As if the
cup of his misery were not o'erflowing, a new incident occurred about
this time, which rendered his sense of them even keener. But this is
important enough to commence a new chapter.
CHAPTER X.
_A New Star Rises_
WILLIAM HENRY, MARQUESS OF MARYLEBONE, completed his twenty-first year:
an event which created a greater sensation among the aristocracy of
England, even, than the majority of George Augustus Frederick, Duke
of St. James. The rent-roll of his Grace was great: but that of his
Lordship was incalculable. He had not indeed so many castles as our
hero; but then, in the metropolis, a whole parish owned him as Lord,
and it was whispered that, when a few miles of leases fell in, the very
Civil List must give him the wall. Even in the duration of his minority,
he had the superiority over the young Duke, for the Marquess was a
posthumous son.
Lord Marylebone was a short, thick, swarthy young gentleman, with
wiry black hair, a nose somewhat flat, sharp eyes, and tusky mouth;
altogether not very unlike a terrier. His tastes were unknown: he had
not travelled, nor done anything very particular, except, with a
few congenial spirits, beat the Guards in a rowing-match, a
pretty diversion, and almost as conducive to a small white hand as
almond-paste.
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