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pillar； within flare of a rusty little gridiron…full of gusty little
tapers—without the walls； encompassing Paris with dancing；
lovemaking； wine…drinking； tobacco…smoking； tomb…visiting；
billiard； card； and domino playing； quack…doctoring； and much
murderous refuse； animate and inanimate—only last Sunday； my
Lady； in the desolation of Boredom and the Clutch of Giant
Despair； almost hated her own maid for being in spirits。
She cannot； therefore； go too fast from Paris。 Weariness of soul
lies before her； as it lies behind—her Ariel has put a girdle of it
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round the whole earth； and it cannot be unclasped—but the
imperfect remedy is always to fly； from the last place where it has
been experienced。 Fling Paris back into the distance； then；
exchanging it for endless avenues and cross…avenues of wintry
trees！ And； when next beheld； let it be some leagues away； with
the Gate of the Star a white speck glittering in the sun； and the
city a mere mound in a plain： two dark square towers rising out of
it； and light and shadow descending on it aslant； like the angels in
Jacob’s dream！
Sir Leicester is generally in a complacent state； and rarely
bored。 When he has nothing else to do； he can always contemplate
his own greatness。 It is a considerable advantage to a man； to have
so inexhaustible a subject。 After reading his letters； he leans back
in his corner of the carriage； and generally reviews his importance
to society。
“You have an unusual amount of correspondence this
morning？” says my Lady； after a long time。 She is fatigued with
reading。 Has almost read a page in twenty miles。
“Nothing in it； though。 Nothing whatever。”
“I saw one of Mr Tulkinghorn’s long effusions I think？”
“You see everything；” says Sir Leicester； with admiration。
“Ha！” sighs my Lady。 “He is the most tiresome of men。”
“He sends—I really beg your pardon—he sends；” says Sir
Leicester； selecting the letter； and unfolding it； “a message to you。
Our stopping to change horses； as I came to his postscript； drove it
out of my memory； I beg you’ll excuse me。 He says—” Sir
Leicester is so long in taking out his eyeglass and adjusting it； that
my Lady looks a little irritated。 “He says ‘In the matter of the right
of way—’ I beg your pardon； that’s not the place。 He says—yes！
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Here I have it！ He says； ‘I beg my respectful compliments to my
Lady； who； I hope； has benefited by the change。 Will you do me the
favour to mention （as it may interest her）； that I have something to
tell her on her return； in reference to the person who copied the
affidavit in the Chancery suit； which so powerfully stimulated her
curiosity。 I have seen him。’” My Lady； leaning forward； looks out
of her window。
“That’s the message；” observed Sir Leicester。
“I should like to walk a little；” says my Lady； still looking out of
her window。
“Walk？” repeats Sir Leicester； in a tone of surprise。
“I should like to walk a little；” says my Lady； with
unmistakeable distinctness。 “Please to stop the carriage。”
The carriage is stopped； the affectionate man alights from the
rumble； opens the door； and lets down the steps； obedient to an
impatient motion of my Lady’s hand。 My Lady alights so quickly；
and walks away so quickly； that Sir Leicester； for all his
scrupulous politeness is unable to assist her； and is left behind。 A
space of a minute or two has elapsed before he comes up with her。
She smiles； looks very handsome； takes his arm； lounges with him
for a quarter of a mile； is very much bored； and resumes her seat
in the carriage。
The rattle and clatter continue through the greater part of three
days； with more or less of bell…jingling and whip…cracking； and
more or less plunging of Centaurs and bare…backed horses。 Their
courtly politeness to each other； at the Hotels where they tarry； is
the theme of general admiration。 Though my Lord is a little aged
for my Lady； says Madame； the hostess of the Golden Ape； and
though he might be her amiable father； one can see at a glance
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that they love each other。 One observes my Lord with his white
hair； standing； hat in hand； to help my Lady to and from the
carriage。 One observes my Lady； how recognisant of my Lord’s
politeness； with an inclination of her gracious head； and the
concession of her so…genteel fingers！ It is ravishing！
The sea has no appreciation of great men； but knocks them
about like small fry。 It is habitually hard upon Sir Leicester； whose
countenance it greenly mottles in the manner of sage…cheese； and
in whose aristocratic system it effects a dismal revolution。 It is the
Radical of Nature to him。 Nevertheless； his dignity gets over it；
after stopping to refit： and he goes on with my Lady for Chesney
Wold； lying only one night in London on the way to Lincolnshire。
Through the same cold sunlight—colder as the day declines；—
and through the same sharp wind—sharper as the separate
shadows of bare trees gloom together in the woods； and as the
Ghost’s Walk； touched at the western corner by a pile of fire in the
sky； resigns itself to coming night；—they drive into the park。 The
Rooks； swinging in their lofty houses in the elm…tree avenue； seem
to discuss the question of the occupancy of the carriage as it
passes underneath； some agreeing that Sir Leicester and my Lady
are come down； some arguing with malcontents who won’t admit
it； now； all consenting to consider the question disposed of； now；
all breaking out again in violent debate； incited by one obstinate
and drowsy bird； who will persist in putting in a last contradictory
croak。 Leaving them to swing and caw； the travelling chariot rolls
on to the house； where fires gleam warmly through some of the
windows； though not through so many as to give an inhabited
expression to the darkening mass of front。 But the brilliant and
distinguished circle will soon do that。
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Mrs Rouncewell is in attendance； and receives Sir Leicester’s
customary shake of the hand with a profound curtsey。
“How do you do； Mrs Rouncewell？ I am glad to see you。”
“I hope I have the honour of welcoming you in good health； Sir
Leiceste