He took a pride in servility to a
beautiful woman; received Lady Vandeleur's commands as so many
marks of favour; and was pleased to exhibit himself before other
men, who derided and despised him, in his character of male lady's-
maid and man milliner. Nor could he think enough of his existence
from a moral point of view. Wickedness seemed to him an
essentially male attribute, and to pass one's days with a delicate
woman, and principally occupied about trimmings, was to inhabit an
enchanted isle among the storms of life.
One fine morning he came into the drawing-room and began to arrange
some music on the top of the piano. Lady Vandeleur, at the other
end of the apartment, was speaking somewhat eagerly with her
brother, Charlie Pendragon, an elderly young man, much broken with
dissipation, and very lame of one foot. The private secretary, to
whose entrance they paid no regard, could not avoid overhearing a
part of their conversation.
"To-day or never," said the lady. "Once and for all, it shall be
done to-day."
"To-day, if it must be," replied the brother, with a sigh. "But it
is a false step, a ruinous step, Clara; and we shall live to repent
it dismally."
Lady Vandeleur looked her brother steadily and somewhat strangely
in the face.
"You forget," she said; "the man must die at last."
"Upon my word, Clara," said Pendragon, "I believe you are the most
heartless rascal in England.
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