Cashel Byron's Profession

"It is short, and not particularly sweet," said Fanny. "She might

have had the civility to put her crest at the top."

"What would you give to be her?" said Cashel, derisively, catching

the letter as she tossed it disdainfully to him.

"If I was I'd respect myself more than to throw myself at YOUR

head."

"Hush, Fanny," said Mrs. Skene; "you're too sharp. Ned, you oughtn't

to encourage her by laughing."

Next day Cashel rose early, went for a walk, paid extra attention to

his diet, took some exercise with the gloves, had a bath and a rub

down, and presented himself at Regent's Park at three o'clock in

excellent condition. Expecting to see Bashville, he was surprised

when the door was opened by a female servant.

"Miss Carew at home?"

"Yes, sir," said the girl, falling in love with him at first sight.

"Mr. Byron, sir?"

"That's me," said Cashel. "I say, is there any one with her?"

"Only a lady, sir."

"Oh, d--n! Well, it can't be helped. Never say die."

The girl led him then to a door, opened it, and when he entered shut

it softly without announcing him. The room in which he found himself

was a long one, lighted from the roof. The walls were hung with

pictures. At the far end, with their backs towards him, were two

ladies: Lydia, and a woman whose noble carriage and elegant form

would, have raised hopes of beauty in a man less preoccupied than

Cashel. But he, after advancing some distance with his eyes on

Lydia, suddenly changed countenance, stopped, and was actually

turning to fly, when the ladies, hearing his light step, faced about

and rooted him to the spot. As Lydia offered him her hand, her

companion, who had surveyed the visitor first with indifference, and

then with incredulous surprise, exclaimed, with a burst of delighted

recognition, like a child finding a long-lost plaything, "My darling

boy!" And going to Cashel with the grace of a swan, she clasped him

in her arms. In acknowledgment of which he thrust his red,

discomfited face over her shoulder, winked at Lydia with his tongue

in his cheek, and said, "This is what you may call the voice of nature, and no mistake."

"What a splendid creature you are!" said Mrs. Byron, holding him a

little way from her, the better to admire him. "Do you know how

handsome you are, you wretch?"