He was nearly seventy years of age, remarkably well preserved, but with strongly-marked features, and a countenance deeply lined, set off by a young-looking wig, which took all venerableness from his appearance, without bestowing juvenility; his lips were twisted into a sneer, and there was something in his evident vanity that might have provoked ridicule, but that traces of a violent, unforgiving temper prevented him from being merely despicable, while they destroyed every particle of compassion with which he might have been regarded; for he was a forlorn old man, separating himself from those allied to him by blood or connexion, excellent as they were. His only pleasure had been in society; secluding himself from that, or presenting himself only in crowds, where he writhed to find that he went for nothing, he was miserable, yet not to be comforted, for the torments he endured were integral portions of his own nature. He looked surprised to see Elizabeth, and was at first very civil to her, with a sort of oldfashioned gallantry which, had it been good-humoured, might have amused, but, as it was, appeared forced, misplaced, and rendered its object very uncomfortable. Whatever Lady Cecil said, he contradicted. He made disagreeable remarks about her children, prophesying in them so much future torment; and when not personally impertinent, amused them by recapitulating all the most scandalous stories rife in London of unfaithful wives and divided families, absolutely gloating with delight, when he narrated anything peculiarly disgraceful. After half an hour, Elizabeth quite hated him; and he extended the same sentiment to her on her bestowing a meed of praise on his son. "Yes," he said, in reply, "Gerard is a very pleasant person; if I said he was half madman, half fool, I should certainly say too much, and appear an unkind father; but the sort of imbecility that characterizes his understanding is, I think, only equalled by his self-willed defiance of all laws which society has established; in conduct he very much resembles a lunatic armed with a weapon of offence, which he does not fear himself, and deals about on those unfortunately connected with him, with the same indifference to wounds." On this speech, Lady Cecil coloured and rose from the table, and her friend gladly followed, leaving Sir Boyvill to his solitary wine. Never had Elizabeth experienced before the intolerable weight of an odious person's society--she was stunned. "We have but one resource," said Lady Cecil; "you must sit down to the piano. Sir Boyvill is too polite not to entreat you to play on, and too weary not to fall asleep; he is worse than ever." "But he is your father!" cried Elizabeth, astonished.