Had he been a youth about to make a debut1 in the great world, Sidney Wilton could not have been more agitated2 than he felt at the prospect3 of the fete at Montfort House. Lady Roehampton, after nearly two years of retirement4, was about to reenter society. During this interval5 she had not been estranged6 from him. On the contrary, he had been her frequent and customary companion. Except Adriana, and Lady Montfort, and her brother, it might almost be said, her only one. Why then was he agitated? He had been living in a dream for two years, cherishing wild thoughts of exquisite7 happiness. He would have been content, had the dream never been disturbed; but this return to hard and practical life of her whose unconscious witchery had thrown a spell over his existence, roused him to the reality of his position, and it was one of terrible emotion.
During the life of her husband, Sidney Wilton had been the silent adorer of Myra. With every accomplishment8 and every advantage that are supposed to make life delightful9—a fine countenance10, a noble mien11, a manner natural and attractive, an ancient lineage, and a vast estate—he was the favourite of society, who did more than justice to his talents, which, though not brilliant, were considerable, and who could not too much appreciate the high tone of his mind; his generosity12 and courage, and true patrician13 spirit which inspired all his conduct, and guided him ever to do that which was liberal, and gracious, and just.
There was only one fault which society found in Sidney Wilton; he would not marry. This was provoking, because he was the man of all others who ought to marry, and make a heroine happy. Society did not give it up till he was forty, about the time he became acquainted with Lady Roehampton; and that incident threw no light on his purposes or motives14, for he was as discreet15 as he was devoted16, and Myra herself was unconscious of his being anything to her save the dearest friend of her father, and the most cherished companion of her husband.
When one feels deeply, one is apt to act suddenly, perhaps rashly. There are moments in life when suspense17 can be borne no longer. And Sidney Wilton, who had been a silent votary18 for more than ten years, now felt that the slightest delay in his fate would be intolerable. It was the ball at Montfort House that should be the scene of this decision of destiny.
She was about to reenter society, radiant as the morn, amid flowers and music, and all the accidents of social splendour. His sympathetic heart had been some solace19 to her in her sorrow and her solitude20. Now, in the joyous21 blaze of life, he was resolved to ask her whether it were impossible that they should never again separate, and in the crowd, as well as when alone, feel their mutual22 devotion.
Mr. Wilton was among those who went early to Montfort House, which was not his wont23; but he was restless and disquieted24. She could hardly have arrived; but there would be some there who would speak of her. That was a great thing. Sidney Wilton had arrived at that state when conversation can only interest on one subject. When a man is really in love, he is disposed to believe that, like himself, everybody is thinking of the person who engrosses25 his brain and heart.
The magnificent saloons, which in half an hour would be almost impassable, were only sprinkled with guests, who, however, were constantly arriving. Mr. Wilton looked about him in vain for the person who, he was quite sure, could not then be present. He lingered by the side of Lady Montfort, who bowed to those who came, but who could spare few consecutive26 words, even to Mr. Wilton, for her watchful27 eye expected every moment to be summoned to descend28 her marble staircase and receive her royal guests.
The royal guests arrived; there was a grand stir, and many gracious bows, and some cordial, but dignified29, shake-hands. The rooms were crowded; yet space in the ball-room was well preserved, so that the royal vision might range with facility from its golden chairs to the beauteous beings, and still more beautiful costumes, displaying with fervent30 loyalty31 their fascinating charms.
There was a new band to-night, that had come from some distant but celebrated32 capital; musicians known by fame to everybody, but whom nobody had ever heard. They played wonderfully on instruments of new invention, and divinely upon old ones. It was impossible that anything could be more gay and inspiring than their silver bugles33, and their carillons of tinkling34 bells.
They found an echo in the heart of Sidney Wilton, who, seated near the entrance of the ball-room, watched every arrival with anxious expectation. But the anxiety vanished for a moment under the influence of the fantastic and frolic strain. It seemed a harbinger of happiness and joy. He fell into a reverie, and wandered with a delightful companion in castles of perpetual sunshine, and green retreats, and pleasant terraces.
But the lady never came.
“Where can your sister be?” said Lady Montfort to Endymion. “She promised me to come early; something must have happened. Is she ill?”
“Quite well; I saw her before I left Hill Street. She wished me to come alone, as she would not be here early.
“I hope she will be in time for the royal supper table; I quite count on her.”
“She is sure to be here.”
Lord Hainault was in earnest conversation with Baron35 Sergius, now the minister of King Florestan at the Court of St. James’. It was a wise appointment, for Sergius knew intimately all the English statesmen of eminence36, and had known them for many years. They did not look upon him as the mere37 representative of a revolutionary and parvenu38 sovereign; he was quite one of themselves, had graduated at the Congress of Vienna, and, it was believed, had softened39 many subsequent difficulties by his sagacity. He had always been a cherished guest at Apsley House, and it was known the great duke often consulted him. “As long as Sergius sways his councils, He will indulge in no adventures,” said Europe. “As long as Sergius remains40 here, the English alliance is safe,” said England. After Europe and England, the most important confidence to obtain was that of Lord Hainault, and Baron Sergius had not been unsuccessful in that respect.
“Your master has only to be liberal and steady,” said Lord Hainault, with his accustomed genial41 yet half-sarcastic smile, “and he may have anything he likes. But we do not want any wars; they are not liked in the City.”
“Our policy is peace,” said Sergius.
“I think we ought to congratulate Sir Peter,” said Mr. Waldershare to Adriana, with whom he had been dancing, and whom he was leading back to Lady Hainault. “Sir Peter, here is a lady who wishes to congratulate you on your deserved elevation42.”
“Well, I do not know what to say about it,” said the former Mr. Vigo, highly gratified, but a little confused; “my friends would have it.”
“Ay, ay,” said Waldershare, “‘at the request of friends;’ the excuse I gave for publishing my sonnets43.” And then, advancing, he delivered his charge to her chaperon, who looked dreamy, abstracted, and uninterested.
“We have just been congratulating the new baronet, Sir Peter Vigo,” said Waldershare.
“Ah!” said Lady Hainault with a contemptuous sigh, “he is, at any rate, not obliged to change his name. The desire to change one’s name does indeed appear to me to be a singular folly44. If your name had been disgraced, I could understand it, as I could understand a man then going about in a mask. But the odd thing is, the persons who always want to change their names are those whose names are the most honoured.”
“Oh, you are here!” said Mr. St. Barbe acidly to Mr. Seymour Hicks. “I think you are everywhere. I suppose they will make you a baronet next. Have you seen the batch45? I could not believe my eyes when I read it. I believe the government is demented. Not a single literary man among them. Not that I wanted their baronetcy. Nothing would have tempted46 me to accept one. But there is Gushy; he, I know, would have liked it. I must say I feel for Gushy; his works only selling half what they did, and then thrown over in this insolent47 manner!”
“Gushy is not in society,” said Mr. Seymour Hicks in a solemn tone of contemptuous pity.
“That is society,” said St. Barbe, as he received a bow of haughty48 grace from Mrs. Rodney, who, fascinating and fascinated, was listening to the enamoured murmurs49 of an individual with a very bright star and a very red ribbon.
“I dined with the Rodneys yesterday,” said Mr. Seymour Hicks; “they do the thing well.”
“You dined there!” exclaimed St. Barbe. “It is very odd, they have never asked me. Not that I would have accepted their invitation. I avoid parvenus50. They are too fidgety for my taste. I require repose51, and only dine with the old nobility.”
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debut
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| n.首次演出，初次露面 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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estranged
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| adj.疏远的，分离的 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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mien
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| n.风采；态度 | |
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generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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patrician
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| adj.贵族的，显贵的；n.贵族；有教养的人；罗马帝国的地方官 | |
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motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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votary
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| n.崇拜者；爱好者；adj.誓约的，立誓任圣职的 | |
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solace
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| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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disquieted
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| v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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engrosses
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| v.使全神贯注( engross的第三人称单数 ) | |
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consecutive
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| adj.连续的，联贯的，始终一贯的 | |
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watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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fervent
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| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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bugles
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| 妙脆角，一种类似薯片但做成尖角或喇叭状的零食； 号角( bugle的名词复数 )； 喇叭； 匍匐筋骨草； （装饰女服用的）柱状玻璃（或塑料）小珠 | |
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tinkling
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| n.丁当作响声 | |
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baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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parvenu
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| n.暴发户，新贵 | |
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softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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sonnets
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| n.十四行诗( sonnet的名词复数 ) | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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batch
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| n.一批(组，群)；一批生产量 | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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parvenus
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| n.暴富者( parvenu的名词复数 )；暴发户；新贵；傲慢自负的人 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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