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"Never mind, mamma," said Eveline, soothingly "Some one else can take his place, and perhaps Capt. Trevalyon will now be a baronet, and that will be so nice. You like him, so it will make it all right." "So it will," said Posey, drying her eyes, "if it's so, is it, Lady Esmondet?" "Yes, Lady Wyesdale, Capt. Trevalyon succeeds to the baronetcy."
She little knew that the mighty eagle, as he soars to his home in the mountain heights, with his bold glance wooing the sun, would as soon love the puny night hawk as would Lionel Trevalyon waste his heart's strongest feelings on such a frail butterfly as Posey Wyesdale. So, now, on the entree of our friends without Trevalyon the Duchess, as she greeted them, called out in her thin treble,
"Or, if so, she would pose not as Mark Twain's, but as M. Thiers," said Wingfield, jestingly. "I don't believe a word of it," said Posey Wyesdale, weeping profusely; "it is invented by some person who is jealous of his overwhelming love for me; but I'll let them see I shall marry him all the same."
"And you won't tell Miss Vernon," she continued, beseechingly, "I want her to be surprised." Vaura and Rev. Robert had joined the group as Captain Trevalyon was saying, laughingly, "I cannot promise you, Lady Wyesdale, I am in Lady Esmondet's hands; if, as I expect the 12th of January sees her at Haughton Hall, I cannot possibly be with you, unless my photo in the garb you wish will suit."
Now there is a tap at the door, and a servant enters with contributions from the post. "Any orders, your ladyship?" "Yes, the landau is to be at the door to take us to St. Peter's in an hour; at the close of mass we shall drive to the Duchess of Wyesdale, with whom we lunch; further orders there.
At that time the Duke was alive to bear the title and represent the estate in Wiltshire, the Scottish moors and shooting box, with the town house in London; very useful in that way, so his Duchess told herself, and in truth, only in that character, did the fair, frivolous Lady Wyesdale appreciate her easygoing fox-hunting spouse.
"They are the Duchess of Wyesdale and her daughter, the Lady Eveline Northingdon," answered Trevalyon, as Lady Esmondet bowed to other acquaintances. "The little Duchess, who is insane enough to think Lionel in love with her," thought his friend, remembering gay Mrs.
But as O'Gormon said to Castenelli, on dining with him on that same evening: "Faith, all that was on the table of Lady Wyesdale wouldn't add to the hips of a grasshopper." "No, a fellow wouldn't have to try your larding system to get himself into waltzing shape; did your little. English duchess cater for him," had laughed Castenelli. But let us return to the Duchess of Wyesdale and her guests.
Not so O'Gormon, who hearing the same story, and knowing their intention to attend the opera went thither, and not seeing them was for leaving, but the Wyesdale signaled him to her side, and so off duty only at the close; saw her party to the carriage, and throwing his toga over his evening dress, hurried to the depot.
And now for a note from Dame Grundy, with our gay friend, Mrs. Eustace Wingfield, as mouthpiece. 'Posey Wyesdale openly affirms that when she again plumes herself in colours you will play Benedict; moreover, that 'tis for her sake you are a bachelor. Mrs.
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