# Tales of Three Cities (Boston: James R. Osgood & Co., 1884)/Lady Barberina/Chapter 1

LADY BARBERINA.
PART I.
I.
It is well known that there are few sights in the world more brilliant than the main avenues of Hyde Park of a fine afternoon in June. This was quite the opinion of two persons, who on a beautiful day at the beginning of that month, four years ago, had established themselves under the great trees in a couple of iron chairs (the big ones with arms, for which, if I mistake not, you pay twopence), and sat there with the slow procession of the Drive behind them, while their faces were turned to the more vivid agitation of the Row. They were lost in the multitude of observers, and they belonged, superficially, at least, to that class of persons who, wherever they may be, rank rather with the spectators than with the spectacle. They were quiet, simple, elderly, of aspect somewhat neutral; you would have liked them extremely, but you would scarcely have noticed them. Nevertheless, in all that shining host, it is to them, ​obscure, that we must give our attention. The reader is begged to have confidence; he is not asked to make vain concessions. There was that in the faces of our friends which indicated that they were growing old together, and that they were fond enough of each other's company not to object (if it was a condition), even to that. The reader will have guessed that they were husband and wife; and perhaps while he is about it, he will have guessed that they were of that nationality for which Hyde Park at the height of the season is most completely illustrative. They were familiar strangers, as it were; and people at once so initiated and so detached could only be Americans. This reflection, indeed, you would have made only after some delay; for it must be admitted that they carried few patriotic signs on the surface. They had the American turn of mind, but that was very subtle; and to your eye—if your eye had cared about it—they might have been of English, or even of Continental, parentage. It was as if it suited them to be colorless; their color was all in their talk. They were not in the least verdant; they were gray, rather, of monotonous hue. If they were interested in the riders, the horses, the walkers, the great exhibition of English wealth and health, beauty, luxury, and leisure, it was because all this referred itself to other impressions, because they had the key to almost everything that needed an answer,—because, in a word, they were able to compare. They had not arrived, they had only returned; and recognition much more than ​surprise was expressed in their quiet gaze. It may as well be said outright that Dexter Freer and his wife belonged to that class of Americans who are constantly "passing through" London. Possessors of a fortune of which, from any standpoint, the limits were plainly visible, they were unable to command that highest of luxuries, a habitation in their own country. They found it much more possible to economize at Dresden or Florence than at Buffalo or Minneapolis. The economy was as great, and the inspiration was greater. From Dresden, from Florence, moreover, they constantly made excursions which would not have been possible in those other cities; and it is even to be feared that they had some rather expressive methods of saving. They came to London to buy their portmanteaus, their toothbrushes, their writing-paper; they occasionally even crossed the Atlantic to assure themselves that prices over there were still the same. They were eminently a social pair; their interests were mainly personal. Their point of view, always, was so distinctly human, that they passed for being fond of gossip; and they certainly knew a good deal about the affairs of other people. They had friends in every country, in every town; and it was not their fault if people told them their secrets. Dexter Freer was a tall, lean man, with an interested eye, and a nose that rather drooped than aspired, yet was salient withal. He brushed his hair, which was streaked with white, forward over his ears, in those locks which are represented in the portraits ​of clean-shaven gentlemen who flourished fifty years ago, and wore an old-fashioned neckcloth and gaiters. His wife, a small, plump person, of superficial freshness, with a white face, and hair that was still perfectly black, smiled perpetually, but had never laughed since the death of a son whom she had lost ten years after her marriage. Her husband, on the other hand, who was usually quite grave, indulged on great occasions in resounding mirth. People confided in her less than in him; but that mattered little, as she confided sufficiently in herself. Her dress, which was always black or dark gray, was so harmoniously simple, that you could see she was fond of it; it was never smart by accident. She was full of intentions of the most judicious sort; and though she was perpetually moving about the world, she had the air of being perfectly stationary. She was celebrated for the promptitude with which she made her sitting-room at an inn, where she might be spending a night or two, look like an apartment long inhabited. With books, flowers, photographs, draperies, rapidly distributed,—she had even a way, for the most part, of having a piano,—the place seemed almost hereditary. The pair were just back from America, where they had spent three months, and now were able to face the world with something of the elation which people feel who have been justified in a prevision. They had found their native land quite ruinous.
"There he is again!" said Mr. Freer, following with his eyes a young man who passed along the ​Row, riding slowly. "That's a beautiful thoroughbred!"
Mrs. Freer asked idle questions only when she wished for time to think. At present she had simply to look and see who it was her husband meant. "The horse is too big," she remarked, in a moment.
"You mean that the rider is too small," her husband rejoined; "he is mounted on his millions."
"Is it really millions?"
"Seven or eight, they tell me."
"How disgusting!" It was in this manner that Mrs. Freer usually spoke of the large fortunes of the day. "I wish he would see us," she added.
"He does see us, but he does n't like to look at us. He is too conscious; he is n't easy."
"Too conscious of his big horse?"
"Yes, and of his big fortune; he is rather ashamed of it."
"This is an odd place to come, then," said Mrs. Freer.
"I am not sure of that. He will find people here richer than himself, and other big horses in plenty, and that will cheer him up. Perhaps, too, he is looking for that girl."
"The one we heard about? He can't be such a fool."
"He isn't a fool," said Dexter Freer. "If he is thinking of her, he has some good reason."
"I wonder what Mary Lemon would say."
"She would say it was right, if he should do it. She thinks he can do no wrong. He is exceedingly fond of her."
​"I sha'n't be sure of that if he takes home a wife that will despise her."
"Why should the girl despise her? She is a delightful woman."
"The girl will never know it,—and if she should, it would make no difference; she will despise everything."
"I don't believe it, my dear; she will like some things very much. Every one will be very nice to her."
"She will despise them all the more. But we are speaking as if it were all arranged; I don't believe in it at all," said Mrs. Freer.
"Well, something of the sort—in this case or in some other—is sure to happen sooner or later," her husband replied, turning round a little toward the part of the delta which is formed, near the entrance to the Park, by the divergence of the two great vistas of the Drive and the Row. Our friends had turned their backs, as I have said, to the solemn revolution of wheels and the densely-packed mass of spectators who had chosen that part of the show. These spectators were now agitated by a unanimous impulse: the pushing back of chairs, the shuffle of feet, the rustle of garments, and the deepening murmur of voices sufficiently expressed it. Royalty was approaching—royalty was passing—royalty had passed. Freer turned his head and his ear a little; but he failed to alter his position further, and his wife took no notice of the flurry. They had seen royalty pass, all over Europe, and they knew that ​it passed very quickly. Sometimes it came back; sometimes it did n't; for more than once they had seen it pass for the last time. They were veteran tourists, and they knew perfectly when to get up and when to remain seated. Mr. Freer went on with his proposition: "Some young fellow is certain to do it, and one of these girls is certain to take the risk. They must take risks, over here, more and more."
"The girls, I have no doubt, will be glad enough; they have had very little chance as yet. But I don't want Jackson to begin."
"Do you know I rather think I do," said Dexter Freer; "it will be very amusing."
"For us, perhaps, but not for him; he will repent of it, and be wretched. He is too good for that."
"Wretched, never! He has no capacity for wretchedness; and that 's why he can afford to risk it."
"He will have to make great concessions," Mrs. Freer remarked.
"He won't make one."
"I should like to see."
"You admit, then, that it will be amusing, which is all I contend for. But, as you say, we are talking as if it were settled, whereas there is probably nothing in it after all. The best stories always turn out false. I shall be sorry in this case."
They relapsed into silence, while people passed and repassed them—continuous, successive, mechanical, with strange sequences of faces. They looked at the people, but no one looked at them, though every one ​was there so admittedly to see what was to be seen. It was all striking, all pictorial, and it made a great composition. The wide, long area of the Row, its red-brown surface dotted with bounding figures, stretched away into the distance and became suffused and misty in the bright, thick air. The deep, dark English verdure that bordered and overhung it, looked rich and old, revived and refreshed though it was by the breath of June. The mild blue of the sky was spotted with great silvery clouds, and the light drizzled down in heavenly shafts over the quieter spaces of the Park, as one saw them beyond the Row. All this, however, was only a background, for the scene was before everything personal: superbly so, and full of the gloss and lustre, the contrasted tones, of a thousand polished surfaces. Certain things were salient, pervasive,—the shining flanks of the perfect horses, the twinkle of bits and spurs, the smoothness of fine cloth adjusted to shoulders and limbs, the sheen of hats and boots, the freshness of complexions, the expression of smiling, talking faces, the flash and flutter of rapid gallops. Faces were everywhere, and they were the great effect,—above all, the fair faces of women on tall horses, flushed a little under their stiff black hats, with figures stiffened, in spite of much definition of curve, by their tight-fitting habits. Their hard little helmets, their neat, compact heads, their straight necks, their firm, tailor-made armor, their blooming, competent physique, made them look doubly like amazons about to ride a charge. The ​men, with their eyes before them, with hats of undulating brim, good profiles, high collars, white flowers on their chests, long legs and long feet, had an air more elaboratively decorative, as they jolted beside the ladies, always out of step. These were youthful types; but it was not all youth, for many a saddle was surmounted by a richer rotundity, and ruddy faces, with short white whiskers or with matronly chins, looked down comfortably from an equilibrium which was moral as well as physical. The walkers differed from the riders only in being on foot, and in looking at the riders more than these looked at them; for they would have done as well in the saddle and ridden as the others ride. The women had tight little bonnets and still tighter little knots of hair; their round chins rested on a close swathing of lace, or, in some cases, of silver chains and circlets. They had flat backs and small waists, they walked slowly, with their elbows out, carrying vast parasols, and turning their heads very little to the right or the left. They were amazons unmounted, quite ready to spring into the saddle. There was a great deal of beauty and a suffused look of successful development, which came from clear, quiet eyes and from well-cut lips, on which syllables were liquid and sentences brief. Some of the young men, as well as the women, had the happiest proportions and oval faces, in which line and color were pure and fresh, and the idea of the moment was not very intense.
"They are very good-looking," said Mr. Freer, at ​the end of ten minutes; "they are the finest whites."
"So long as they remain white they do very well; but when they venture upon color!" his wife replied. She sat with her eyes on a level with the skirts of the ladies who passed her; and she had been following the progress of a green velvet robe, enriched with ornaments of steel and much gathered up in the hands of its wearer, who, herself apparently in her teens, was accompanied by a young lady draped in scanty pink muslin, embroidered, æsthetically, with flowers that simulated the iris.
"All the same, in a crowd, they are wonderfully well turned out," Dexter Freer went on; "take the men, and women, and horses together. Look at that big fellow on the light chestnut: what could be more perfect? By the way, it's Lord Canterville," he added in a moment, as if the fact were of some importance.
Mrs. Freer recognized its importance to the degree of raising her glass to look at Lord Canterville. "How do you know it 's he?" she asked, with her glass still up.
"I heard him say something the night I went to the House of Lords. It was very few words, but I remember him. A man who was near me told me who he was."
"He is not so handsome as you," said Mrs. Freer, dropping her glass.
"Ah, you 're too difficult!" her husband murmured. ​"What a pity the girl is n 't with him," he went on; "we might see something."
It appeared in a moment that the girl was with him. The nobleman designated had ridden slowly forward from the start, but just opposite our friends he pulled up to look behind him, as if he had been waiting for some one. At the same moment a gentleman in the Walk engaged his attention, so that he advanced to the barrier which protects the pedestrians, and halted there, bending a little from his saddle and talking with his friend, who leaned against the rail. Lord Canterville was indeed perfect, as his American admirer had said. Upwards of sixty, and of great stature and great presence, he was really a splendid apparition. In exquisite preservation, he had the freshness of middle life, and would have been young to the eye if the lapse of years were not needed to account for his considerable girth. He was clad from head to foot in garments of a radiant gray, and his fine florid countenance was surmounted with a white hat, of which the majestic curves were a triumph of good form. Over his mighty chest was spread a beard of the richest growth, and of a color, in spite of a few streaks, vaguely grizzled, to which the coat of his admirable horse appeared to be a perfect match. It left no opportunity, in his uppermost button-hole, for the customary gardenia; but this was of comparatively little consequence, as the vegetation of the beard itself was tropical. Astride his great steed, with his big fist, gloved in pearl-gray, on his swelling thigh, his ​face lighted up with good-humored indifference, and all his magnificent surface reflecting the mild sunshine, he was a very imposing man indeed, and visibly, incontestably, a personage. People almost lingered to look at him as they passed. His halt was brief, however, for he was almost immediately joined by two handsome girls, who were as well turned-out, in Dexter Freer's phrase, as himself. They had been detained a moment at the entrance to the Row, and now advanced side by side, their groom close behind them. One was taller and older than the other, and it was apparent at a glance that they were sisters. Between them, with their charming shoulders, contracted waists, and skirts that hung without a wrinkle, like a plate of zinc, they represented in a singularly complete form the pretty English girl in the position in which she is prettiest.
"Of course they are his daughters," said Dexter Freer, as they rode away with Lord Canterville; "and in that case one of them must be Jackson Lemon's sweetheart. Probably the bigger; they said it was the eldest. She is evidently a fine creature."
"She would hate it over there," Mrs. Freer remarked, for all answer to this cluster of inductions.
"You know I don't admit that. But granting she should, it would do her good to have to accommodate herself."
"She would n't accommodate herself."
"She looks so confoundedly fortunate, perched up on that saddle," Dexter Freer pursued, without heeding his wife's rejoinder.
​"Are n't they supposed to be very poor?"
"Yes, they look it!" And his eyes followed the distinguished trio, as, with the groom, as distinguished in his way as any of them, they started on a canter. The air was full of sound, but it was low and diffused; and when, near our friends, it became articulate, the words were simple and few.
"It 's as good as the circus, is n't it, Mrs. Freer?" These words correspond to that description, but they pierced the air more effectually than any our friends had lately heard. They were uttered by a young man who had stopped short in the path, absorbed by the sight of his compatriots. He was short and stout, he had a round, kind face, and short, stiff-looking hair, which was reproduced in a small bristling beard. He wore a double-breasted walking-coat, which was not, however, buttoned, and on the summit of his round head was perched a hat of exceeding smallness, and of the so-called "pot" category. It evidently fitted him, but a hatter himself would not have known why. His hands were encased in new gloves, of a dark-brown color, and they hung with an air of unaccustomed inaction at his sides. He sported neither umbrella nor stick. He extended one of his hands, almost with eagerness, to Mrs. Freer, blushing a little as he became aware that he had been eager.
"Oh, Dr. Feeder!" she said, smiling at him. Then she repeated to her husband, "Dr. Feeder, my dear!" and her husband said, "Oh, Doctor, how d' ye do?"
​I have spoken of the composition of his appearance; but the items were not perceived by these two. They saw only one thing, his delightful face, which was both simple and clever, and unreservedly good. They had lately made the voyage from New York in his company, and it was plain that he would be very genial at sea. After he had stood in front of them a moment, a chair beside Mrs. Freer became vacant, on which he took possession of it, and sat there telling her what he thought of the Park, and how he liked London. As she knew every one, she had known many of his people at home; and while she listened to him she remembered how large their contribution had been to the virtue and culture of Cincinnati. Mrs. Freer's social horizon included even that city; she had been on terms almost familiar with several families from Ohio, and was acquainted with the position of the Feeders there. This family, very numerous, was interwoven into an enormous cousinship. She herself was quite out of such a system, but she could have told you whom Dr. Feeder's great-grandfather had married. Every one, indeed, had heard of the good deeds of the descendants of this worthy, who were generally physicians, excellent ones, and whose name expressed not inaptly their numerous acts of charity. Sidney Feeder, who had several cousins of this name established in the same line at Cincinnati, had transferred himself and his ambition to New York, where his practice, at the end of three years, had begun to ​grow. He had studied his profession at Vienna, and was impregnated with German science; indeed, if he had only worn spectacles, he might perfectly, as he sat there watching the riders in Rotten Row as if their proceedings were a successful demonstration, have passed for a young German of distinction. He had come over to London to attend a medical congress which met this year in the British capital; for his interest in the healing art was by no means limited to the cure of his patients, it embraced every form of experiment; and the expression of his honest eyes would almost have reconciled you to vivisection. It was the first time he had come to the Park; for social experiments he had little leisure. Being aware, however, that it was a very typical, and as it were symptomatic, sight, he had conscientiously reserved an afternoon, and had dressed himself carefully for the occasion. "It 's quite a brilliant show," he said to Mrs. Freer; "it makes me wish I had a mount." Little as he resembled Lord Canterville, he rode very well.
"Wait till Jackson Lemon passes again, and you can stop him and make him let you take a turn." This was the jocular suggestion of Dexter Freer.
"Why, is he here? I have been looking out for him; I should like to see him."
"Does n't he go to your medical congress?" asked Mrs. Freer.
"Well yes, he attends; but he is n't very regular. I guess he goes out a good deal."
​"I guess he does," said Mr. Freer; "and if he is n't very regular, I guess he has a good reason. A beautiful reason, a charming reason," he went on, bending forward to look down toward the beginning of the Row. "Dear me, what a lovely reason!"
Dr. Feeder followed the direction of his eyes, and after a moment understood his allusion. Little Jackson Lemon, on his big horse, passed along the avenue again, riding beside one of the young girls who had come that way shortly before in the company of Lord Canterville. His lordship followed, in conversation with the other, his younger daughter. As they advanced, Jackson Lemon turned his eyes toward the multitude under the trees, and it so happened that they rested upon the Dexter Freers. He smiled, and raised his hat with all possible friendliness; and his three companions turned to see to whom he was bowing with so much cordiality. As he settled his hat on his head, he espied the young man from Cincinnati, whom he had at first overlooked; whereupon he smiled still more brightly, and waved Sidney Feeder an airy salutation with his hand, reining in a little at the same time just for an instant, as if he half expected the Doctor to come and speak to him. Seeing him with strangers, however, Sidney Feeder hung back, staring a little as he rode away.
It is open to us to know that at this moment the young lady by whose side he was riding said to him familiarly enough: "Who are those people you bowed to?"
​"Some old friends of mine,—Americans," Jackson Lemon answered.
"Of course they are Americans; there is nothing but Americans nowadays."
"Oh, yes, our turn 's coming round!" laughed the young man.
"But that does n't say who they are," his companion continued. "It 's so difficult to say who Americans are," she added, before he had time to answer her.
"Dexter Freer and his wife,—there is nothing difficult about that; every one knows them."
"I never heard of them," said the English girl.
"Ah, that 's your fault. I assure you everybody knows them."
"And does everybody know the little man with the fat face whom you kissed your hand to?"
"I did n't kiss my hand; but I would if I had thought of it. He is a great chum of mine, a fellow student at Vienna."
"And what 's his name?"
"Dr. Feeder."
Jackson Lemon's companion was silent a moment. "Are all your friends doctors?" she presently inquired.
"No; some of them are in other businesses."
"Are they all in some business?"
"Most of them; save two or three, like Dexter Freer."
"Dexter Freer? I thought you said Dr. Freer."
The young man gave a laugh. "You heard me ​wrong. You have got doctors on the brain, Lady Barb."
"I am rather glad," said Lady Barb, giving the rein to her horse, who bounded away.
"Well yes, she 's very handsome, the reason," Dr. Feeder remarked, as he sat under the trees.
"Is he going to marry her?" Mrs. Freer inquired.
"Marry her? I hope not."
"Why do you hope not?"
"Because I know nothing about her. I want to know something about the woman that man marries."
"I suppose you would like him to marry in Cincinnati," Mrs. Freer rejoined, lightly.
"Well, I am not particular where it is; but I want to know her first." Dr. Feeder was very sturdy.
"We were in hopes you would know all about it," said Mr. Freer.
"No; I have n't kept up with him there."
"We have heard from a dozen people that he has been always with her for the last month; and that kind of thing, in England, is supposed to mean something. Hasn't he spoken of her when you have seen him?"
"No, he has only talked about the new treatment of spinal meningitis. He is very much interested in spinal meningitis."
"I wonder if he talks about it to Lady Barb," said Mrs. Freer.
"Who is she, any way?" the young man inquired.
"Lady Barberina Clement."
​"And who is Lady Barberina Clement?"
"The daughter of Lord Canterville."
"And who is Lord Canterville?"
"Dexter must tell you that," said Mrs. Freer. And Dexter accordingly told him that the Marquis of Canterville had been in his day a great sporting nobleman and an ornament to English society, and had held more than once a high post in her Majesty's household. Dexter Freer knew all these things,—how his lordship had married a daughter of Lord Treherne, a very serious, intelligent, and beautiful woman, who had redeemed him from the extravagance of his youth and presented him in rapid succession with a dozen little tenants for the nurseries at Pasterns,—this being, as Mr. Freer also knew, the name of the principal seat of the Cantervilles. The Marquis was a Tory, but very liberal for a Tory, and very popular in society at large; good-natured, good-looking, knowing how to be genial, and yet to remain a grand seigneur, clever enough to make an occasional speech, and much associated with the fine old English pursuits, as well as with many of the new improvements,—the purification of the Turf, the opening of the museums on Sunday, the propagation of coffee-taverns, the latest ideas on sanitary reform. He disapproved of the extension of the suffrage, but he positively had drainage on the brain. It had been said of him at least once (and I think in print) that he was just the man to convey to the popular mind the impression that the British aristocracy is still a living force. ​He was not very rich, unfortunately (for a man who had to exemplify such truths), and of his twelve children, no less than seven were daughters. Lady Barberina, Jackson Lemon's friend, was the second; the eldest had married Lord Beauchemin. Mr. Freer had caught quite the right pronunciation of this name: he called it Bitumen. Lady Lucretia had done very well, for her husband was rich, and she had brought him nothing to speak of; but it was hardly to be expected that the others would do as well. Happily the younger girls were still in the schoolroom; and before they had come up, Lady Canterville, who was a woman of resources, would have worked off the two that were out. It was Lady Agatha's first season; she was not so pretty as her sister, but she was thought to be cleverer. Half-a-dozen people had spoken to him of Jackson Lemon's being a great deal at the Cantervilles. He was supposed to be enormously rich.
"Well, so he is," said Sidney Feeder, who had listened to Mr. Freer's little recital with attention, with eagerness even, but with an air of imperfect apprehension.
"Yes, but not so rich as they probably think."
"Do they want his money? Is that what they 're after?"
"You go straight to the point," Mrs. Freer murmured.
"I have n't the least idea," said her husband. "He is a very nice fellow in himself."
​"Yes, but he 's a doctor," Mrs. Freer remarked.
"What have they got against that?" asked Sidney Feeder.
"Why, over here, you know, they only call them in to prescribe," said Dexter Freer; "the profession is n't—a—what you 'd call aristocratic."
"Well, I don't know it, and I don't know that I want to know it. How do you mean, aristocratic? What profession is? It would be rather a curious one. Many of the gentlemen at the congress there are quite charming."
"I like doctors very much," said Mrs. Freer; "my father was a doctor. But they don't marry the daughters of marquises."
"I don't believe Jackson wants to marry that one."
"Very possibly not—people are such asses," said Dexter Freer. "But he will have to decide. I wish you would find out, by the way; you can if you will."
"I will ask him—up at the congress; I can do that. I suppose he has got to marry some one." Sidney Feeder added, in a moment, "And she may be a nice girl."
"She is said to be charming."
"Very well, then; it won't hurt him. I must say, however, I am not sure I like all that about her family."
"What I told you? It 's all to their honor and glory."
"Are they quite on the square? It 's like those people in Thackeray."
​"Oh, if Thackeray could have done this!" Mrs, Freer exclaimed, with a good deal of expression.
"You mean all this scene?" asked the young man.
"No; the marriage of a British noblewoman and an American doctor. It would have been a subject for Thackeray."
"You see you do want it, my dear," said Dexter Freer, quietly.
"I want it as a story, but I don't want it for Dr. Lemon."
"Does he call himself 'Doctor' still?" Mr. Freer asked of young Feeder.
"I suppose he does; I call him so. Of course he does n't practise. But once a doctor, always a doctor."
"That 's doctrine for Lady Barb!"
Sidney Feeder stared. "Has n't she got a title too? What would she expect him to be? President of the United States? He 's a man of real ability; he might have stood at the head of his profession. When I think of that, I want to swear. What did his father want to go and make all that money for!"
"It must certainly be odd to them to see a 'medical man' with six or eight millions," Mr. Freer observed.
"They use the same term as the Choctaws," said his wife.
"Why, some of their own physicians made immense fortunes," Sidney Feeder declared.
"Could n't he be made a baronet by the Queen?" This suggestion came from Mrs. Freer.
​"Yes, then he would be aristocratic," said the young man. "But I don't see why he should want to marry over here; it seems to me to be going out of his way. However, if he is happy, I don't care. I like him very much; he has got lots of ability. If it had n't been for his father he would have made a splendid doctor. But, as I say, he takes a great interest in medical science, and I guess he means to promote it all he can—with his fortune. He will always be doing something in the way of research. He thinks we do know something, and he is bound we shall know more. I hope she won't prevent him, the young marchioness—is that her rank? And I hope they are really good people. He ought to be very useful. I should want to know a good deal about the family I was going to marry into."
"He looked to me, as he rode there, as if he knew a good deal about the Clements," Dexter Freer said, rising, as his wife suggested that they ought to be going; "and he looked to me pleased with the knowledge. There they come, down on the other side. Will you walk away with us, or will you stay?"
"Stop him and ask him, and then come and tell us—in Jermyn Street." This was Mrs. Freer's parting injunction to Sidney Feeder.
"He ought to come himself—tell him that," her husband added.
"Well, I guess I 'll stay," said the young man, as his companions merged themselves in the crowd that now was tending toward the gates. He went and ​stood by the barrier, and saw Dr. Lemon and his friends pull up at the entrance to the Row, where they apparently prepared to separate. The separation took some time, and Sidney Feeder became interested. Lord Canterville and his younger daughter lingered to talk with two gentlemen, also mounted, who looked a good deal at the legs of Lady Agatha's horse. Jackson Lemon and Lady Barberina were face to face, very near each other; and she, leaning forward a little, stroked the overlapping neck of his glossy bay. At a distance he appeared to be talking, and she to be listening and saying nothing. "Oh, yes, he 's making love to her," thought Sidney Feeder. Suddenly her father turned away to leave the Park, and she joined him and disappeared, while Dr. Lemon came up on the left again, as if for a final gallop. He had not gone far before he perceived his confrère, who awaited him at the rail; and he repeated the gesture which Lady Barberina had spoken of as a kissing of his hand, though it must be added that, to his friend's eyes, it had not quite that significance. When he reached the point where Feeder stood, he pulled up.
"If I had known you were coming here, I would have given you a mount," he said. There was not in his person that irradiation of wealth and distinction which made Lord Canterville glow like a picture; but as he sat there with his little legs stuck out, he looked very bright, and sharp, and happy, wearing in his degree the aspect of one of Fortune's favorites. ​He had a thin, keen, delicate face, a nose very carefully finished, a rapid eye, a trifle hard in expression, and a small mustache, a good deal cultivated. He was not striking, but he was very positive, and it was easy to see that he was full of purpose.
"How many horses have you got—about forty?" his compatriot inquired, in response to his greeting.
"About five hundred," said Jackson Lemon.
"Did you mount your friends—the three you were riding with?"
"Mount them? They have got the best horses in England."
"Did they sell you this one?" Sidney Feeder continued, in the same humorous strain.
"What do you think of him?" said his friend, not deigning to answer this question.
"He's an awful old screw; I wonder he can carry you."
"Where did you get your hat?" asked Dr. Lemon, in return.
"I got it in New York. What's the matter with it?"
"It's very beautiful; I wish I had bought one like it."
"The head's the thing—not the hat. I don't mean yours, but mine. There is something very deep in your question; I must think it over."
"Don't—don't," said Jackson Lemon; "you will never get to the bottom of it. Are you having a good time?"
​"A glorious time. Have you been up to-day?"
"Up among the doctors? No; I have had a lot of things to do."
"We had a very interesting discussion. I made a few remarks."
"You ought to have told me. What were they about?"
"About the intermarriage of races, from the point of view———." And Sidney Feeder paused a moment, occupied with the attempt to scratch the nose of his friend's horse.
"From the point of view of the progeny, I suppose?"
"Not at all; from the point of view of the old friends."
"Damn the old friends!" Dr. Lemon exclaimed, with jocular crudity.
"Is it true that you are going to marry a young marchioness?"
The face of the young man in the saddle became just a trifle rigid, and his firm eyes fixed themselves on Dr. Feeder.
"Who has told you that?"
"Mr. and Mrs. Freer, whom I met just now."
"Mr. and Mrs. Freer be hanged! And who told them?"
"Ever so many people; I don't know who."
"Gad, how things are tattled!" cried Jackson Lemon, with some asperity.
"I can see it 's true, by the way you say that."
​"Do Freer and his wife believe it?" Jackson Lemon went on, impatiently.
"They want you to go and see them: you can judge for yourself."
"I will go and see them, and tell them to mind their business."
"In Jermyn Street; but I forget the number. I am sorry the marchioness is n't American," Sidney Feeder continued.
"If I should marry her, she would be," said his friend. "But I don't see what difference it can make to you."
"Why, she 'll look down on the profession; and I don't like that from your wife."
"That will touch me more than you."
"Then it is true?" cried Feeder, more seriously, looking up at his friend.
"She won't look down; I will answer for that."
"You won't care; you are out of it all now."
"No, I am not; I mean to do a great deal of work."
"I will believe that when I see it," said Sidney Feeder, who was by no means perfectly incredulous, but who thought it salutary to take that tone. "I am not sure that you have any right to work,—you oughtn't to have everything; you ought to leave the field to us. You must pay the penalty of being so rich. You would have been celebrated if you had continued to practise,—more celebrated than any one. But you won't be now,—you can't be. Some one else will be, in your place."
​Jackson Lemon listened to this, but without meeting the eyes of the speaker; not, however, as if he were avoiding them, but as if the long stretch of the Ride, now less and less obstructed, invited him, and made his companion's talk a little retarding. Nevertheless, he answered, deliberately and kindly enough: "I hope it will be you;" and he bowed to a lady who rode past.
"Very likely it will. I hope I make you feel badly,—that's what I'm trying to do."
"Oh, awfully!" cried Jackson Lemon; "all the more that I am not in the least engaged."
"Well, that 's good. Won't you come up to-morrow?" Dr. Feeder went on.
"I'll try, my dear fellow; I can't be sure. By by!"
"Oh, you 're lost anyway!" cried Sidney Feeder, as the other started away.