The little Wrekins, with their
well-acted lamentations over their losses, were capital; and Sophy
nearly smiled and chattered her head this day into the reversion of the
coronet of Fitz-pompey. May she succeed! For a wilder little partridge
never yet flew. Caroline St. Maurice alone was sad, and would not be
comforted; although St. James, observing her gloom, and guessing at its
cause, had in private assured her that, far from losing, on the whole he
was perhaps even a winner.
None, however, talked more agreeable nonsense and made a more elegant
uproar than the Duke of St. James.
'These young men,' whispered Lord Squib to Annesley, 'do not know the
value of money. We must teach it them. I know too well; I find it very
dear.'
If the old physicians are correct in considering from twenty-five to
thirty-five as the period of lusty youth, Lord Squib was still a lusty
youth, though a very corpulent one indeed. The carnival of his life,
however, was nearly over, and probably the termination of the race-week
might hail him a man. He was the best fellow in the world; short and
sleek, half bald, and looked fifty; with a waist, however, which had not
yet vanished, and where Art successfully controlled rebellious Nature,
like the Austrians the Lombards.
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