This eBook was produced by Pat Castevens and David Widger PART VI. CHAPTER I. "I don't know that," said my father. What is it my father does not know? My father does not know that "happiness is our being's end and aim." And pertinent to what does my father reply, by words so sceptical, to an assertion so seldom disputed? Reader, Mr. Trevanion has been half an hour seated in our little drawing-room. He has received two cups of tea from my mother's fair hand; he has made himself at home. With Mr. Trevanion has come another friend of my father's, whom he has not seen since he left college,--Sir Sedley Beaudesert. Now, you must understand that it is a warm night, a little after nine o'clock,--a night between departing summer and approaching autumn. The windows are open; we have a balcony, which my mother has taken care to fill with flowers; the air, though we are in London, is sweet and fresh; the street quiet, except that an occasional carriage or hackney cabriolet rolls rapidly by; a few stealthy passengers pass to and fro noiselessly on their way homeward. We are on classic ground,--near that old and venerable Museum, the dark monastic pile which the taste of the age had spared then,--and the quiet of the temple seems to hallow the precincts. Captain Roland is seated by the fire-place, and though there is no fire, he is shading his face with a hand-screen; my father and Mr. Trevanion have drawn their chairs close to each other in the middle of the room; Sir Sedley Beaudesert leans against the wall near the window, and behind my mother, who looks prettier and more pleased than usual since her Austin has his old friends about him; and I, leaning my elbow on the table and my chin upon my hand, am gazing with great admiration on Sir Sedley Beaudesert. Oh, rare specimen of a race fast decaying,--specimen of the true fine gentleman, ere the word "dandy" was known, and before "exquisite" became a noun substantive,--let me here pause to describe thee! Sir Sedley Beaudesert was the contemporary of Trevanion and my father; but without affecting to be young, he still seemed so. Dress, tone, look, manner,-- all were young; yet all had a certain dignity which does not belong to youth. At the age of five and twenty he had won what would have been fame to a French marquis of the old regime; namely, the reputation of being "the most charming man of his day,"--the most popular of our sex, the most favored, my dear lady-reader, by yours. It is a mistake, I believe, to suppose that it does not require talent to become the fashion,--at all events, Sir Sedley was the fashion, and he had talent. He had travelled much, he had read much,--especially in memoirs, history, and belles-lettres,--he made verses with grace and a certain originality of easy wit and courtly sentiment, he conversed delightfully, he was polished and urbane in manner, he was brave and honorable in conduct; in words he could flatter, in deeds he was sincere.