Venetia soon found that she must bid adieu for ever, in London, to her old habits of solitude. She soon discovered that she was never to be alone. Her aunt called upon them early in the morning, and said that the whole day must be devoted to their court dresses; and in a few minutes they were all whirled off to a celebrated milliner’s. After innumerable consultations and experiments, the dress of Venetia was decided on; her aunt and Lady Annabel were both assured that it would exceed in splendour and propriety any dress at the drawing-room. Indeed, as the great artist added, with such a model to work from it would reflect but little credit on the establishment, if any approached Miss Herbert in the effect she must inevitably produce.

While her mother was undergoing some of those attentions to which Venetia had recently submitted, and had retired for a few minutes into an adjoining apartment, our little lady of Cherbury strolled about the saloon in which she had been left, until her attention was attracted by a portrait of a young man in an oriental dress, standing very sublimely amid the ruins of some desert city; a palm tree in the distance, and by his side a crouching camel, and some recumbent followers slumbering amid the fallen columns.

‘That is Lord Cadurcis, my love,’ said her aunt, who at the moment joined her, ‘the famous poet. All the young ladies are in love with him. I dare say you know his works by heart.’

‘No, indeed, aunt,’ said Venetia; ‘I have never even read them; but I should like very much.’

‘Not read Lord Cadurcis’ poems! Oh! we must go and get them directly for you. Everybody reads them. You will be looked upon quite as a little barbarian. We will stop the carriage at Stockdale’s, and get them for you.’

At this moment Lady Annabel rejoined them; and, having made all their arrangements, they reentered the carriage.

‘Stop at Stockdale’s,’ said her ladyship to the servant; ‘I must get Cadurcis’ last poem for Venetia. She will be quite back in her learning, Annabel.’

‘Cadurcis’ last poem!’ said Lady Annabel; ‘do you mean Lord Cadurcis? Is he a poet?’

‘To he sure! Well, you are countrified not to know Lord Cadurcis!’

‘I know him very well,’ said Lady Annabel, gravely; ‘but I did not know he was a poet.’

The Countess laughed, the carriage stopped, the book was brought; Lady Annabel looked uneasy, and tried to catch her daughter’s countenance, but, strange to say, for the first time in her life was quite unsuccessful. The Countess took the book, and immediately gave it Venetia. ‘There, my dear,’ said her aunt, ‘there never was anything so charming. I am so provoked that Cadurcis is a Whig.’

‘A Whig!’ said Lady Annabel; ‘he was not a Whig when I knew him.’

‘Oh! my dear, I am afraid he is worse than a Whig. He is almost a rebel! But then he is such a genius! Everything is allowed, you know, to a genius!’ said the thoughtless sister-in-law.

Lady Annabel was silent; but the stillness of her emotion must not be judged from the stillness of her tongue. Her astonishment at all she had heard was only equalled by what we may justly term her horror. It was impossible that she could have listened to any communication at the same time so astounding, and to her so fearful.

‘We knew Lord Cadurcis when he was very young, aunt,’ said Venetia, in a quiet tone. ‘He lived near mamma, in the country.’

‘Oh! my dear Annabel, if you see him in town bring him to me; he is the most difficult person in the world to get to one’s house, and I would give anything if he would come and dine with me.’

The Countess at last set her relations down at their hotel. When Lady Annabel was once more alone with her daughter, she said, ‘Venetia, dearest, give me that book your aunt lent you.’

Venetia immediately handed it to her, but her mother did not open it; but saying, ‘The Bishop dines at four, darling; I think it is time for us to dress,’ Lady Annabel left the room.

To say the truth, Venetia was less surprised than disappointed by this conduct of her mother’s; but she was not apt t............