Cashel Byron's Profession

Alice was more at her ease during the remnant of the London season.

Though she had been proud of her connection with Lydia, she had

always felt eclipsed in her presence; and now that Lydia was gone,

the pride remained and the sense of inferiority was forgotten. Her

freedom emboldened and improved her. She even began to consider her

own judgment a safer guide in the affairs of every day than the

example of her patroness.

Had she not been right in declaring Cashel

Byron an ignorant and common man when Lydia, in spite of her

warning, had actually invited him to visit them? And now all the

newspapers were confirming the opinion she had been trying to

impress on Lydia for months past. On the evening of the

assault-at-arms, the newsmen had shouted through the streets,

"Disgraceful scene between two pugilists at Islington in the

presence of the African king." Next day the principal journals

commented on the recent attempt to revive the brutal pastime of

prize-fighting; accused the authorities of conniving at it, and

called on them to put it down at once with a strong hand. "Unless,"

said a clerical organ, "this plague-spot be rooted out from our

midst, it will no longer be possible for our missionaries to pretend

that England is the fount of the Gospel of Peace." Alice collected

these papers, and forwarded them to Wiltstoken.

On this subject one person at least shared her bias. Whenever she

met Lucian Webber, they talked about Cashel, invariably coming to

the conclusion that though the oddity of his behavior had gratified

Lydia's unfortunate taste for eccentricity, she had never regarded

him with serious interest, and would not now, under any

circumstances, renew her intercourse with him. Lucian found little

solace in these conversations, and generally suffered from a vague

sense of meanness after them. Yet next time they met he would drift

into discussing Cashel over again; and he always rewarded Alice for

the admirable propriety of her views by dancing at least three times

with her when dancing was the business of the evening. The dancing

was still less congenial than the conversation. Lucian, who had at

all times too much of the solemnity of manner for which Frenchmen

reproach Englishmen, danced stiffly and unskilfully. Alice, whose

muscular power and energy were superior to anything of the kind that

Mr. Mellish could artificially produce, longed for swift motion and

violent exercise, and, even with an expert partner, could hardly

tame herself to the quietude of dancing as practised in London. When

waltzing with Lucian she felt as though she were carrying a stick

round the room in the awkward fashion in which Punch carries his

baton. In spite of her impression that he was a man of unusually

correct morals and great political importance, and greatly to be

considered in private life because he was Miss Carew's cousin, it

was hard to spend quarter-hours with him that some of the best

dancers in London asked for.