It was the first night that Lothair had slept in his own house, and, when he awoke in the morning, he was quite bewildered, and thought for a moment he was in the Palazzo Agostini. He had not reposed in so spacious and lofty a chamber since he was at Rome. And this brought all his recollection to his Roman life, and every thing that had happened there. “And yet, after all,” he said, “had it not been for Clare Arundel, I should never have seen Muriel House. I owe to her my life.” His relations with the St. Jerome family were doubtless embarrassing, even painful; and yet his tender and susceptible nature could not for a moment tolerate that he should passively submit to an estrangement from those who had conferred on him so much kindness, and whose ill-considered and injurious courses, as he now esteemed them, were perhaps, and probably, influenced and inspired by exalted, even sacred motives.
He wondered whether they were in London; and, if so, what should he do? Should he call, or should he write? He wished he could do something to show to Miss Arundel how much he appreciated her kindness, and how grateful he was. She was a fine creature, and all her errors were noble ones; enthusiasm, energy, devotion to a sublime cause. Errors, but are these errors? Are they not, on the contrary, qualities which should command admiration in any one? and in a woman—and a beautiful woman—more than admiration?
There is always something to worry you. It comes as regularly as sunrise. Here was Lothair under his own roof again, after strange and trying vicissitudes, with his health restored, his youth little diminished, with some strange memories and many sweet ones; on the whole, once more in great prosperity, and yet his mind harped only on one vexing thought, and that was his painful and perplexed relations with the St. Jerome family.
His thoughts were a little distracted from this harassing theme by the novelty of his house, and the pleasure it gave him. He admired the double staircase and the somewhat heavy, yet richly-carved ceilings; and the look into the park, shadowy and green, with a rich summer sun, and the palace in the distance. What an agreeable contrast to his hard, noisy sojourn in a bran-new, brobdingnagian hotel, as was his coarse fate when he was launched into London life! This made him think of many comforts for which he ought to be grateful, and then he remembered Muriel Towers, and how completely and capitally every thing was there prepared and appointed, and while he was thinking over all this—and kindly of the chief author of these satisfactory arrangements, and the instances in which that individual had shown, not merely professional dexterity and devotion, but some of the higher qualities that make life sweet and pleasant—Mr. Putney Giles was announced, and Lothair sprang forward and gave him his hand with a cordiality which repaid at once that perfect but large-hearted lawyer for all his exertions, and some anxieties that he had never expressed even to Apollonia.
Nothing in life is more remarkable than the unnecessary anxiety which we endure, and generally, occasion ourselves. Between four and five o’clock, having concluded his long conference with Mr. Putney Giles, Lothair, as if he were travelling the principal street of a foreign town, or rather treading on tiptoe like a prince in some enchanted castle, ventured to walk down St. James Street, and the very first person he met was Lord St. Jerome!
Nothing could be more unaffectedly hearty than his greeting by that good man and thorough gentleman. “I saw, by the Post, you had arrived,” said Lord St. Jerome, “and we were all saying at breakfast how glad we should be to see you again. And looking so well! Quite yourself! I never saw you looking better. You have been to Egypt with Lord St. Aldegonde, I think? It was the wisest thing you could do. I said to Gertrude, when you went to Sicily, ‘If I were Lothair, I would go a good deal farther than Sicily.’ You wanted change of scene and air, more than any man I know.”
“And how are they all?” said Lothair; “my first visit will be to them.”
“And they will be delighted to see you. Lady St. Jerome is a little indisposed—a cold caught at one of her bazaars. She will hold them, and they say that no one ever sells so much. But still, as I often say, ‘My dear Gertrude, would it not be better if I were to give you a check for the institution; it would be the same to them, and would save you a great deal of trouble.’ But she fancies her presence inspires others, and perhaps there is something in it.”
“I doubt not; and Miss Arundel?”
“Clare is quite well, and I am hurrying home now to ride with her. I shall tell her that you asked after her.”
“And offer her my kindest remembrances.”
“What a relief!” exclaimed Lothair, when once more alone.............