The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 324: what you’re looking at

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

THE MYSTERIES OF THE COURT. 815 away. Madame Angelique called after her: but she would not stop—neither did she even look back. She seemed as if she heard not the vile woman’s words; and her tall bayadere form, clothed in ite white drapery, was speedily lost amidst the trees to the view of Madame An. gelique. CHAPTRE UE. MR. SYOAMORS. Wrurtn this seene was passing between three or four o'clock in the afternoon at Bayswater, Chris- tian Ashton was pursuing his way along Piccadilly. In a few minutes he entered a fashionable hotel, and inquired of the waiter if the Hon. Mr. Talbot Sycamore was within? The response was in the affirmative; and our young hero was conducted up-stairs to am apartment where the object of his visit lay stretched tipon the sofs smoking a eigar. Nothing could exceed the frvedom and ease or the luxurious languor of that state of abandon. ment which characterised Mr. Talbot Sycamore’s posture. His head reposed upon the cushion at one end of the sofa—his feet reclined upon the high part of the sofa at the other extremity: oné morocco-slipper had fallen off—the other just hung on to the tips of his toes. His elegant flowered. silk dressing-gown was all flowing open; and he inhaled the fragranoe of his cigar with the comfort of one who appeared not to have a single care in the whole worid. The Hon. Mr. Talbot Sycamore was a little past thirty years of age. He had auburn hair, which he wore very long, and which seemed to curl naturally—lerge whiskers of a somewhat redder tint—blue eyes-—-and a tolerable good-looking countenance. He was tall, slender, and well made —but had a ruakish, dissipated, devil-may-care appearance, whieh was visible enough even be- neath that easy fashionable languor that now as it were invested him. The waiter withdrew; and Christian remained alone with this gentleman. Mr. Sycamore, taking his cigar from his mouth, waved it with a sort of graceful negligence in the direetion of a chair,—at the same time suftering a long whiff of smoke to exhale slowly from his lips. Our here took the chair, and said, “ I have called, sir, in consequence of the letter which I reveived from you by this morning’s post.” “ Ab, I see,” observed Mr. Sycamore, speaking with that sort of drawing-room draw! which im- ses on with the idea that ft requires a very gteat effort indeed to make use of that faculty of speech which is one of the main distinctions be- tween ite possessor and the lower animals. “ You are the young man who advertised for the post of private secretary, with all sorte of qualifica- tions ?” “ And you, sir, I presame,” answered Christian, “ are the gentleman who wrote to inform mo that you required precisely such an asristant as I an- nounced myself to be.” Me. Sycamore dowly turned hitnself half round upon the sofa, and gave a good long stere at our young hero, whose speech he evidently fancied had a sort of covert irony or rebuke in it. And such was indeed the case: for Christian, though perfectly free from undue pride, was somewhat i ine oensed at being called “a young man ;” and the term “all sorts of qualifleations ” had struck him as being more or less supercilious. He however endared the staring process with a beeoming com- posure,—firmly without hardihood, and with a suitable dignity that was davoid of disrespect as it was totally apart from insolence. «Well, it is perfectly true,” resumed the Hon. Mr. Talbot Sycamore, “that I am in want of a. private secretary: Yon see, I am a man of large " at select, Mr. Ashton—all select. Damme, nothing vulgar! Dukes, Marquises, Karis, and those sort of people—these are my friends. Now, this acquaintance—so extensive and yet so ehoice—involves me in a devil’s own mass of cor- respondence—and it’s more than I can manage for myself. That’s why I require a secretary,” he lasily added. Christian remarked that he considered that there was nothing very onerous or difficult in the duties which he would have to fulfil;—and we may observe thaf he was too anxious to obtain another situation to suffer himself to be dis- heartened or disgusted by any peculiarities in Mr. Syeamore’s cénversation or manners. “You have no objection to travel?” resumed this gentleman: “ I don’t mean travelling all over the world—but simply on a trip to Brighton, or Cheltenham, or Ramegate, or Dover, just as the fancy takes me. You see, I am a bachelor, and have to kill time to the best of my ability.” Christian assured Mr. Sycamore that he had no objection to accompany him on euch little journeys as those to which he had alluded. *'You will see the world and amuse yourvelf,” continued Mr. Syeamore; “and I have no doubt your place will be an easy and agreeable one. At all events I can tell you this—you ‘will never see any low people visiting me. I never in my life spoke to a person that did not keep his carriage. If any friend of mine puts down his carriage for the sake of economy,—damme, I cut him in- tantly! Bo now you see what sort of a person I am.” Christian did see it, and with infinite disgust too: but he was careful not to betray what he felt —for it was not his business to quarrel with Mr. Sycamore’s peculiar fastidiousness, nor was it his interest to throw away the chance of obtaining a good situation simply because he had to do with a coxcomb or a boaster. Mr. Sycamore continued to talk in the same style for another quarter of an hour ; and then he asked for testimonials. Ohris- tian produced thoee which he had received from the Duke of Marchmont and the Grand Duke of Maxe-Stolburg-Quotha,—wherewith Mr. Sycamore was pleased to express his satisfaction,—observing that they were at least not “low people,” and that he had no doubt Christian would suit him very weil. “Yam going out of town the first thing to- morrow morning,” said Mr. Sycamore; “and you must accompany me. You had therefore better be here as soon after breakfast as you can.” “T will be here, sir,” answered Christian, with ingenuous readiness, “at nine o'clock—or earlier, if you wish it.” | | | 3 (COL (C DOO CS (COL