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"What a character! and what a contempt he must have for me!" My cousin called to take me to the railway, and to accompany me as a chaperon on a visit to Sir Guy and Lady Scapegrace, who were, as usual, "entertaining a distinguished party of fashionables at their residence, Scamperley." By the way, what an odd phrase that same "entertaining" always sounds to my ear.
So Sir Neville lived at Scamperley in abundance and honour, and preserved his oaks and his rents, and professed the strictest Puritanism; and died in a fit brought on by excessive drinking to the success of the Restoration, when he heard that Charles had landed, and the king was really "to enjoy his own again."
Whilst the object of all these polished encomiums could willingly have burst out crying at a moment's notice; indeed, she would have found it an unspeakable relief; and felt as she had never felt before, and as she trusts in heaven she may never feel again. It was a lovely spot Scamperley beautiful as a dream with the quiet woodland beauty of a real English place. Such timber! Such an avenue!
I think he has behaved infamously to you, I confess; but take comfort, my dear you are not the first by a good many." I put it to my impartial reader whether such a remark, though made with the kindest intentions, was not enough to drive any woman mad with spite. I broke away from Lady Scapegrace, and rushed back into the house. We were to leave Scamperley that day by the afternoon train.
Sir Guy, occupying a position on the hearth-rug, with his coat-tails over his arms, was haranguing the clergyman of the parish, a quiet, meek little man, who dined at Scamperley regularly on Sunday, and appeared frightened out of his wits.
But Aunt Deborah wouldn't hear of it. "No, no," said she, "my dear; you are at the right age to enjoy yourself. I don't know much about Scamperley, and I have a far more charitable opinion of Lady Scapegrace than the world in general; but I dare say you will have a pleasant party, and I can trust you anywhere with John."
Waxy, and as innocent as a babe, d'ye see? Well, sir, I'd been to a battue at my friend Rocketer's; and what with staying to dinner, and a ball and a supper afterwards, it was very late before I started for Scamperley, and all the servants were drunk, as a matter of course.
The words were not much, but they were uttered in the old kind voice; they rung in my ears all the evening, and I went to bed happier than I ever thought I could have been after such a day. The Sunday at Scamperley, I am sorry to say, was hardly observed with that degree of respect and strictness which is due to the one sacred day of the week.
As we drove into the Park at Scamperley for I fearlessly rounded the avenue turn, and vowed I would not abandon the reins till I had delivered my load at the front door even Frank was completely disgusted. My cousin took not the slightest notice, but kept his seat with his back turned to the horses, and was still deep in his newspaper.
"I don't drive myself, sir; no no, my lad assumes the reins; and notwithstanding the potency of your Scamperley ale, Sir Guy, we manage to arrive pretty safe at our destination." "Quite right, Mr. Waxy," vociferated Sir Guy. "Did I ever tell you what happened to me once, when I took it into my head to drive my own chariot home? Look ye here, sir, I'll tell you how it was. I was unmarried then, Mr.
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