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some members of the royal family by the Duke and
Duchess of Bellamont, and regularly every year the Duke and Duchess
of Bellamont had the honour of dining at the palace. Except at a ball or
concert under the royal roof, the duke and duchess were never seen
anywhere in the evening. The great ladies indeed, the Lady St. Julians
and the Marchionesses of Deloraine, always sent them invitations,
though they were ever declined. But the Bellamonts maintained a sort
of traditional acquaintance with a few great houses, either by the ties of
relationship, which, among the aristocracy, are very ramified, or by
occasionally receiving travelling magnificoes at their hospitable castle.
To the great body, however, of what is called 'the world,' the world that
lives in St. James' Street and Pall Mall, that looks out of a club window,
and surveys mankind as Lucretius from his philosophic tower; the
world of the Georges and the Jemmys; of Mr. Cassilis and Mr. Melton;
of the Milfords and the Fitz-Herons, the Berners and the Egertons, the
Mr. Ormsbys and the Alfred Mountchesneys, the Duke and Duchess of
Bellamont were absolutely unknown.
All that the world knew was, that there was a great peer who was called
Duke of Bellamont; that there was a great house in London, with a
courtyard, which bore his name; that he had a castle in the country,

which was one of the boasts of England; and that this great duke had a
duchess; but they never met them anywhere, nor did their wives and
their sisters, and the ladies whom they admired, or who admired them,
either at ball or at breakfast, either at morning dances or at evening
déjeuners. It was clear, therefore, that the Bellamonts might be very
great people, but they were not in 'society.'
It must have been some organic law, or some fate which uses structure
for its fulfilment, but again it seemed that the continuance of the great
house of Montacute should depend upon the life of a single being. The
duke, like his father and his grandfather, was favoured only with one
child, but that child was again a son. From the moment of his birth, the
very existence of his parents seemed identified with his welfare. The
duke and his wife mutually assumed to each other a secondary position,
in comparison with that occupied by their offspring. From the hour of
his birth to the moment when this history opens, and when he was
about to complete his majority, never had such solicitude been lavished
on human being as had been continuously devoted to the life of the
young Lord Montacute. During his earlier education he scarcely quitted
home. He had, indeed, once been shown to Eton, surrounded by faithful
domestics, and accompanied by a private tutor, whose vigilance would
not have disgraced a superintendent of police; but the scarlet fever
happened to break out during his first half, and Lord Montacute was
instantly snatched away from the scene of danger, where he was never
again to appear. At eighteen he went to Christ-church. His mother, who
had nursed him herself, wrote to him every day; but this was not found
sufficient, and the duke hired a residence in the neighourhood of the
university, in order that they might occasionally see their son during
term.
CHAPTER III.
A Discussion about Money
'SAW Eskdale just now,' said Mr. Cassilis, at White's, 'going down to
the Duke of Bellamont's. Great doings there: son comes of age at Easter.
Wonder what sort of fellow he is? Anybody know anything about him?'

'I wonder what his father's rent-roll is?' said Mr. Ormsby.
'They say it is quite clear,' said Lord Fitz-Heron. 'Safe for that,' said
Lord Milford; 'and plenty of ready money, too, I should think, for one
never heard of the present duke doing anything.'
'He does a good deal in his county,' said Lord Valentine.
'I don't call that anything,' said Lord Milford; 'but I mean to say he
never played, was never seen at Newmarket, or did anything which
anybody can remember. In fact, he is a person whose name you never
by any chance hear mentioned.'
'He is a sort of cousin of mine,' said Lord Valentine; 'and we are all
going down to the coming of age: that is, we are asked.' 'Then you can
tell us what sort of fellow the son is.'
'I never saw him,' said Lord Valentine; 'but I know the duchess told my
mother last year, that Montacute, throughout his life, had never
occasioned her a single moment's pain.'
Here there was a general laugh.
'Well, I have no doubt he will make up for lost time,' said Mr. Ormsby,
demurely.
'Nothing like mamma's darling for upsetting a coach,' said Lord Milford.
'You ought