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BY THE AUTHOR OF
"TWO OLD MEN'S TALES,” “EMILIA WYNDHAM,"
“MORDAUNT AALL," &c.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
Yet to be just to these poor men of pelf,
That evening, which Lord George was sighing
They were a family party. There was Mr.
Henry had returned from his walk, gloomy as a winter day. It was impossible for him to conquer or to hide his melancholy and depression. Caroline perceived it with sorrow and surprise. She could not conceive what had discomposed him so much. She had observed him looking uncomfortable during the morning, but there was a wintry darkness over his face now, which exceeded all she had seen before. She felt more than usually anxious and uneasy.
However, the dinner was got over, and they had assembled early in the drawing-room. Mr. Wilmington, as usual, careless and unobserving of others, perfectly insensible to the anxieties of his son and daughter, was engaged in unpacking some of his various objects of vertu, and displaying them to the best advantage about his drawing-room. Lizzy, a good deal tired and rather out of humour, was lounging rather sulkily upon a sofa; Caroline looking thoroughly uncomfortable; and Mrs. Vernon as cross as the tongs. Henry walked
and down the room: now he looked into a book, shut it again, and sighed; now he started and aroused himself as he was
summoned from time to time to admire some of Mr. Wilmington's importations.
“A Danneker, Henry,-- look well, I thought, upon the slab. An Ariadne ; pretty, isn't it? Handsome specimen of coloured glass this, I flatter myself. Take care, Howley, how you lift it-heavy-colour very fine the crimson particularly rich. Bless you! take care of that portfolio !-original sketches by the first masters ! Count Rozamufsky offered me twenty thousand roubles for my purchase; -did not know I had an eye for these things. Who was it, Lizzy, that said that cup was a real bijou? The Princess— what-pooh-I forget these names strangely."
• The Princess Demidoffsky, was it? really I don't remember—and there is such a noise in that horrid square--and how is one to see anything by an English sun ?”
“ You can't see anything, to be sure, if you lie there,” said Mrs. Vernon; “ and as for the noise, you used to endure the noise of Wimpolestreet and be thankful for it.”
“ You are tired, my dear Lizzy,” said Caroline, kindly; “one often feels things disagreeable when