"Hyde is exactly the man to invite me to meet him in Marylebone Fields
for the answer," said a young officer, who had been urged to make
inquiries because he was on familiar terms with his comrade. "If it
comes to a matter of catechism, gentlemen, I'll bet ten to one that none
of you ask him two consecutive questions regarding the American lady."
And perhaps many husbands may be able to understand a fact which to the
general world seems beyond satisfactory explanation. Hyde loved his
wife, loved her tenderly and constantly; he felt himself to be a better
man whenever he thought of her and his little son, and he thought of
them very frequently; and yet his eyes, his actions, the tones of his
voice, daily led his cousin, Lady Suffolk, to imagine herself the
empress of his heart and life. Nor was it to her alone that he permitted
this affectation of love. He found beauty, wherever he met it,
provocative of the same apparent devotion. There were a dozen men in his
own circle who hated him with all the sincerity that jealousy gives to
dislike and envy; there were a score of women who believed themselves to
have private tokens of Hyde's special admiration for them.
Unfortunately, his military duties were only on very rare occasions any
restraint to him. His days were mainly spent in dangling after Lady
Suffolk and other fair dames. It was auctions at Christie's, and morning
concerts, and afternoon rides and plays, and dinners and balls and
masks at Ranelagh's. It was sails down the river to Richmond, and trips
to Sadler's Wells, and one perpetual round of flirting and folly, of
dressing and dancing and dining and gaming.
And it must be remembered that the English women of that day were such
as England may well hope never to see again. They had little education:
many very great ladies could hardly read and spell properly. Their sole
accomplishments were dressing and embroidery; the ability to make a few
delicate dishes for the table, and scents and pomade for the toilet. In
the higher classes they married for money or position, and gave
themselves up to intrigue. They drank deeply; they played high; they
very seldom went to church, for Sunday was the fashionable day for all
kinds of frivolity and amusement. And as the men of any generation are
just what the women make them, England never had sons so profligate, so
profane and drunken. The clubs, especially Brooke's, were the nightly
scenes of indescribable orgies. Gambling alone was their serious
occupation; duels were of constant occurrence.