CHAPTER IV.--CONTAINS, AMONG OTHER “EXQUISITE” SKETCHES, A PORTRAIT OF A

PUPPY (NOT BY LANDSEER).

HAZLEHURST Grange was a picturesque old mansion, modernised out of all resemblance to its moated namesake which Tennyson has immortalised, by the addition of gay flower-beds, closely-shaven lawns, judiciously-planted shrubberies, and other appliances of landscape gardening. It was situated about eighteen miles from Coverdale Park, a distance which Harry’s trotting mare, who had grown plump and saucy upon rest and good keep, accomplished, to her owner’s intense satisfaction, in less than five minutes over the hour and a-half.

“Pretty fair travelling that, eh, Master Arthur,” he observed, replacing his watch in his waistcoat pocket, “and what I particularly like about it is, that the mare did it all willingly and of her own accord, took well to collar at starting, and kept it up steadily, and in a business-like manner, till her work was done.”

“In fact, behaved as utterly unlike a female throughout the whole affair, as if she had belonged to the nobler sex,” returned Hazlehurst, sarcastically.

“_Infandum renovare dolorem!_--why will you remind me of my coming trials, and not suffer me to enjoy the pleasures of forgetfulness while I may?” was Coverdale’s desponding rejoinder.

“Simply because, unless I am greatly mistaken, they literally are _coming_ trials,” was the reply. “Look through that belt of trees on the left; don’t you see the flutter of something white?”

“Muslin, by all that’s flimsy, frivolous, and feminine!” exclaimed Harry, aghast: “I say, Arthur, can’t we turn off somewhere?”

“By all means, if you wish it; there’s a gravel-pit on the right-hand, and a precipitous bank sloping down to the river on the left, which will you prefer?” was the obliging rejoinder. As he spoke, a turn in the road disclosed to their view a group of three figures, slowly advancing in the same direction as that in which they were themselves proceeding.

“My cousin, Kate Marsden, my sister Alice, and a gent, name unknown,” observed Hazlehurst, as his eyes fell upon the trio. “Why, surely it is--no, it can’t be--yes it is, Horace D’Almayne.”

“Allowing, merely for the sake of argument, that it is the individual you mention, who may he happen to be?” inquired Harry, taking up the whip which had hitherto reposed innocuously between them, and performing rash feats with it over the ears of “My old Aunt Sally”--(for so in honour of the Ethiopian Serenaders, then in the zenith of their popularity, had Harry named his new favourite).

“My dear fellow, you don’t mean to say that you never heard of him? Not to know Horace D’Almayne argues yourself unknown; why, man, he is a noted wit, a successful poet, the greatest dandy, and the most incorrigible male flirt about town: knows everybody, has been everywhere, and done everything.”

“What is he like across a stiff line of country, and how many brace can he bag to his own gun?” inquired Harry drily.

“Not knowing can’t say,” was the rejoinder, “but that’s not at all in his way; he affects, if it is affectation, the man of sentiment; however, just now he is believed in to the fullest extent, and considered a regular lion.”

“A regular tiger, I should have fancied rather,” was the cynical reply. “Why, the brute actually wears moustaches.”

“He has served in the Austrian army, and sports the mouse-tails on the strength of his military pretensions,” was the reply.

After a minute’s pause, Coverdale observed, inquiringly, “I suppose we must needs pull up and do the civil by these good people.”

“Why, considering that I have not seen my sister for the last five months, family affection (to say nothing of the duties of society) demands the sacrifice,” returned Hazlehurst.

“Cut it short then, there’s a good fellow, the mare’s too hot to be allowed to stand long, and I would not have anything go wrong with her after the splendid manner in which she has brought us to-day, for three times the money I gave for her.”

As he spoke, Harry again impatiently flirted the whip over the ears of “My old Aunt Sally,” an indignity which excited the fiery disposition of that highly-descended quadruped, who, throwing up her head and tail, flinging out her fore feet, as though she were sparring with the distance her speed must overcome, and altogether looking her very handsomest, dashed up to the group of pedestrians so suddenly as to cause the two ladies to draw back in alarm; while even the redoubtable Horace himself sprang out of the way with a degree of alacrity which evinced a stronger regard for his personal safety than might have been expected from so heroic a character. For this sacrifice of dignity to the first law of nature, self-preservation, he endeavoured to compensate himself by stroking his moustaches, and staring superciliously at the new comers.

While Hazlehurst, who sprang down the moment the dog-cart stopped, was exchanging greetings with his cousin and sister, Harry was left undisturbed to make his observations on the trio to whom he was about to be introduced. The elder of the two young ladies, who responded to the definition, “My cousin, Miss Kate Marsden,” was above the middle height, and of a singularly graceful figure; her features were delicately formed and regular, her complexion pale, but clear, her hair and eyes dark, the latter being large and expressive, her hands and feet small, and her whole bearing and appearance refined and aristocratic in the extreme; but her features bore a look of proud reserve, which interfered with the effect which her beauty would otherwise have produced--an inscrutable look, which seemed to say, “I have a peculiar and decided character, but I defy you to read it.”

It is of no use to attempt to describe Alice Hazlehurst, for the simple reason that no description could convey an adequate idea of her. Not that she was anything particularly wonderful; she was not even a miracle of beauty--she was only about the best thing this fallen world of ours contains--a bright, high-spirited, pure, simple, true-hearted, lovely, and loveable young girl, just emerging into graceful womanhood; very shy, slightly romantic, full of kindly sympathies and generous impulses, which she concealed as carefully as bad men hide unpopular vices, and with all the deep and noble qualities of her woman’s nature, as well as, alas! its faults and foibles, lying dormant within her, either to be developed in their full completeness, or dwarfed into comparative insignificance, as the hands into which she might fall should prove fitted or unfitted to the great, yet enviable, responsibility of forming her character. As Hazlehurst leapt down, she sprang forward to meet him; then drew back from his hearty embrace with a smile and a blush, which very unnecessarily made her appear prettier than before, to acknowledge, with a bow, her introduction to her brother’s friend.

The third member of the party, Horace D’Almayne, had been well fitted by nature to sustain the character of “exquisite”--tall, and with a graceful, slender figure, his well-formed and regular features, soft dark hair, and brilliant complexion, gave him an undoubted right to the epithet handsome, although it was in a style suited rather to a woman than to a man. The expression of his face, cynical and supercilious when in repose, or when he spoke to one of his own sex, relaxed into a smile of sentimental self-confidence when he addressed a woman. He appeared very young, probably not above two or three and twenty, and was dressed up to the _ne plus ultra_ of refined dandyism.

“‘Why, D’Almayne,” exclaimed Hazlehurst, “how is it that we come to be honoured by your company? I was not even aware that my father possessed the pleasure of your acquaintance.”

“Nor did he a week ago; but the matter came about thus,” was the reply. “During the London season I was introduced at one of the Duke of D------’s parties, to an opulent individual of the name of Crane, learned his opinion prospective and retrospective in regard to the weather, bowed adieu, and straightway forgot him. About a month since, being in a _café_ at Baden-Baden, my attention was attracted by an awful _charivari_; and on attempting to investigate the cause thereof, discovered Friend Crane lamenting himself pathetically in bad French and worse German, and surrounded by a mob of foreigners. Having in some degree appeased his polyglot passion, I soon contrived to make out, that his pocket having been picked by A., he had accused innocent B., and denounced unoffending C.--a vicarious system of reprisals which those victimised individuals appeared, not unnaturally, inclined to resent. Understanding somewhat better than our irascible friend the language and customs of the natives, I contrived to extricate him from the dilemma; for which act of good Samaritanism I have been, from that time forward, more or less the victim of his indefatigable gratitude. Your worthy father finding me a few days since located in the Château Crane, politely included me in his invitation. I arrived this morning, and under the able tuition of your cousin and sister, was rapidly becoming acquainted with the beauties of Hazlehurst, when you drove up.”

As he insinuated this skilfully-veiled compliment, the exquisite Horace pointed its application by favouring Alice with a languishing _œillade_, which was certainly not without effect; for it excited in the breast of Harry Coverdale a sudden, intense, and unreasonable desire then and there heartily to kick the talented originator of the compliment. This impulse he was only enabled to check by a powerful effort, which caused him to twitch the reins so suddenly, as painfully to compress the delicate mouth of “My Aunt Sally,” to an extent which justified that outraged quadruped in converting herself for the time being into a biped, by standing erect on her hind legs, and pawing the air with her fore feet.

“Soho, girl! gently, gently!” exclaimed Hazlehurst, who, not having perceived the exciting cause of the manœuvre, attributed the mare’s unmannerly behaviour to an outbreak of inherent viciousness. “Why, Harry, what on earth is the matter with the creature?”

“Probably nothing more than a reasonless caprice natural to her sex,” was Harry’s ungallant reply. “Possibly she may have the bad taste to prefer the creature comforts of a cool stable and a good feed of corn, to remaining in the broiling sunshine, even with the opportunity of becoming acquainted with the beauties of Hazlehurst;” and as he made this sarcastic remark, Harry glanced, carelessly round over wood and field, so that any one not well acquainted with the play of his features would have been puzzled to decide whether he was himself aware of the full meaning of his words.

“A pretty broad hint that I am not to keep the mare standing any longer,” returned Hazlehurst, turning to his cousin and sister. “That fellow cares for nothing in the world but his horses, except his dogs and his double-barrel. Well, I suppose you girls will be coming home soon.”

“Quite as soon as we are wanted, if your amiable and complimentary friend has any voice in the matter,” returned Alice, _sotto voce_.

“Nonsense,” was the reply in the same tone; “you know nothing about him, you silly child. Harry is the kindest-hearted, best-tempered fellow in the world, as you’ll find out before long.”

Alice’s only reply was an incredulous toss of her pretty head, and the parties separated.

“Of all the puppies I ever beheld, that creature D’Almayne is the most insufferable--the very sight of him irritates me. What business has he to pay his absurd compliments to your sister, when he has only known her for a few hours? If I were you, I should not stand it.”

“At all events, his compliments are of a more civil nature than yours,” returned Hazlehurst with a smile; “why, Harry, you are becoming as peppery a character as your namesake Hotspur himself.”

“I am like him in one particular, at all events,” was the reply, “for I cannot abide a coxcomb.”

“It strikes me, that is not the only point in which you resemble the ‘gunpowder Percy,’ as old Falstaff calls him. By the way,” he continued, “what in the world was the matter with ‘Aunt Sally,’ a minute ago she seems to go quietly enough now.”

“I rather fancy something must have hurt her mouth,” replied Harry, turning away his head to conceal a smile. As he spoke, they drove round the gravel sweep leading to the hall door of Hazlehurst Grange. Beneath the porch stood two gentlemen--in one of whom, corpulent and elderly, Coverdale had little trouble in recognising, from his likeness to his friend, Mr. Hazlehurst senior; while the other, tall, thin, and cadaverous-looking, he rightly conjectured to be the opulent and amorous cotton spinner, Jedediah Crane.