In person he was a long-legged, long-bodied, long-faced man, with rough whiskers and a rough beard on his upper lip, but with a shorn chin. His eyes were very deep set in his head, and his cheeks were hollow and sallow, and yet he looked to be and was a powerful, healthy man. He had large hands, which seemed to be all bone, and long arms, and a neck which looked to be long because he so wore his shirt that much of his throat was always bare. It was manifest enough that he liked to have good-looking women about him, and yet nobody presumed it probable that he would marry. For the last two or three years there had been friendship between him and Mrs. Carbuncle; and during the last season he had become almost intimate with our Lizzie. Lizzie thought that perhaps he might be the Corsair whom, sooner or later in her life, she must certainly encounter.
Sir Griffin Tewett, who at the present period of his existence was being led about by Lord George, was not exactly an amiable young baronet. Nor were his circumstances such as make a man amiable. He was nominally, not only the heir to, but actually the possessor of, a large property;—but he could not touch the principal, and of the income only so much as certain legal curmudgeons would allow him. As Greystock had said, everybody was at law with him—so successful had been his father in mismanaging, and miscontrolling, and misappropriating the property. Tewett Hall had gone to rack and ruin for four years, and was now let almost for nothing. He was a fair, frail young man, with a bad eye, and a weak mouth, and a thin hand, who was fond of liqueurs, and hated to the death any acquaintance who won a five-pound note of him, or any tradesman who wished to have his bill paid. But he had this redeeming quality—that having found Lucinda Roanoke to be the handsomest woman he had ever seen, he did desire to make her his wife.
Such were the friends whom Lizzie Eustace received at Portray Castle on the first day of her grand hospitality—together with John Eustace and Mr. Joseph Emilius, the fashionable preacher from Mayfair.
XXXVII
Lizzie’s First Day
The coming of John Eustace was certainly a great thing for Lizzie, though it was only for two days. It saved her from that feeling of desertion before her friends—desertion by those who might naturally belong to her—which would otherwise have afflicted her. His presence there for two days gave her a start. She could call him John, and bring down her boy to him, and remind him, with the sweetest smile—with almost a tear in her eye—that he was the boy’s guardian. “Little fellow! So much depends on that little life—does it not, John?” she said, whispering the words into his ear.
“Lucky little dog!” said John, patting the boy’s head. “Let me see! of course he’ll go to Eton.”
“Not yet,” said Lizzie with a shudder.
“Well; no; hardly;—when he’s twelve.” And then the boy was done with and was carried away. She had played that card and had turned her trick. John Eustace was a thoroughly good-natured man of the world, who could forgive many faults, not expecting people to be perfect. He did not like Mrs. Carbuncle;—was indifferent to Lucinda’s beauty;—was afraid of that Tartar, Lord George;—and thoroughly despised Sir Griffin. In his heart he believed Mr. Emilius to be an impostor, who might, for aught he knew, pick his pocket; and Miss Macnulty had no attraction for him. But he smiled, and was gay, and called Lady Eustace by her Christian name, and was content to be of use to her in showing her friends that she had not been altogether dropped by the Eustace people. “I got such a nice affectionate letter from the dear bishop,” said Lizzie, “but he couldn’t come. He could not escape a previous engagement.”
“It’s a long way,” said John, “and he’s not so young as he was once;—and then there are the Bobsborough parsons to look after.”
“I don’t suppose anything of that kind stops him,” said Lizzie, who did not think it possible that a bishop’s bliss should be alloyed by work. John was so very nice that she almost made up her mind to talk to him about the necklace; but she was cautious, and thought of it, and found that it would be better that she should abstain. John Eustace was certainly very good-natured, but perhaps he might say an ugly word to her if she were rash. She refrained, therefore, and after breakfast on the second day he took his departure without an allusion to things that were unpleasant.
“I call my brother-in-law a perfect gentleman,” said Lizzie with enthusiasm, when his back was turned.
“Certainly,” said Mrs. Carbuncle. “He seems to me to be very quiet.”
“He didn’t quite like his party,” said Lord George.
“I am sure he did,” said Lizzie.
“I mean as to politics. To him we are all turbulent demagogues and Bohemians. Eustace is an old-world Tory, if there’s one left anywhere. But you’re right, Lady Eustace; he is a gentleman.”
“He knows on which side his bread is buttered as well as any man,” said Sir Griffin.
“Am I a demagogue,” said Lizzie, appealing to the Corsair, “or a Bohemian? I didn’t know it.”
“A little in that way, I think, Lady Eustace;—not a demagogue, but demagognical;—not a Bohemian, but that way given.”
“And is
