ntury. It was a
maxim in this family to make great alliances; so the blood progressively
refined, and the connections were always distinguished by power and
fashion. It was a great hit, in the second generation of an earldom,
to convert the coronet into that of a marquis; but the son of the old
chancellor lived in stirring times, and cruised for his object with the
same devoted patience with which Lord Anson watched for the galleon. It
came at last, as everything does if men are firm and calm. The present
marquis, through his ancestry and his first wife, was allied with the
highest houses of the realm and looked their peer. He might have
been selected as the personification of aristocracy: so noble was his
appearance, so distinguished his manner; his bow gained every eye, his
smile every heart. He was also very accomplished, and not ill-informed;
had read a little, and thought a little, and was in every respect a most
superior man; alike famed for his favour by the fair, and the constancy
of his homage to the charming Lady Marney.

Lord Deloraine was not very rich; but he was not embarrassed, and had
the appearance of princely wealth; a splendid family mansion with a
courtyard; a noble country-seat with a magnificent park, including
a quite celebrated lake, but with very few farms attached to it.
He however held a good patent place which had been conferred on his
descendants by the old chancellor, and this brought in annually some
thousands. His marriage with Lady Marney was quite an affair of the
heart; her considerable jointure however did not diminish the lustre of
his position.

It was this impending marriage, and the anxiety of Lady Marney to see
Egremont's affairs settled before it took place, which about a year
and a half ago had induced her to summon him so urgently from Mowedale,
which the reader perhaps may have not forgotten. And now Egremont is
paying one of his almost daily visits to his mother at Deloraine House.

"A truce to politics, my dear Charles," said Lady Marney; "you must be
wearied with my inquiries. Besides, I do not take the sanguine view
of affairs in which some of our friends indulge. I am one of those who
think the pear is not ripe. These men will totter on, and longer
perhaps than even themselves imagine. I want to speak of something
very different. To-morrow, my dear son, is your birth-day. Now I should
grieve were it to pass without your receiving something which showed
that its recoll