For a
moment he was plunged in profound abstraction, and at the same time
stretched his legs after his drive. He then gave his orders with the
decision of Wellington on the arrival of the Prussians, and the battle
began.
His Grace had a taste for magnificence in costume; but he was handsome,
young, and a duke. Pardon him. Yet to-day he was, on the whole, simple.
Confident in a complexion whose pellucid lustre had not yielded to a
season of dissipation, his Grace did not dread the want of relief which
a white face, a white cravat, and a white waistcoat would seem to imply.
A hair chain set in diamonds, worn in memory of the absent Aphrodite,
and to pique the present Dacre, is annexed to a glass, which reposes
in the waistcoat pocket. This was the only weight that the Duke of St.
James ever carried. It was a bore, but it was indispensable.
It is done. He stops one moment before the long pier-glass, and shoots
a glance which would have read the mind of Talleyrand. It will do.
He assumes the look, the air that befit the occasion: cordial, but
dignified; sublime, but sweet. He descends like a deity from Olympus to
a banquet of illustrious mortals.
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