The Young Duchess; or, Memoirs of a Lady of Quality — page 91: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ane Rernneeencemene eee ee ee are nee nee a ct i ogee — SSS ee ee ee THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. chair with an easy fashionable languor, he sipped ~ his claret from a glass which he held in one hand, while the other hand, drooping over the arm of that chair, dangled « perfumed cambric kerchief. In strong contrast with his elegant appearance, was that of Sylvester Casey. He was dressed in what he called evening costume:—that is to say, a black coat with a velvet collar and silk facings, a blue neck-tie so fastened that the ends pointed out horizontally at great length towards the shoulders, a shirt with the bosom very full and wonderfully embroidered, and with studs about the size of shillings—a flaring silk waistcoat, over which two or three gold chains festooned— black pantaloons, and patent leather boots. He wore half-a-dozen rings upon a pair of hands which looked as if they would have been all the better for a little more soap and a little less jewel- lery. He had been drinking a great deal of wine ; his face was very red; and his large green eyes, looking as if they were boiled gooseberries, stood out staringly from their sockets. Always full of pretension in his sober moods, he was boastful and full of braggadocio when in his cups. The reader may be well assured that so exqui- site a gentleman as Sir Abel Kingston would not have condescended for a single instant to remain in the society of such a vulgar individual as Syl- vester Casey, if he had not some very good reasons of his own: but he had actually invited the usurer’s son to dine with him at this West- End hotel—though it certainly cost Sir Abel little, or we ought rather to say nothing to enter- tain him, inasmuch as he had credit at the estab- lishment—and though he had a grand idea of ordering dinners, he had not the slightest notion of paying for them. “Well then, my dear Casey,” said the Baronet, as he sipped his claret, “ you will just drop a hint to your father that he would do well to wait a little while longer and not send me those threaten- ing letters. He knows very well that I have got a little matter in hand—an affair of gallantry— that will no doubt turn out well though, by the bye, he has’nt dropped a word about that in your hearing; and that’s very kind and honour- able of him.” “Don’t be afraid, old fellow,” cried Sylvester familiarily: “‘ Pll make things all right with the governor——I'll take him when he’s in the humour. No one knows how to manage him better that Ido. Deuced good claret, this, King- ston ?” ‘“‘'Yes—passable. Well then, I may trust to y —"” “ Right as a trivet, my boy! Hang the fellow that wouldn't do anything for a friend! I always stick to a friend like a brick. That’s my rule.” ‘“* And a very good one too,” said the Baronet. ‘‘ And therefore you'll join me in that little note of hand to-morrow—only for a cool thousand, you know—it’s a mere matter of form on your part——" ‘‘ Oh, well, we shall see about it,” interjected Sylvester, who was not yet quite intoxicated enough to give the required promise. ‘‘ By the bye, talking about affairs of gallantry, I’ve got something that’s most likely to come off this even- ing. I told you, you know, that if I dined with you, old boy, it must be at six o’clock—for that I should most likely have to cut off at about nine.” ra rn en a 77 “Well, and how will you know whether you are to go or not ?” asked the Baronet. “I'm so sure of it that I mean to go,” replied Sylvester. ‘‘There’s no failure in any plan of mine, I can tell you! Deuce a bit! And by Jove, won’t the world talk! My eyes, what a sensation there'll be! Every one will be saying, ‘What a lucky dog that young Casey is!’ And yet it isn’t luck in these matters,” he added affectedly, as he thrust his fingers through his horrible hair: “it’s good looks.” “No doubt of it,” said the Baronet, with a short cough. ‘‘ Good looks and a certain appearance.” ‘“‘’'Yes —a certain appearance,” added Syl- vester, casting a complacent glance over his own person. “ But about this fair one of your’s 2” ‘Ah! won’t you be surprised when you know Why, every one admires her—and you as much as anybody.” “‘[?” said the Baronet with a slight start; and then he thought to himself, ‘“‘Good heaven! this conceited wretch never can be lifting his impu- dent eyes towards the Duchess! Pshaw! he does not even know her !” ‘Yes, old fellow,” continued Sylvester, “' you'll envy me as much as any man, I can tell you!” “The deuce!” thought Sir Abel: “ this is really getting closer and closer to the point!—Do I, then, know her?” Sylvester winked his eye with a vulgar familiar significancy ; and then said, “ Come, come, it won’t do to pump one too close!” “May I guess it if I can?” asked the Baronet. “Guess if you like,” replied Sylvester. “ But Til just give you a hint and no more. The stage!” Again Sir Abel started as he thought within himself, ‘Ah! the Duchess was once upon the stage !” Sylvester looked knowingly at him; and again winking his eye with a vulgar familiarity, he said, ‘Do you begin to twig ?” “You don’t mean me to understand,” asked the Baronet, endeavouring to be cool, “that you allude to a certain brilliant creature——” “By Jove, I think you are getting pretty near the mark!” cried Sylvester. “Don’t you think I am to be envied ?” “But you don’t know her!” exclaimed Sir Abel: “or if you do, it can only have been for a very few days—for I remember your telling me ? ‘Well, and what if I don’t know her to speak to?” proceeded Casey: ‘‘don’t you think there are other means of getting at one of the fair sex and ending by having an assignation made ?” ‘“* By God!” ejaculated Sir Abel, clenching his fist and striking his knuckles with such force on the table that all the decanters, glasses, and dessert-dishes appeared as if they were suddenly seized with St. Vitus’s dance: “TI will only be- lieve what I see!” “Tl make you a bet upon it,” said young Casey, who was fond of being thought a sporting character, and liked very much to make bets when he knew he was sure to win. ‘Done !” cried the Baronet. any amount you like!” “A hundred guineas,” suggested Sylvester eagerly. “Yes, done! for conniclooolk Colin