It is not to be supposed that Lady Tilney should keep a determination formed fully one hundred and forty-four hours before the season of its fulfilment, or retain on the Saturday evening the same degree of passionate admiration of the Sontag's powers, which she had expressed on the previous Wednesday to Lord Albert D'Esterre, when announcing her intention of being present at the first scene of the Opera. She did, however, reach the house, on the evening in question, before the conclusion of the third act, and found the Comtesse Leinsengen already in her box.

"Eh bien, ma chere, À la fin vous voilÀ! have you been ever since at dat tiresome dinner?"

"Oh no; I drove home immediately after you went away; but I had a thousand things of consequence to do, and could not positively arrive sooner. Amongst other things there was a great enormous card of invitation from the D'Hermantons. It is quite out of the question my going: and I think the affair ought to be overturned as much as possible—our cause should be established without offence directly given, but decidedly; and if we are engaged elsewhere, you know, our excuse of 'exceedingly sorry' will always effect this, and save us, in the present instance, from the extensive and moral acquaintances of the Duchess, and from the fadeur of her evenings. I would myself send out cards did I not think it would be too marked; but some of us might do so. There is Lady de ChÉre, I see, in her box; would you arrange the business with her to-night in the room—Do you agree with me, my dear Comtesse?" Her friend nodded assent; and in her abrupt rough voice said, "N'ayez pas peur! I can always hold up my head and tread down de plebe—we are used to dat; but for you, I fear in dis country, you do not understand de matter."—

"You know, my dear Comtesse, I have often explained to you, that our constitution—"

"Oh! trÈve de politiques I implore," said the Comtesse Leinsengen, turning her head away, and looking towards the stage: "trÈve de politiques je n'en puis plus; but fiez vous en À moi."—

"I am surely the last person you ought to suspect unequal to that task! It is quite unjust to me, dear Comtesse! Have you forgotten the woman whom Lady Ellersby and myself thought we could use? whom we actually paraded for a season, maintained she was a beauty, and a person 'qui feroit fureur;' and after all, when she failed, left her plantÉ in the midst of the promised honours; actually ejected her from Almack's, and if we met, walked over her as a person whose face we had never seen!—Was not this carried with a proper spirit?"

"Yes, under my suggestion; but I could have told you from de first that her grand nigaud de mari would be always À ses trousses, and prevent her being of the least service to us. It is quite a mistake to attempt such a measure, Ça sent le roman, and I do hate all romance—Dat young milor, (vat you name him?) dat was at your house de oder morning, Lor—Lor Albert D'Esterre; I don't think, upon my word, never I don't, dat he will do us any good, I have my doubts dat he is only un espion, and—" Whilst the Comtesse was speaking, the door of the box opened, and there entered, with an air of affected refinement, a person whose appearance ill suited with his outward show of courtliness—his face was red and large, with grey eyes, his hair inclining to flaxen, and his whole figure round and ill-formed.

This physiognomy, however, if Sir William Temple would have allowed himself to be natural, was an index to his disposition, for he was au fond good-natured; but an overweening vanity—a desire to be fine, and be considered one of the beau-monde, had spoilt the man, and he became insufferably pompous and conceited—in proportion as his exertions in good dinners in the season, a good country house out of it, and a vote in parliament, made him successful in obtaining the notice of people of rank, and of the minister. The first thought his cook good, his chateau, at an easy distance from London, convenient—and the last, remembering the old woman's adage, considered that every little helped, and that Sir William's vote, so long as it was on the right side, was as good as any other. He had made his way thus far with tolerable facility, but his ambition grew by feeding on, and was only to be satisfied by the attainment of the highest distinction of the ton of the day; such as in his estimate was conferred by the protecting smile of Lady Tilney, the Comtesse Leinsengen and others of that Élite body.

No opportunity therefore was lost, no pains omitted to arrive at this desirable end, and to improve the recognition with which Sir William found himself at times honoured, into what should at least appear a footing of intimacy. An opera box was an outwork more easy to be taken by a coup de main, than a lodgment effected in the citadel itself; and while unregistered on the favoured list of the entrÉ at Lady Tilney's mansion, the access to her circle in the public theatre, which was not denied him, appeared a license of the utmost importance, and one which he was the last man to let grow obsolete by neglect of usage, or forget to turn to profit.

"Has not the Sontag outdone herself to-night, Lady Tilney?" asked Sir William as he entered the box.

"Yes, never was there such a singer—I have been listening till my very ears ache with intense attention."

"I am so glad, Lady Tilney, to hear you say so, for I have been disputing the point with Lord Albert D'Esterre, who maintains that the Sontag's singing is not in the first style, and a great deal more of the same sort; but he might as well endeavour to persuade me that Ude is inferior to Doveton's present man MarinÉ. I think Lord Albert D'Esterre wishes to be thought an oracle, and the superior judge of all judges, and that without his decree there can be no perfection."

"Vraiment," said the Comtesse with a shrug of her shoulders, "I think Milor might suspend his judgments till he heard if people cared for dem."

"Ah, how delighted I am Comtesse to hear you say so," cried Sir William, repeating the words he had first addressed to Lady Tilney, and which indeed he addressed to every one of ton, let what might be the subject, or the sense that fell from them.

"Vraiment!" again came drily from the lips of Comtesse Leinsengen, accompanied with a look at the speaker, which told him that the contempt conveyed in that expression, when speaking of Lord Albert, attached equally to himself. Fully understanding the intended meaning, and conscious that with the Comtesse Leinsengen he had made much less way than with Lady Tilney, he turned once more to the latter, and addressed her on a subject by which he knew well he should pay his court successfully.

"You were not at Lady Borrowdale's the other night. You never saw such a set as were assembled there; positively there was no stirring without coming in contact with people whom one had never seen before—and then it is such bad taste to collect such a crowd—for my part, I got away after the first glance at the affair." Lady Tilney smiled, and Sir William, encouraged, continued, "Do you dine at Doveton's?"

"I believe so."

"I am delighted to hear you say so. Lord Osbalston asked me for the same day—but MarinÉ, you know, lives with Doveton now, and he could always turn the scale with me" (laughing affectedly); "Apropos, might I venture to ask the honour of your partaking of my rustic fare? I am living, you know, quite en garÇon; but it would be a variety, so different from all you meet elsewhere; so very plain, and so very humble; and you would of course do me the honour to name your own party. Might I hope that you too, Comtesse, would condescend so far?"

This was the boldest step Sir William Temple had yet taken; and he stood in proportionate anxiety, breathless and red, awaiting a reply which was to confirm or crush his hopes. May be, like a second CÆsar, he felt that he had crossed the limits of the empire, and saw that victory only could retrieve what he had hazarded, and that he must rise or fall by that. If victory did attend him, then, like another Alexander, he might weep for fresh worlds to conquer; but if he fell,—"oh! what a fall was there, my friends!" Such feelings, no doubt, did agitate his swelling breast when he saw the interchange of looks pass between Lady Tilney and her friend, as if they questioned each other.

"Shall we gratify this man?" (this fool he would have read, could he have interpreted the Countess Leinsengen's expression): "shall we countenance him?" and in the tremendous moment of suspense Sir William blest his stars that there were none by to mark him. But when the joyful sound of Lady Tilney's voice pronounced an acceptance of his petition, he would have given every thing, short of the promised honour itself, that the whole Opera house had been present to witness his triumph. "You will receive us en garÇon, Sir William, dat will be very good," said the Comtesse Leinsengen: "all I bargain for is dat there should be no misses—dose unmarried women are always in de way."

Sir William was too much intoxicated with joy—too much absorbed with the prospect of his increasing consequence in the eyes of the fashionable world, when it should be announced that he had entertained the Comtesse Leinsengen, Lady Tilney, and a party of distinguished personages to dinner, at his house in May Fair, to pay attention to any thing not immediately connected with the results which that dinner would produce. He had heard not one word distinctly beyond the promised acceptance of his invitation; although he continued mechanically to reply, whenever he imagined himself addressed. "I am so glad to hear you say so!—I am delighted to hear that!" At last, on recovering a little, he perceived that Lady Tilney and her friend had entered into an argument on the subject of the unmarried ladies, to whom the Comtesse had alluded, and in which his dinner seemed entirely forgotten, or likely to be so.

"Dey are always tinking of settlements, and jewels, and have nothing to do but take notice of what oders are doing," rejoined the Comtesse Leinsengen, in her most thrilling tone: "Our way is much de better dan yours; we marry our children at once, or put them in de convents: dat settles de matter, and make dem much happier too."

"I am not quite so sure of that point, my dear Comtesse," said Lady Tilney, "although I own ladies are bores; but we manage the thing in our way, and as well at least: we let them seem to please themselves, which is half the battle towards making them satisfied with the lot they draw, and we ourselves direct the entire marche du jeu. You know I am for liberty in all things; liberty of choice as well as conscience; but very young people do not know what they wish and it is only when a little acquainted with the world that any body can be said to have a choice." Sir William Temple remained in torture during this discussion, and more than once wished all the unmarried ladies in London, who thus seemed to step in between himself and fortune, at the bottom of the sea. At length, tired, but not convinced, Lady Tilney left her opponent in the middle of a sentence, and turning to the unhappy Sir William, asked, "for what day shall I make our party at your house?"

"I am delighted to hear you say that!" was the prompt and very sincere answer of the person addressed. "Oh, any day you do me the honour to appoint."

"Dat dinner of yours, Sir William, oh vraiment je me fais fÊte d'y penser," cried the Comtesse Leinsengen, turning abruptly round to him, and determined that her rival in argument should not have even that subject entirely her own.

"I hate vaiting and puts off; we vill fix de day at once—vat say you to Sunday? to-morrow—de Sunday is always frightful dull in your country; 'tis the only day, besides, in which I am disengaged."

"I'm so glad to hear you say so," replied Sir William, "let it be to-morrow," turning at the same time with a look of inquiry to Lady Tilney.

"Oh, after church there is no objection to diverting one's-se1f innocently; it is impossible to read and pray all day: besides I like to make the Sunday, on principle, a gay, chearful day."

At this moment Lord Albert D'Esterre entered. "Shall I ask him for to-morrow?" eagerly whispered Sir William into Lady Tilney's ear; afraid lest the subject nearest his heart should again be usurped by some other topic.

"Yes—no—yes, you may;" replied Lady Tilney; whose answer in the affirmative was decided by her wish to know more of Lord Albert in society, and a little also by Comtesse Leinsengen's having held cheap her penetration in regard to the qualifications of the former for their sociÉtÉ choisie. The invitation was quickly given, and no excuse would be admitted. While Lord Albert was endeavouring to extricate himself from this importunity, and Sir William to convince him of the impossibility of disobeying Lady Tilney's commands, which he advanced to strengthen his cause, the Comtesse Leinsengen caught the conversation:

"So, Milor, you will not be at de party to-morrow? an excuse vraiment! when de people make me excuse, I know what dat means, and it is made up in my mind never to ask dem again."

"When you have once expressed that horrible sentence," answered Lord Albert, smiling, "it would surely be impossible to incur so great a danger; but as I am really not able to give my assent to the very obliging invitation, I shall not, I hope, be deemed deserving of the penalty."

"What! then you will not accept?" asked the Comtesse Leinsengen again, in her own abrupt tone of command.

"No; I lament I cannot." The Comtesse shrugged her shoulders, adding:

"What! you will not accept, I suppose, because it is Sunday; and you are engaged all de day long to de Church; is it not dat—are you what dey call a saint?" Lord Albert felt annoyed by the importunity with which he had been assailed; and conceiving, according to his own ideas of good breeding, that declining an invitation at first was sufficient, he continued to look more grave and annoyed. Still as the Comtesse repeated the question:

"Are you what dey call a saint?"

"No, a sinner certainly; but would I were indeed a saint."

"So den you condemn us all, I suppose, who do not keep de Sunday stupidly À la faÇon Angloise? Vill you tell me now, Milor, vat you tink one may do on a Sunday? I suppose you would not hang your cat, par exemple, if she killed her mouse on Sunday, vould you?"

Lord Albert D'Esterre looked still more cold and grave, as he drew himself up and leant against the back of the box, saying, that "it was an unfitting time and place for such discussions, and that he begged to be excused from entering upon them." Then bending forward to Lady Tilney, who had remained silent, and saying a few words to her, he bowed and retired.

"Il est farouche et fanfaron au possible," cried the Comtesse Leinsengen, as he closed the door; "after to-night I have done vid him."

"He is only original; and it will be a great thing to soften his little prejudices, and teach him to enjoy existence under your tuition, if it were possible," said Sir William, making as low a bow as his embonpoint would permit, "'to soften knotted oaks, and bend the rocks,' it would be done—"

Lady Tilney smiled at the mis-quotation, while the Comtesse Leinsengen added in a tone of impatience: "but Miladi, do vat she vill, cannot make a bore agreeable; but, ah!" turning round, "dere is Milor Baskerville, how glad I am to have something humanized to talk to! Milor, we have just had a saint in our box; do you not smell de odour of sanctity very strong?"

"I am at a loss to know your meaning, Comtesse—pray explain;" and when she did so, he replied; "Hem! from the first moment I saw him, I suspected that stiff unnatural sort of manner had something sinister, (hem!) I hope I am not worse than my neighbours, (hem!) but whenever I hear any thing approaching to cant (hem!) I fly from it, (hem!) as I would from all that I hold most detestable; (hem!) besides, since his conduct to Tonnerre, I have considered him (hem!) hardly in the light of a gentleman. (hem!) You heard, Comtesse, did you not, of that affair? (hem!)"

"No, vat affaire you speak of?"

"Oh, you know he nearly caused Tonnerre a most serious accident, and (hem!) his favourite horse Chester, it is feared, is entirely ruined."

"No, I never heard one word of it, vat was it for?"—"Why, Tonnerre (hem!) was riding up gently to speak (hem!) to Lady Hamlet Vernon in the Park, (hem!) my Lord Albert D'Esterre, who was by her carriage, (hem!) chose to turn his horse short round, and to shew his horsemanship, spurred the animal, who plunged and kicked, and (hem!) Tonnerre's horse was driven against the carriage and reared, and fell back—(hem!) and—"

"And what did de oder Milor do—did he tumble off?"

"Yes, (hem!) at least I believe he did, but I don't know—we were all so engaged, (hem!) in assisting Tonnerre—the last I saw of him was his horse going through the Park Gate like a shot, for he can't ride."

"Baskerville," interrupted Lord Glenmore, who had entered the box, and, while talking with Lady Tilney, had overheard the latter part of this veracious history,—"Baskerville, you must pardon me if I correct your statement a little. You may have heard the circumstances only related, I saw them—and if ever a man deserved having his neck broke, and losing a favourite horse, it was Tonnerre. I never witnessed any thing like the manner in which he rode, not to Lady Hamlet Vernon's carriage, but at D'Esterre, and if the latter had not been the excellent horseman he is, I think there might have been more serious results accruing to both than actually happened. However, Tonnerre and his horse are quite well, for I met both to-day." Lord Baskerville had a mode of dropping the corners of his mouth, raising his chin, and turning up his eyes, whenever he wished to shew signs of contempt; but too discreet to offend a person of Lord Glenmore's calibre, he managed to suppress them in some measure; and having heard out what Lord Glenmore had to say, turned without answering him to the Comtesse Leinsengen.

"Do not talk more about dat man, I pray you, I am tired to death of his name," said the latter; "but tell me, Milor, vill you and Miladi Baskerville meet me to-morrow at dinner? Miladi Tilney and myself are going to do Sir William dere de honour to dine vid him, and vid our own party."

Lord Baskerville looked amazed, and before he could recover his surprise, Sir William himself seemingly confirmed the strange announcement, by facing round and assuring Baskerville, as he called him, on the strength of many a good dinner before, that "he should be delighted to see him; and Lady Baskerville too, I hope will confer the same honour upon me as these ladies." Lord Baskerville, ere he answered, directed a look of inquiry to the Comtesse Leinsengen, to ascertain if the matter were really serious.—"Oh, you must come vid me," said the Comtesse, "I positively vill have no excuse."

"I am ever ready to obey your commands, Comtesse, you know, and—"

"I am delighted to hear you say so," cried Sir William. (Lord Baskerville drew up.) "And Lady Baskerville?" continued the former.

"Hem! I cannot answer for Lady Baskerville, Sir William—but (hem! hem!) I will certainly inform her of the invitation, and (hem!) should she have no other engagement, (hem!) doubtless she will be most happy, and (hem!) will wait upon you; (hem!) but dear me the Opera is ended," looking at his watch, and turning to Lady Tilney. "Oh those tiresome bishops—really I wish people would not meddle with what (hem!) they have nothing to do,—we are always now deprived of half our ballet on the Saturdays." (hem!)

"C'est vraiment ridicule," murmured the Comtesse Leinsengen: "dere is no country in de world where dis sort of foolish ting takes place but in England."

"It is rather an infringement upon our liberties, I will allow," observed Lady Tilney, "to turn us out of our Opera boxes at a particular hour."

"Liberty—liberty—dat liberty of the subject is all a farce, chere Miladi; it is all a make believe, as I often have de honour of telling you. Lord Baskerville, vill you be so obliging—my schall."

Lady Tilney, however, would not suffer the Comtesse to go till she had spoken to her again on the subject of their soirÉe at Lady de Chere's. "The Duchess of Hermanton's night will be a very good opportunity," she said; "to let the world know that we do not mingle in societies of the kind; all the regulars, as they consider themselves, look upon D'Hermanton House as head-quarters, and make a point of attending like subalterns gaping for promotion; and if we are there it will have the worst possible effect. Then again, such as we choose to invite to Lady de Chere's, will understand what is meant, sans nous compromettre, and hold off in future from engagements like the D'Hermanton's. You know it would be unwise and impolitic to impart our intentions to all indiscriminately who compose our circle; but we must at the same time afford some guide for conduct. If we do as I propose the affair will be very well understood, without our being unpleasantly involved, and the system will answer well, n'Êtes vous pas de mon avis, chere Comtesse?"—"PeÛt-Être qu'oui," was the Comtesse's answer, accompanied by the habitual shrug of the shoulders; "and," continued Lady Tilney, "I think there was every one at my house the other night who ought to be invited. Shall I send Lady de Chere my list?"

"I will see about dat; but first we must know if Miladi vil do as we wish. Laissez-moi faire, j'arrangerai tout Ça," and taking Lord Baskerville's arm, she was leaving the box—

"But what shall we do about dat dinner to-morrow, chere Miladi?" she added in a lower tone to Lady Tilney.

"Oh go, by all means; he is well enough—will be so pleased that we may do henceforth as we like with him, and it allows others to hope for the same honour."

"Vell, den, I vill go—remember Milor you are engaged to me to-morrow." Lord Baskerville made one of his most refined bows. "And who else shall we have?" asked the Comtesse of Lady Tilney.

"Oh! I don't know; there are the Boileaus and Lord Gascoyne, and Prince Luttermanne, and Lord Tonnerre."

"Dose vill do very well; I vill tell dem if I see dem in de room. Adieu, chere Miladi. Ve shall dine vid you to-morrow, Sir William," she added as she left the box.

"I am delighted to hear you say so!" replied the happy Sir William Temple.

"May this be true!—O may it—can it be;—Is it by any wonder possible?" whispered Spencer Newcombe, who had heard the Comtesse Leinsengen's last words, and now approached Sir William with affected surprise.

"Come, my master; if so, the great ones shall not have you all to themselves," he continued: "I too will dine with you to-morrow. Lady Tilney, are you of the party?"

"Yes."

"Why, where is the sign now? have ye e'er a calendar—where's the sign, trow you?" Spencer continued saying.

"The what?" asked Sir William.

"The sign—Believe me there's a most secret power in that! Court any woman in the right sign, Sir William, as you have done, and you shall not miss."

"I am delighted to hear you say so!" replied Sir William.

"I believe he thinks you allude to the sign-post of an inn," whispered Lord Boileau, who had joined the party, "and it suits well enough to a dinner-giving man like him." Lady Tilney now prepared to leave the box; and taking the arm of the Duke of Mercington, was followed by all the men who had paid their visit and their court to her.

Sir William seemed to look with pride on the world behind him, as he mingled in the crowd; conscious of the mark of fashion which would from the morrow be emblazoned on his brow; and in the hurry of the throng, and in the quiet of his pillow, the glory of his future success and progress alike presented itself to him that night in a thousand forms.