Coningsby | Page 3

There was not
even a newspaper; and the only books were the Court Guide and the
London Directory. For some time he remained with patient endurance
planted against the wall, with his feet resting on the rail of his chair; but
at length in his shifting posture he gave evidence of his restlessness,
rose from his seat, looked out of the window into a small side court of
the house surrounded with dead walls, paced the room, took up the
Court Guide, changed it for the London Directory, then wrote his name
over several sheets of foolscap paper, drew various landscapes and
faces of his friends; and then, splitting up a pen or two, delivered
himself of a yawn which seemed the climax of his weariness.
And yet the youth's appearance did not betoken a character that, if the
opportunity had offered, could not have found amusement and even
instruction. His countenance, radiant with health and the lustre of
innocence, was at the same time thoughtful and resolute. The
expression of his deep blue eyes was serious. Without extreme
regularity of features, the face was one that would never have passed
unobserved. His short upper lip indicated a good breed; and his
chestnut curls clustered over his open brow, while his shirt-collar
thrown over his shoulders was unrestrained by handkerchief or ribbon.
Add to this, a limber and graceful figure, which the jacket of his boyish
dress exhibited to great advantage.
Just as the youth, mounted on a chair, was adjusting the portrait of the
Duke, which he had observed to be awry, the gentleman for whom he
had been all this time waiting entered the room.
'Floreat Etona!' hastily exclaimed the gentleman, in a sharp voice; 'you

are setting the Duke to rights. I have left you a long time a prisoner; but
I found them so busy here, that I made my escape with some difficulty.'
He who uttered these words was a man of middle size and age,
originally in all probability of a spare habit, but now a little inclined to
corpulency. Baldness, perhaps, contributed to the spiritual expression
of a brow, which was, however, essentially intellectual, and gave some
character of openness to a countenance which, though not ill-favoured,
was unhappily stamped by a sinister cast that was not to be mistaken.
His manner was easy, but rather audacious than well-bred. Indeed,
while a visage which might otherwise be described as handsome was
spoilt by a dishonest glance, so a demeanour that was by no means
deficient in self-possession and facility, was tainted by an innate
vulgarity, which in the long run, though seldom, yet surely developed
itself.
The youth had jumped off his chair on the entrance of the gentleman,
and then taking up his hat, said:
'Shall we go to grandpapa now, sir?'
'By all means, my dear boy,' said the gentleman, putting his arm within
that of the youth; and they were just on the point of leaving the waiting-
room, when the door was suddenly thrown open, and two individuals,
in a state of great excitement, rushed into the apartment.
'Rigby! Rigby!' they both exclaimed at the same moment. 'By G----
they're out!'
'Who told you?'
'The best authority; one of themselves.'
'Who? who?'
'Paul Evelyn; I met him as I passed Brookes', and he told me that Lord
Grey had resigned, and the King had accepted his resignation.'

But Mr. Rigby, who, though very fond of news, and much interested in
the present, was extremely jealous of any one giving him information,
was sceptical. He declared that Paul Evelyn was always wrong; that it
was morally impossible that Paul Evelyn ever could be right; that he
knew, from the highest authority, that Lord Grey had been twice
yesterday with the King; that on the last visit nothing was settled; that
if he had been at the palace again to-day, he could not have been there
before twelve o'clock; that it was only now a quarter to one; that Lord
Grey would have called his colleagues together on his return; that at
least an hour must have elapsed before anything could possibly have
transpired. Then he compared and criticised the dates of every
rumoured incident of the last twenty-four hours, and nobody was
stronger in dates than Mr. Rigby; counted even the number of stairs
which the minister had to ascend and descend in his visit to the palace,
and the time their mountings and dismountings must have consumed,
detail was Mr. Rigby's forte; and finally, what with his dates, his
private information, his knowledge of palace localities, his contempt
for Paul Evelyn, and his confidence in himself, he succeeded in
persuading his downcast and disheartened friends that their comfortable
intelligence had not the slightest foundation.
They all left the room together; they