England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
“Yes, but whatever they may be, they will always be colonial. What
is colonial necessarily lacks originality. A country that borrows its
language, its laws, and its religion, cannot have its inventive powers
much developed. They got civilised very soon, but their civilisation was
second-hand.”
“Perhaps their inventive powers may develop themselves in other ways,”
said the prince. “A nation has a fixed quantity of invention, and it
will make itself felt.”
“At present,” said Lord Roehampton, “the Americans, I think, employ
their invention in imaginary boundary lines. They are giving us plenty
of trouble now about Maine.”
After dinner they had some music; Lord Roehampton would not play whist.
He insisted on comparing the voices of his companions with that of the
nightingales of the morning. He talked a great deal to Adriana, and
Colonel Albert, in the course of the evening much to Myra, and about her
brother. Lord Roehampton more than once had wished to tell her, as he
had already told Miss Neuchatel, how delightful had been their morning;
but on every occasion he had found her engaged with the colonel.
“I rather like your prince,” he had observed to Mr. Neuchatel, as they
came from the dining-room. “He never speaks without thinking; very
reserved, I apprehend. They say, an inveterate conspirator.”
“He has had enough of that,” said Mr. Neuchatel. “I believe he wants to
be quiet.”
“That class of man is never quiet,” said Lord Roehampton.
“But what can he do?” said Mr. Neuchatel.
“What can he not do? Half Europe is in a state of chronic conspiracy.”
“You must keep us right, my dear lord. So long as you are in Downing
Street I shall sleep at nights.”
“Miss Ferrars,” said Lord Roehampton abruptly to Mr. Neuchatel, “must
have been the daughter of William Ferrars, one of my great friends in
old days. I never knew it till to-day, and she did not tell me, but it
flashed across me from something she said.”
“Yes, she is his daughter, and is in mourning for him at this moment.
She has had sorrows,” said Mr. Neuchatel. “I hope they have ceased. It
was one of the happiest days of my life when she entered this family.”
“Ah!” said Lord Roehampton.
The next day, after they had examined the famous stud and stables, there
was a riding party, and in the evening Colonel Albert offered to perform
some American conjuring tricks, of which he had been speaking in the
course of the day. This was a most wonderful performance, and surprised
and highly amused everybody. Colonel Albert was the last person who they
expected would achieve such marvels; he was so quiet, not to say grave.
They could hardly credit that he was the same person as he poured floods
of flowers over Myra from her own borrowed pocket-handkerchief, and
without the slightest effort or embarrassment, robbed Lord Roehampton of
his watch, and deposited it in Adriana’s bosom. It was evident that he
was a complete master of slight-of-hand.
“Characteristic!” murmured Lord Roehampton to himself.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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