University of Virginia Library

4. CHAP. IV.

A little after two o'clock on the following Wednesday,
Tremlet's cabriolet stopped near the perron
of Willis's rooms in King-street, and while he sent
up his card to the lady patronesses for his ticket to
that night's Almack's, he busied himself in looking
into the crowd of carriages about him, and reading
on the faces of their fair occupants the hope and
anxiety to which they were a prey till John the
footman brought them tickets or despair. Drawn
up on the opposite side of the street, stood a family
carriage of the old style, covered with half the arms
of the herald's office, and containing a fat dowager
and three very over-dressed daughters. Watching
them, to see the effect of their application, stood
upon the sidewalk three or four young men from the
neighbouring club-house, and at the moment Tremlet
was observing these circumstances, a foreign
britsçka, containing a beautiful woman of a reputation
better understood than expressed in the conclave
above stairs, flew round the corner of St. James'-street,
and very nearly drove into the open mouth
of the junior partner's cabriolet.

“I will bet you a Ukraine colt against this fine bay
of yours,” said the Russian secretary of legation,

advancing from the group of dandies to Tremlet,
“that miladi, yonder, with all the best blood of England
in her own and her daughter's red faces, gets
no tickets this morning.”

“I'll take a bet upon the lady who has nearly
extinguished me, if you like,” answered Tremlet,
gazing with admiration at the calm, delicate, childlike
looking creature, who sat before him in the
britsçka.

“No!” said the secretary, “for Almack's is a
republic of beauty, and she'll be voted in without
either blood or virtue. Par exémple, Lady Ravelgold's
voucher is good here, though she does study
tableaux in Lothbury—eh Tremlet?”

Totally unaware of the unlucky discovery by the
fireworks at Lady Roseberry's fête, Tremlet coloured
and was inclined to take the insinuation as an
affront; but a laugh from the dandies drew off his
companion's attention, and he observed the dowager's
footman standing at her coach window with
his empty hands held up in most expressive negation,
while the three young ladies within sat aghast, in all
the agonies of disappointed hopes. The lumbering
carriage got into motion—its ineffective blazonry
paled by the mortified blush of its occupants—and,
as the junior partner drove away, philosophizing on
the arbitrary opinions and unprovoked insults of
polite society, the britsçka shot by, showing him, as

he leaned forward, a lovely woman who bent on
him the most dangerous eyes in London, and an
Almack's ticket lying on the unoccupied cushion
beside her.

The white relievo upon the pale blue wall of Almack's
showed every crack in its stucco flowers,
and the faded chaperons who had defects of a similar
description to conceal, took warning of the walls,
and retreated to the friendlier dimness of the tearoom.
Collinet was beginning the second set of
quadrilles, and among the fairest of the surpassingly
beautiful women who were moving to his heavenly
music, was Lady Imogen Ravelgold, the lovelier tonight
for the first heavy sadness that had ever
dimmed the roses in her cheek. Her lady mother
divided her thoughts between what this could mean,
and whether Mr. Tremlet would come to the ball;
and when, presently after, in the dos-a-dos, she forgot
to look at her daughter, on seeing that gentleman
enter, she lost a very good opportunity for a guess
at the cause of Lady Imogen's paleness.

To the pure and true eye that appreciates the
divinity of the form after which woman is made, it
would have been a glorious feast to have seen the
perfection of shape, colour, motion and countenance
shown that night on the bright floor of Almack's.
For the young and beautiful girls whose envied

destiny is to commence their woman's history in this
exclusive hall, there exist aids to beauty known to
no other class or nation. Perpetual vigilance over
every limb from the cradle up; physical education
of a perfection, discipline and judgment pursued
only at great expense and under great responsibility;
moral education of the highest kind, habitual consciousness
of rank, exclusive contact with elegance
and luxury, and a freedom of intellectual culture
which breathes a soul through the face before passion
has touched it with a line or a shade—these
are some of the circumstances which make Almack's
the cynosure of the world for adorable and radiant
beauty.

There were three ladies who had come to Almack's
with a definite object that night, each of
whom was destined to be surprised and foiled:
Lady Ravelgold, who feared she had been abrupt
with the inexperienced banker, but trusted to find
him softened by a day or two's reflection; Mrs. St.
Leger, the Lady of the britsçka, who had ordered
supper for two on her arrival at home from her
morning's drive, and intended to have the company
of the handsome creature she had nearly run over
in King-street; and Lady Imogen Ravelgold, as
will appear in the sequel.

Tremlet stood in the entrance from the tea-room
a moment, gathering courage to walk alone into such

a dazzling scene, and then, having caught a glimpse
of the glossy lines of Lady Imogen's head at the
farthest end of the room, he was advancing toward
her, when he was addressed by a lady who leaned
against one of the slender columns of the orchestra.
After a sweetly-phrased apology for having nearly
knocked out his brains that morning with her horses
fore feet, Mrs. St. Leger took his arm, and walking
deliberately two or three times up and down the
room, took possession, at last, of a banquette on the
highest range, so far from any other person, that it
would have been a marked rudeness to have left her
alone. Tremlet took his seat by her with this
instinctive feeling, trusting that some of her acquaintances
would soon approach, and give him a fair
excuse to leave her; but he soon became amused
with her piquant style of conversation, and, not
aware of being observed, fell into the attitude of a
pleased and earnest listener.

Lady Ravelgold's feelings during this petit entretien,
were of a very positive description. She had
an instinctive knowledge, and consequently a jealous
dislike of Mrs. St. Leger's character; and, still under
the delusion that the young banker's liberality was
prompted by a secret passion for herself, she saw
her credit in the city and her hold upon the affections
of Tremlet, (for whom she had really conceived a
violent affection,) melting away in every smile of

the dangerous woman who engrossed him. As she
looked around for a friend, to whose ear she might
communicate some of the suffocating poison in her
own heart, Lady Imogen returned to her from a
galopade; and, like a second dagger into the heart
of the pure-minded girl, went this second proof of
her lover's corrupt principle and conduct. Unwilling
to believe even her own eyes on the night of
Lady Roseberry's fête, she had summoned resolution
on the road home to ask an explanation of her mother.
Embarrassed by the abrupt question, Lady Ravelgold
felt obliged to make a partial confidence of the
state of her pecuniary affairs; and to clear herself,
she represented Tremlet as having taken advantage
of her obligations to him, to push a dishonourable
suit. The scene disclosed by the sudden blaze of
the fire-works being thus simply explained, Lady
Imogen determined at once to give up Tremlet's
acquaintance altogether; a resolution which his
open flirtation with a woman of Mrs. St. Leger's
character served to confirm. She had, however,
one errand with him, prompted by her filial feelings
and favoured by an accidental circumstance which
will appear.

“Do you believe in animal magnetism?” asked
Mrs. St. Leger, “for by the fixedness of Lady Ravelgold's
eyes in this quarter, something is going to
happen to one of us.”

The next moment the Russian secretary approached
and took his seat by Mrs. St. Leger, and with
diplomatic address contrived to convey to Tremlet's
ear that Lady Ravelgold wished to speak with him.
The banker rose, but the quick wit of his companion
comprehended the manœuvre.

“Ah! I see how it is,” she said, “but stay—you'll
sup with me to-night? Promise me—parole d'honneur!
”

“Parole!” answered Tremlet, making his way
out between the seats, half pleased and half embarrassed.

“As for you, Monsieur le Secretaire,” said Mrs.
St. Leger, “you have forfeited my favour, and may
sup elsewhere. How dare you conspire against
me?”

While the Russian was making his peace, Tremlet
crossed over to Lady Ravelgold; but, astonished
at the change in Lady Imogen, he soon broke in
abruptly upon her mother's conversation, to ask her
to dance. She accepted his hand for a quadrille;
but as they walked down the room in search of a
vis-à-vis, she complained of heat, and asked timidly
if he would take her to the tea-room.

“Mr. Tremlet,” she said, fixing her eyes upon the
cup of tea which he had given her, and which she
found some difficulty in holding, “I have come here
to-night to communicate to you some important

information, to ask a favour, and to break off an
acquaintance which has lasted too long.”

Lady Imogen stopped, for the blood had fled
from her lips, and she was compelled to ask his arm
for a support. She drew herself up to her fullest
height the next moment, looked at Tremlet, who
stood in speech less astonishment, and with a strong
effort, commenced again in a low, firm tone—

“I have been acquainted with you some time, sir,
and have never inquired, nor knew more than your
name, up to this day. I suffered myself to be pleased
too blindly—”

“Dear Lady Imogen!”

“Stay a moment, sir! I will proceed directly to
my business. I received this morning a letter from
the senior partner of a mercantile house in the city,
with which you are connected. It is written on the
supposition that I have some interest in you, and
informs me that you are not, as you yourself suppose,
the son of the gentleman who writes the letter.”

“Madam!”

“That gentleman, sir, as you know, never was
married. He informs me that in the course of many
financial visits to St. Petersburgh, he formed a friendship
with Count Manteuffel, then minister of finance
to the emperour, whose tragical end, in consequence
of his extensive defalcations, is well known. In
brief, sir, you were his child, and were taken by this

English banker, and carefully educated as his own,
in happy ignorance, as he imagined, of your father's
misfortunes and mournful death.”

Tremlet leaned against the wall, unable to reply
to this astounding intelligence, and Lady Imogen
went on.

“Your title and estates have been restored to you
at the request of your kind benefactor, and you are
now the heir to a princely fortune, and a count of
the Russian empire. Here is the letter, sir, which
is of no value to me now. Mr. Tremlet! one word
more, sir.”

Lady Imogen gasped for breath.

“In return, sir, for much interest given you heretofore—in
return, sir, for this information—”

“Speak, dear Lady Imogen!”

“Spare my mother!”

“Mrs. St. Leger's carriage stops the way!” shouted
a servant at that moment, at the top of the stairs;
and as if there were a spell in the sound to nerve
her resolution anew, Lady Imogen Ravelgold shook
the tears from her eyes, bowed coldly to Tremlet,
and passed out into the dressing-room.

“If you please, sir,” said a servant, approaching
the amazed banker, “Mrs. St. Leger waits for you
in her carriage.”

“Will you come home and sup with us?” said
Lady Ravelgold at the same instant, joining him in
the tea-room.

“I shall be only too happy, Lady Ravelgold.”

The bold coachman of Mrs. St. Leger continued
to “stop the way,” spite of policemen and infuriated
footmen, for some fifteen minutes. At the end of
that time Mr. Tremlet appeared, handing down
Lady Ravelgold and her daughter, who walked to
their chariot, which was a few steps behind; and
very much to Mrs. St. Leger's astonishment, the
handsome banker sprang past her horses' heads a
minute after, jumped into his cabriolet, which stood
on the opposite side of the street, and drove after
the vanishing chariot as if his life depended on overtaking
it. Still Mrs. St. Leger's carriage “stopped
the way.” But, in a few minutes after, the same
footman who had summoned Tremlet in vain, returned
with the Russian secretary, doomed in blessed
unconsciousness to play the pis aller at her tête-à-tête
supper in Spring Gardens.