The Country Gentleman Read Online Free PDF

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Two
    Lady Celia Grypphon was famed among the London ton on three accounts: one, the brilliance of the conversation at her small, select dinners; two, the excellence of the sweetmeats at same; and three, the absolute thrall under which she held Charles, Lord Grypphon, her husband. Her ladyship was near forty years of age, my lord not yet twenty-nine. The former was small and pinched, the latter broad and easy. She was not pretty nor showed any sign of ever having been so (nor, in fact, had ever been so), while he, though overlarge perhaps, was possessed of a set of distinctly attractive, rough, and friendly features, and a high, pleasant colour. Her ladyship was (even her closest friends admitted it) impatient and frequently ill-tempered. Her lord repaid her,and every one, with unfailing kindness and good humour. She ignored him. He doated on her. She set him down. He smiled upon her. In short, theirs was a marriage of which every one understood the wife’s share, but no one the husband’s.
    Yet Lady Grypphon was far from being a mere shrew. On the contrary, she often showed her friends a ready generosity with both sympathy and—when need was—money, that many who are publicly more affable would do well to emulate. Her tact was such that both men and women frequently confided in her, unburdening their souls in great secrecy and anguish. Then, confessions made, they found themselves calmed by her shrewd good sense and her apparent invulnerability to shock. More than one subsequently guided himself by her sound advice. She had won many friends in this way; and yet, even among these, all were baffled by the incomprehensible hold she kept upon the gentle Charles. They could not, it appeared, imagine he liked her for the same reason they did; and so the marriage remained a mystery.
    Anne Guilfoyle liked Lady Grypphon particularly because she had been among the first in the beau monde to regard Anne and Ensley as an established pair. She never invited one to dine without the other. There was no trace of irony or condescension in her voice when she met Anne in the Park or at a shop and, as was her invariable habit, politely inquired how Ensley did. Moreover, her kindness to his lordship was marked: Often she had bestirred herself to whisper his name in an influential ear, or to introduce him to some person of consequence, and so further his career. There was no better means than this to ingratiate oneself with Anne. Altogether, Celia was one of her oldest and most valued friends.
    And yet Anne was in no humour to see her tonight. Celia might have an excellent heart, but it took so much energy and resolve to penetrate to it (especially on such an evening as this, when the company was to be rather larger and even more brilliant than usual) through the thicket of black wit and sharp observation she threw up round it that Anne determined actually to avoid her and seek out Ensley. Dressing for the evening, she thought herself much recovered since the afternoon, though still tender and anxious and very far from understanding how she must meet her difficulties.
    “How pretty you look,” said Maria, standing up as Anne came into the drawing-room. “Turn round.”
    Miss Guilfoyle obediently turned, showing the Princess Charlotte drapery over the shoulders of her silver satin gown. Mrs. Insel was, as usual, in lavender.
    “Lovely,” said Maria.
    “I am pale,” said Anne. “Dreadfully.”
    “Lovely,” the loyal Maria repeated, wistfully fingering the silver satin as if, after tonight, they might neither of them ever wear satin again. Anne caught her wistful look and hurried her to the waiting carriage.
    Lord and Lady Grypphon occupied a large, elegant brick house in Portman Square. Her ladyship, lately avid for all things Oriental, had fitted it out in hand-painted Chinese wall-papers, and filled it with highly worked brass tables, curious scrolls, and exotic poufs. Miss Guilfoyle and Mrs. Insel stepped into the Pekin Saloon