Page:Once a Week Jul - Dec 1859.pdf/354

 COLDSTREAM.

October 22, 1859.]

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present time  he  devoted  much  attention  to  buff waistcoats and  gauze  neck -ties,  braided  coats,  and curled mustachios.

Such as  he  is,  however,  he  is  an  object  of interest  to  the  feminine  portion  of  the  party  at Ravelstoke  Hall; for  he  is  rich  and  handsome,  as well  as  mysterious,  and  he  cannot  be  more  than two -and -thirty. And the  ladies  at  Ravelstoke outnumber the  men: for  although  it  is  still  rare for the  fair  sex  to  participate  actively  in  the saturnalia of  the  partridge-god,  they  will  always be found  hovering  in  considerable  numbers  on  the outskirts of  the  feast: and  the  varieties  of  the British lady  are  fairly  represented.

There are  some  mammas  with  daughters  to marry,  and  there  are  some  daughters  with  a mamma  to  prevent  marrying  again,  which  is,  per- haps, the most  difficult  tiling  of  the  two,  as  she has an  income  in  her  own  right. There are  blondes and brunettes,  and. pretty, brown-haired,  brown- eyed girls who  hover  between  the  two  orders,  and combine the  most  dangerous  characteristics  of  both, who can  wear  both  blue  and  pink,  and  who  look prettier in  the  one  colour  than  they  do  in  the other; but who  always  command  your  suffrage  in favour  of  that  which  they  are  wearing  when  you look at  them.

And there  is  Constance  Baynton  with  grey  eyes and black  hair. And the  nicest  critic  of  feminine appearance might  be  defied  to  state  what  she  had worn, half  an  hour  after  he  left  her; for  no  one can ever  look  at  anything  except  her  face.

Yet Constance  is  three-and- twenty,  and  still unmarried. Alas, what  cowards  men  are! The fact is  that  Constance  is  very  clever; but  as  Mrs. Melliah  (the  widow)  says,  “not  clever  enough  to hide  it.”

Is she  a little  vexed  at  her  present  condition? Certainly she  does  not  exhibit  any  tendency  to carry  out  Mrs.  Mellish’s  suggestion,  if  it  has  ever been repeated  to  her. The young  men  are  more afraid of  her  than  ever; and  certainly  she  does say very  sharp  things,  sometimes. Especially she is severe  upon  idlers,  the  butterflies  of  fashionable existence. She appears  to  consider  that  she  has  a special  mission  to  arouse  them; but  they  do  not appear to  like  being  lectured. With the  young ladies she  is  a great  favourite,  for  she  is  very  affec- tionate; and though  so  beautiful  and  distinguished, she has  proved  herself  to  be  not  so  dangerous  a rival  as  might  have  been  expected. Indeed, it  has happened, more  than  once,  that  male  admiration, rebounding from  the  hard  surface  of  her  manner, has found  more  yielding  metal  in  the  bosoms  of  her particular friends. Besides, she  is  always  ready  to lead  the  van  in  the  general  attack  upon  the  male sex, when  the  ladies  retire  to  the  drawing-room.

Not that  she  ever  says  anything  behind  their backs she  would  not  be  ready  to  repeat  to  their faces; but in  that  course  probably  she  would  not meet with  such  general  support.

In Mr. Tyrawley she  affected  to  disbelieve. She stated as  her  opinion  to  her  intimate  friends,  that she did  not  believe  he  ever  had  done,  or  ever would do  anything  worth  doing; but  that  he plumed  himself  on  a cheap  reputation,  which,  as all  were  ignorant  of  its  foundation,  no  one  could possibly impugn.

There is  reason  to  believe  that  in  this  instance Miss Constance  was  not  as  conscientious  as  usual; but that  she  really  entertained  a higher  opinion  of the  gentleman  than  she  chose  to  confess. He cer- tainly was not  afraid  of  her,  and  had  even  dared to contradict  her  favourite  theory  of  the  general worthlessness of  English  gentlemen  of  the  nine- teenth century. It was  one  wet  morning  when she had  been  reading  Scott  to  three  or  four  of  her particular friends, — and  it  must  be  confessed  that she read  remarkably  well, — that  she  began  to lament  the  decline  of  chivalry. Tyrawley was sitting half  in  and  half  out  of  range. Perhaps she talked  a little  at  him. At any  rate  he  chose to accept  the  challenge.

“I cannot agree  with  you. Miss Baynton,”  he said. “It is  true  we  no  longer  wear  ladies’  gloves in our  helmets,  nor  do  we  compel  harmless  indi- viduals, who possibly  may  have  sweethearts  of their  own,  to  admit  the  superiority  of  our  lady love at  the  point  of  the  lance; but  of  all  that was good  in  chivalry,  of  courage,  truth,  honour, enterprise, self-sacrifice,  you  will  find  as  much  in the  nineteenth  century  as  in  the  twelfth.”

He brightened  up  as  he  spoke,  and  it  was  quite evident that  he  believed  what  he  said,  a circum- stance which always  gives  an  advantage  to  a dis- putant.

More than  one  pair  of  bright  eyes  smiled approval, and  Miss  Constance  saw  a probability  of  a defection  from  her  ranks. She changed  her  tactics.

“You are  too  moderate  in  your  claims  for  your contemporaries, Mr. Tyrawley. If I remember right, modesty  has  always  been  considered  a quali- fication of a true  knight.”

“I am  not  ashamed  to  speak  the  truth,”  he replied;  “your  theory  would  have  been  more tenable before  the  days  of  the  Crimean  war  and the Indian  mutiny; but  the  men  who  lit  their cigars in  the  trenches  of  the  Redan,  and  who carried the  gate  of  Delhi,  may  bear  comparison with Bayard,  or  Cceur  de  Lion.”

“Oh! I do not  allude  to  our  soldiers,”  said  she, “of course,  I know  they  are  brave; but,” — and here she  hesitated  a moment,  till  possibly  piqued because her  usual  success  had  not  attended  her  in the  passage  of  arms,  she  concluded,— “but  to  our idle gentlemen,  who  seem  to  have  no  heart  for anything.”

Tyrawley smiled. “Possibly you  may  judge too much  by  the  outside,”  he  said. 44 I am inclined to fancy  that  some  of  those  whom  you  are  pleased to call  idle  gentlemen  would  be  found  to  have heart enough  for  anything  that  honour,  or  duty, or even  chivalry,  could  find  for  them  to  do.”

“I hope  you  are  right,”  said  Miss  Constance, with a slightly  perceptible  curl  of  her  upper  lip, which implied  that  she  did  not  think  so.

Tyrawley bowed,  and  the  conversation  termi- nated a few minutes  afterwards; when  he  had  left the room,  the  conversation  of  the  young  ladies was interrupted  by  Master  George  Baynton,  aged fourteen, who  suddenly  attacked  his  sister.

“I think you  are  wrong,  you  know,  when  you call Tyrawley  a humbug.”

“My dear,”  said  Constance,  with  a start,  44 I never  said  anything  so  ru — .”

“Well, you  implied  it,  you  know,  in  your  girl’s