Endymion | Page 7

His hair had become quite silvered,
and his cheek rosy as a December apple. His hazel eyes twinkled with
satisfaction as he remembered the family had now produced two privy
councillors. Lord Pomeroy was there, the great lord who had returned
William Ferrars to Parliament, a little man, quite, shy, rather
insignificant in appearance, but who observed everybody and
everything; a conscientious man, who was always doing good, in
silence and secrecy, and denounced as a boroughmonger, had never
sold a seat in his life, and was always looking out for able men of
character to introduce them to public affairs. It was not a formal party,
but had grown up in great degree out of the circumstances of the
moment. There were more men than women, and all men in office or
devoted supporters of the new ministry.

Mrs. Ferrars, without being a regular beauty, had a voluptuous face and
form. Her complexion was brilliant, with large and long-lashed eyes of
blue. Her mouth was certainly too large, but the pouting richness of her
lips and the splendour of her teeth baffled criticism. She was a woman
who was always gorgeously or fantastically attired.
"I never can understand," would sometimes observe Zenobia's husband
to his brilliant spouse, "how affairs are carried on in this world. Now
we have, my dear, fifty thousand per annum; and I do not see how
Ferrars can have much more than five; and yet he lives much as we do,
perhaps better. I know Gibson showed me a horse last week that I very
much wanted, but I would not give him two hundred guineas for it. I
called there to-day to look after it again, for it would have suited me
exactly, but I was told I was too late, and it was sold to Mrs. Ferrars."
"My dear, you know I do not understand money matters," Zenobia said
in reply. "I never could; but you should remember that old Ferrars must
be very rich, and that William Ferrars is the most rising man of the day,
and is sure to be in the Cabinet before he is forty."
Everybody had an appetite for dinner to-day, and the dinner was
worthy of the appetites. Zenobia's husband declared to himself that he
never dined so well, though he gave his /chef/ 500 pounds a year, and
old Lord Pomeroy, who had not yet admitted French wines to his own
table, seemed quite abashed with the number of his wine-glasses and
their various colours, and, as he tasted one succulent dish after another,
felt a proud satisfaction in having introduced to public life so
distinguished a man as William Ferrars.
With the dessert, not without some ceremony, were introduced the two
most remarkable guests of the entertainment, and these were the twins;
children of singular beauty, and dressed, if possible, more fancifully
and brilliantly than their mamma. They resembled each other, and had
the same brilliant complexion, rich chestnut hair, delicately arched
brows, and dark blue eyes. Though only eight years of age, a most
unchildlike self-possession distinguished them. The expression of their
countenances was haughty, disdainful, and supercilious. Their beautiful
features seemed quite unimpassioned, and they moved as if they

expected everything to yield to them. The girl, whose long ringlets
were braided with pearls, was ushered to a seat next to her father, and,
like her brother, who was placed by Mrs. Ferrars, was soon engaged in
negligently tasting delicacies, while she seemed apparently
unconscious of any one being present, except when she replied to those
who addressed her with a stare and a haughty monosyllable. The boy,
in a black velvet jacket with large Spanish buttons of silver filagree, a
shirt of lace, and a waistcoat of white satin, replied with reserve, but
some condescension, to the good- natured but half-humorous inquiries
of the husband of Zenobia.
"And when do you go to school?" asked his lordship in a kind voice
and with a laughing eye.
"I shall go to Eton in two years," replied the child without the slightest
emotion, and not withdrawing his attention from the grapes he was
tasting, or even looking at his inquirer, "and then I shall go to Christ
Church, and then I shall go into Parliament."
"Myra," said an intimate of the family, a handsome private secretary of
Mr. Ferrars, to the daughter of the house, as he supplied her plate with
some choicest delicacies, "I hope you have not forgotten your
engagement to me which you made at Wimbledon two years ago?"
"What engagement?" she haughtily inquired.
"To marry me."
"I should not think of marrying any one who was not in the House of
Lords," she replied, and she shot at him a glance of contempt.
The ladies rose. As they were ascending the stairs,