inspiration.’

‘He is a wonderful man,’ said Ferdinand. ‘He must be very rich.’

‘Yes; Sharpe must be worth his quarter of a million. And he has made it in such a deuced short time!’

‘Why, he is not much older than we are!’

‘Ten years ago that man was a prizefighter,’ said Lord Catchimwhocan.

‘A prizefighter!’ exclaimed Ferdinand.

‘Yes; and licked everybody. But he was too great a genius for the ring, and took to the turf.’

‘Ah!’

‘Then he set up a hell.’

‘Hum!’

‘And then he turned it into a subscription-house.’

‘Hoh!’

‘He keeps his hell still, but it works itself now. In the mean time he is the first usurer in the world, and will be in the next Parliament.’

‘But if he lends money on the terms he accommodates me, he will hardly increase his fortune.’

‘Oh! he can do the thing when he likes. He took a fancy to you. The fact is, my dear fellow, Sharpe is very rich and wants to get into society. He likes to oblige young men of distinction, and can afford to risk a few thousands now and then. By dining with him to-day you have quite repaid him for his loan. Besides, the fellow has a great soul; and, though born on a dung-hill, nature intended him for a palace, and he has placed himself there.’

‘Well, this has been a remarkable morning,’ said Ferdinand Armine, as Lord Catchimwhocan set him down at his club. ‘I am very much obliged to you, dear Catch!’

‘Not a word, my dear fellow. You have helped me before this, and glad am I to be the means of assisting the best fellow in the world, and that we all think you. Au revoir! We dine at eight.’

CHAPTER XII

Miss Grandison Makes a Remarkable Discovery.

IN THE mean time, while the gloomy morning which Ferdinand had anticipated terminated with so agreeable an adventure, Henrietta and Miss Grandison, accompanied by Lord Montfort and Glastonbury, paid their promised visit to the British Museum.

‘I am sorry that Captain Armine could not accompany us,’ said Lord Montfort. ‘I sent to him this morning early, but he was already out.’

‘He has many affairs to attend to,’ said Glastonbury.

Miss Temple looked grave; she thought of poor Ferdinand and all his cares. She knew well what were those affairs to which Glastonbury alluded. The thought that perhaps at this moment he was struggling with rapacious creditors made her melancholy. The novelty and strangeness of the objects which awaited her, diverted, however, her mind from these painful reflections. Miss Grandison, who had never quitted England, was delighted with everything she saw; but the Egyptian gallery principally attracted the attention of Miss Temple. Lord Montfort, regardful of his promise to Henrietta, was very attentive to Miss Grandison.

‘I cannot help regretting that your cousin is not here,’ said his lordship, returning to a key that he had already touched. But Katherine made no answer.

‘He seemed so much better for the exertion he made yesterday,’ resumed Lord Montfort. ‘I think it would do him good to be more with us.’

‘He seems to like to be alone,’ said Katherine.

‘I wonder at that,’ said Lord Montfort; ‘I cannot conceive a happier life than we all lead.’

‘You have cause to be happy, and Ferdinand has not,’ said Miss Grandison, calmly.

‘I should have thought that he had very great cause,’ said Lord Montfort, enquiringly.

‘No person in the world is so unhappy as Ferdinand,’ said Katherine.

‘But cannot we cure his unhappiness?’ said his lordship. ‘We are his friends; it seems to me, with such friends as Miss Grandison and Miss Temple one ought never to be unhappy.’

‘Miss Temple can scarcely be called a friend of Ferdinand,’ said Katherine.

‘Indeed, a very warm one, I assure you.’

‘Ah, that is your influence.’

‘Nay, it is her own impulse.’

‘But she only met him yesterday for the first time.’

‘I assure you Miss Temple is an older friend of Captain Armine than I am,’ said his lordship.

‘Indeed!’ said Miss Grandison, with an air of considerable astonishment.

‘You know they were neighbours in the country.’

‘In the country!’ repeated Miss Grandison.

‘Yes; Mr. Temple, you know, resided not far from Armine.’

‘Not far from Armine!’ still repeated Miss Grandison.

‘Digby,’ said Miss Temple, turning to him at this moment, ‘tell Mr. Glastonbury about your sphinx at Rome. It was granite, was it not?’

‘And most delicately carved. I never remember having observed an expression of such beautiful serenity. The discovery that, after all, they are male countenances is quite mortifying. I loved their mysterious beauty.’

What Lord Montfort had mentioned of the previous acquaintance of Henrietta and her cousin made Miss Grandison muse. Miss Temple’s address to Ferdinand yesterday had struck her at the moment as somewhat singular; but the impression had not dwelt upon her mind. But now it occurred to her as very strange, that Henrietta should have become so intimate with the Armine family and herself, and never have mentioned that she was previously acquainted with their nearest relative. Lady Armine was not acquainted with Miss Temple until they met at Bellair House. That was certain. Miss Grandison had witnessed their mutual introduction. Nor Sir Ratcliffe. And yet Henrietta and Ferdinand were friends, warm friends, old friends, intimately acquainted: so said Lord Montfort, and Lord Montfort never coloured, never exaggerated. All this was very mysterious. And if they were friends, old friends, warm friends, and Lord Montfort said they were, and, therefore, there could be no doubt of the truth of the statement, their recognition of each other yesterday was singularly frigid.

It was not indicative of a very intimate acquaintance. Katherine had ascribed it to the natural disrelish of Ferdinand now to be introduced to anyone. And yet they were friends, old friends, warm friends. Henrietta Temple and Ferdinand Armine! Miss Grandison was so perplexed that she scarcely looked at another object in the galleries.

The ladies were rather tired when they returned from the Museum. Lord Montfort walked to the Travellers, and Henrietta agreed to remain and dine in Brook-street. Katherine and herself retired to Miss Grandison’s boudoir, a pretty chamber, where they were sure of being alone. Henrietta threw herself upon a sofa, and took up the last new novel; Miss Grandison seated herself on an ottoman by her side, and worked at a purse which she was making for Mr. Temple.

‘Do you like that book?’ said Katherine.

‘I like the lively parts, but not the serious ones,’ replied Miss Temple; ‘the author has observed but he has not felt.’

‘It is satirical,’ said Miss Grandison; ‘I wonder why all this class of writers aim now at the sarcastic. I do not find life the constant sneer they make it.’

‘It is because they do not understand life,’ said Henrietta, ‘but have some little experience of society. Therefore their works give a perverted impression of human conduct; for they accept as a principal, that which is only an insignificant accessory; and they make existence a succession of frivolities, when even the career of the most frivolous has its profounder moments.’

‘How vivid is the writer’s description of a ball or a dinner,’ said Miss Grandison; ‘everything lives and moves. And yet, when the hero makes love, nothing can be more unnatural. His feelings are neither deep, nor ardent, nor tender. All is stilted, and yet ludicrous.’

‘I do not despise the talent which describes so vividly a dinner and a ball,’ said Miss Temple. ‘As far as it goes it is very amusing, but it should be combined with higher materials. In a fine novel, manners should be observed, and morals should be sustained; we require thought and passion, as well as costume and the lively representation of conventional arrangements; and the thought and passion will be the better for these accessories, for they will be relieved in the novel as they are relieved in life, and the whole will be more true.’

‘But have you read that love scene, Henrietta? It appeared to me so ridiculous!’

‘I never read love scenes,’ said Henrietta Temple.

‘Oh, I love a love story,’ said Miss Grandison, smiling, ‘if it be natural and tender, and touch my heart. When I read such scenes, I weep.’

‘Ah, my sweet Katherine, you are soft-hearted.’

‘And you, Henrietta, what are you?’

‘Hard-hearted. The most callous of mortals.’

‘Oh, what would Lord Montfort say?’

‘Lord Montfort knows it. We never have love scenes.’

‘And yet you love him?’

‘Dearly; I love and esteem him.’

‘Well,’ said Miss Grandison, ‘I may be wrong, but if I were a man I do not think I should like the lady of my love to esteem me.’

‘And yet esteem is the only genuine basis of happiness, believe me, Kate. Love is a dream.’

‘And how do you know, dear Henrietta?’

‘All writers agree it is.’

‘The writers you were just ridiculing?’

‘A fair retort; and yet, though your words are the more witty, believe me, mine are the more wise.’

‘I wish my cousin would wake from his dream,’ said Katherine. ‘To tell you a secret, love is the cause of his unhappiness. Don’t move, dear Henrietta,’ added Miss Grandison; ‘we are so happy here;’ for Miss Temple, in truth, seemed not a little discomposed.

‘You should marry your cousin,’ said Miss Temple.

‘You little know Ferdinand or myself, when you give that advice,’ said Katherine. ‘We shall never marry; nothing is more certain than that. In the first place, to be frank, Ferdinand would not marry me, nothing would induce him; and in the second place, I would not marry him, nothing would induce me.’

‘Why not?’ said Henrietta, in a low tone, holding her book very near to her face.

‘Because I am sure that we should not be happy,’ said Miss Grandison. ‘I love Ferdinand, and once could have married him. He is so brilliant that I could not refuse his proposal. And yet I feel it is better for me that we have not married, and I hope it may yet prove better for him, for I love him very dearly. He is indeed my brother.’

‘But why should you not be happy?’ enquired Miss Temple.

‘Because we are not suited to each other. Ferdinand must marry some one whom he looks up to, somebody brilliant like himself, some one who can sympathise with all his fancies. I am too calm and quiet for him. You would suit him much better, Henrietta.’

‘You are his cousin; it is a misfortune; if you were not, he would adore you, and you would sympathise with him.’

‘I think not: I should like to marry a very clever man,’ said Katherine. ‘I could not endure marrying a fool, or a commonplace person; I should like to marry a person very superior in talent to myself, some one whose opinion would guide me on all points, one from whom I could not differ. But not Ferdinand; he is too imaginative, too impetuous; he would neither guide me, nor be guided by me.’

Miss Temple did not reply, but turned over a page of her book.

‘Did you know Ferdinand before you met him yesterday at our house?’ enquired Miss Grandison, very innocently.

‘Yes!’ said Miss Temple.

‘I thought you did,’ said Miss Grandison, ‘I thought there was something in your manner that indicated you had met before. I do not think you knew my aunt before you met her at Bellair House?’

‘I did not.’

‘Nor Sir Ratclifle?’

‘Nor Sir Ratclifle.’

‘But you did know Mr. Glastonbury?’

‘I did know Mr. Glastonbury.’

‘How very odd!’ said Miss Grandison.

‘What is odd?’ enquired Henrietta.

‘That you should have known Ferdinand before.’

‘Not at all odd. He came over one day to shoot at papa’s. I remember him very well.’

‘Oh,’ said Miss Grandison. ‘And did Mr. Glastonbury come over to shoot?’

‘I met Mr. Glastonbury one morning that I went to see the picture gallery at Armine. It is the only time I ever saw him.’

‘Oh!’ said Miss Grandison again, ‘Armine is a beautiful place, is it not?’

‘Most interesting.’

‘You know the pleasaunce.’

‘Yes.’

‘I did not see you when I was at Armine.’

‘No; we had just gone to Italy.’

‘How beautiful you look to-day, Henrietta!’ said Miss Grandison. ‘Who could believe that you ever were so ill!’

‘I am grateful that I have recovered,’ said Henrietta. ‘And yet I never thought that I should return to England.’

‘You must have been so very ill in Italy, about the same time as poor Ferdinand was at Armine. Only think, how odd you should both have been so ill about the same time, and now that we should all be so intimate!’

Miss Temple looked perplexed and annoyed. ‘Is it so odd?’ she at length said in a low tone.

‘Henrietta Temple,’ said Miss Grandison, with great earnestness, ‘I have discovered a secret; you are the lady with whom my cousin is in love.’