WYLDER'S HJlJVD.
209
with black whiskers, and his hair in oily ringlets, such as
may be seen in the model wigs presented on smiling, wax-
en dandies, in Mr. Rose's front window at Dollington.
He bowed and smiied in the most unexceptionable of dress
coats, and drew off the whitest imaginable pair of kid
gloves, when he sat down to the piano, subsiding in a sort
of bow upon the music-stool, and striking those few,
brisk and noisy chords with which such artists proclaim
silence and reassure themselves.
Stanley Lake, that eminent London swell, had at-
tached himself as gentleman-in-waiting to Lady Chel-
ford's household, and was perpetually gliding with little
messages between her ladyship and the dapper vocalist of
Dollington, who varied his programme and submitted to
an occasional encore on the private order thus communi-
cated.
"I told you Chelford would be here," said Miss Bran-
don to Rachel, in a low tone, glancing at the young peer.
"I thought he had returned to Brighton. I fancied he
might be — you know the Dulhamptons are at Brighton;
and Lady Constance, of course, has a claim on his time
and thoughts."
Rachel smiled as she spoke, and was adjusting her bo-
quet, as Dorcas made answer —
"Lady Constance, my dear Radie! That, you know,
was never more than a mere whisper; it was only Lady
Chelford and the Marchioness who talked it over — they
would have liked it very welL But Chelford won't be
managed or scolded into anything of the kind; and I as-
sure you, dear Radie, there is hot the least truth in that
story about Lady Constance."
Why should Dorcas be so earnest to convince her hand-
some cousin that there was nothing in this rumor? Ra-
chel made no remark, and there was a little silence.