He was a very fashionable-looking man; but not at all handsome. I felt convinced, from that certain _air de famille_, that he must be a Stanhope, although I had never seen him before. It was neither Lincoln Stanhope, nor Fitzroy, nor that great, unlicked cub, who was turned out of his regiment for black-legging, or leaguing with black-legs. These three I had often met. It must be Leicester, then, thought I, having heard that Lord Harrington had a son of that name, who was less handsome than his brothers. "It will not do to attempt frowning at that young man," said I to Mrs. Prude, "as it may have the effect of making him laugh, as it did you at dinner-time; but I will fix my eyes on him with an expression of dignity, which is more in their natural character, and try if that will do." The young man was not vulgarly bold nor impudent, and his eyes fell under my fixed gaze. He was not immediately behind us; but occupied the second bench to my left. I had no objection to his looking at me modestly. In fact I rather liked it, being neither more nor less than a mere woman; but I hate vulgarity or assurance in men. I wanted to have another look at Leicester Stanhope, which I at last contrived to accomplish slyly. He is ugly, methinks, and yet I prefer him to any of the handsome Stanhopes, for there is something of better feeling and more expression in his eyes. I dare say this is not, in fact, the case, and that I merely preferred his ugliness to his brother's beauty, because he was the only one of the family who ever seemed to admire me even for an instant. No, now I recollect myself, this is a libel on my own attractions; I remember Lord Petersham, after having for several years been in the habit of talking to me, and shaking my hand with the same _sang froid_ one would have expected at fourscore, one Sunday morning, when we crossed each other's path at Hyde Park corner, paid me the following most flattering compliment. "You are decidedly a very fine creature, but all that I have known for the last three years, and also that you are the wittiest, cleverest creature in London." Now Lord Petersham knew no more of my wit than that of the man in the moon, only it was the fashion to call me clever and witty, and whoever had said otherwise would have himself passed for a fool. "But," Petersham went on, "I will be frank with you; for you are too spoiled just now, and too vain to be angry with truth." "So that you will make haste about it," interrupted I, observing that we were blocking up the road. "Well then," said Petersham frankly, "your charms never excited in me the least particle of desire till this morning." "The fact is," answered I, laughing, "it required more wit than all the wit of all the Stanhopes to find them out." "No, no, no," said Petersham, "I always thought you beautiful; but it was the style of beauty that never warmed me till this morning." "Are you sure you have not mistaken me for the sun?"