Helena weekly herald. [volume] (Helena, Mont.) 1867-1900, 1886-02-25
CHAPTER III.


'My nephewr' Lady Lydiard exclaimed,
In a tone which expressed establishment, but
certainly not pleasure as well. 'How many
years is it since you and l last metH' she
asked, in her abruptly straightforward way
as Mr.. Felix Sweetsir approached her writ
ing table
The visitor was not a person easily dis
couraged. He took Lady Lydiard's hand,
and kissed it with easy grace. A shade of
irony was in his manner, agreeably relieved
by playful fash of tenderness.
years, my dear aunt? he said 'Look in
your glass, and you will see that time has
stood still since we met last. How wonder
fully well you wearl Whn shall we cele-
brate the appearance of your first wrinklei
am too old; shall never live to see it.
He took an easy chair, unlimited, placed
himself close at his aunt's side, and ran his
eye over her ill-chosen dress with an air of
satirical admiration "How perfectly sue
cessful p he said, with his well-bred insolence
"What chaste gayety of color!"
''What do you want!" asked her ladyship,
not in the least softened by the compliment.
II want to pay my respects to my dear
aunt" Felix answered, perfectly impene-
trable to his ungracious reception, and per-
fectly comfortable in spacious armchair.
No pen-and-ink portrait need surely be
drawn of Felix Sweetsir-he is too we'll
known picture in society. The little, 1.-THE
man, with his bright, restless eyes, and his
long iron-gray hair falling in curls to his
shoulders; his airy step and his cordial man
ner; his uncertain age his innumerable ac-
complishments, and his unbounded popu-
larity-is he not familiar everywhere and
welcome everywhere? How gratefully he
receives how prodigally he repays, the cor
dial appreciation of an admiring world!
Every man he knows is "a charming fellow"
Every woman he sees is "sweetly prettyn
What picnics he gives on the banks of the
Thames in the summer seasonl What we'll
earned little income he derives from the
whist table! What an inestimable actor he
is at private theatricals of all sorts (vved-
dings included) Did you never read Sweet
sir's novel, dashed off in the intervals of
curative perspiratlon at a German bath!
Then you don't know what brilliant fiction
really is He has never written a second
work; he does everything, and only does it
once One song-the despair of professional
composers. One pictme-just to show how
easily gentleman can take up an art and
drop it again. A really multiform man, with
all the graces and all the accomplishments
scintillating perpetually at his fingers ends.
If these poor pages have achieved nothing
else they have done a service to persons not
in society by presenting them to Sweetsir.
In his gracious company the narrative
brig ghtens; and writer and reader catching
reflected brilliancy) understand each other
at last, thanks to Sweetsir
'Well," said Lady Lydiard, ''now you are
here, what have you got to say for yourselfs
You have been abroad, of course. Whereg"
principally at Paris, my dear aunt. The
only place that is fit to live in-for this excel
lent reason, that the French are the only
people who know how to make the most of
life. One has relations and friends in Eng
land; and every now and then one returns to
London"
"When one has spent all ones money in
Paris" her ladyship interposed- That's
what you were going to say, isn't it!'