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At half-past four, Goldmore arrives in St. James's Street, from the City, and you may see him reading the evening papers in the bow-window of the Club, which enfilades Pall Mall a large plethoric man, with a bunch of seals in a large bow-windowed light waistcoat. He has large coat-tails, stuffed with agents' letters and papers about companies of which he is a Director.
Whether he knows Sanscrit or not, I can't say; but Goldmore got him the business; and so I cannot help having a lurking regard for that pompous old Bigwig. 'We Bachelors in Clubs are very much obliged to you, says my old school and college companion, Essex Temple, 'for the opinion which you hold of us. You call us selfish, purple-faced, bloated, and other pretty names.
She was accepting her honeymoon with her accustomed calm, although it was not causing her any of the thrills which Elsie Goldmore, her school friend, had assured her she should discover therein. Honeymoons! Heavens! But perhaps it was because Sir John was dull. He looked dull, she thought, as he stood there talking to the Ambassador. A fine figure of an Englishman but yes dull.
'Remember, eight o'clock precisely, says he to Mulligatawney, the other East India Director; and, ascending the carriage, plumps down by the side of Mrs. Goldmore for a drive in the Park, and then home to Portland Place. As the carriage whirls off, all the young bucks in the Club feel a secret elation. It is a part of their establishment, as it were.
Goldmore comes back, I hope we shall see you more in Portland Place. And with this the time came for the play, and we went to see Mr. Phelps at Sadler's Wells. Gray, who was in the case, on his curious and exact knowledge of the Sanscrit language.
Young Muscadel, that cheap dandy, is talking Fashion and Almack's out of the MORNING POST, and disgusting his neighbour, Mrs. Fox, who reflects that she has never been there. The widow is vexed out of patience, because her daughter Maria has got a place beside young Cambric, the penniless curate, and not by Colonel Goldmore, the rich widower from India.
They had met at a country house and had played golf together, and then they had met again a month later at another house, in March, but she could not remember any love-making she could not remember any of those warm looks and those surreptitious hand-clasps when occasion was propitious, which Elsie Goldmore had told her men were so prodigal of in demonstrating when they fell in love.
'Gracious mercy! says Goldmore to me, quite confidentially, 'how could he ask us? I really had no idea of this this utter destitution. 'Dinner, dinner! roars out Gray, from the diningroom, whence issued a great smoking and frying; and entering that apartment we find Mrs.
Here's a fine one; try this, Goldmore. And he popped a fizzing cutlet on that gentleman's plate. What words, what notes of exclamation can describe the nabob's astonishment? The tablecloth was a very old one, darned in a score places. There was mustard in a teacup, a silver fork for Goldmore all ours were iron. 'I wasn't born with a silver spoon in my mouth, says Gray, gravely.
'Well, says Goldmore, after a pause, during which he took time to consider the momentous question Gray put to him 'Pon my word now you say so I I have I really have had a monsous good dinnah monsous good, upon my ward! Here's your health, Gray my boy, and your amiable lady; and when Mrs.
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