he said, "is the finest thing I ever heard. I am so
happy that I am not going to leave Brentham to-morrow. There is no place
in the world that I think equal to Brentham."

"And I love it, too, and no other place," she replied; "and I should be
quite happy if I never left it."

CHAPTER 5

Lord Montairy was passionately devoted to croquet. He flattered himself
that he was the most accomplished male performer existing. He would have
thought absolutely the most accomplished, were it not for the unrivalled
feats of Lady Montairy. She was the queen of croquet. Her sisters
also used the mallet with admirable skill, but not like Georgina. Lord
Montairy always looked forward to his summer croquet at Brentham. It
was a great croquet family, the Brentham family; even listless Lord St.
Aldegonde would sometimes play, with a cigar never out of his mouth.
They did not object to his smoking in the air. On the contrary, "they
rather liked it." Captain Mildmay, too, was a brilliant hand, and had
written a treatise on croquet--the best going.

There was a great croquet-party one morning at Brentham. Some neighbors
had been invited who loved the sport. Mr. Blenkinsop a grave young
gentleman, whose countenance never relaxed while he played, and who was
understood, to give his mind entirely up to croquet. He was the owner
of the largest estate in the county, and it was thought would have very
much liked to have allied himself with one of the young ladies of the
house of Brentham; but these flowers were always plucked so quickly,
that his relations with the distinguished circle never grew more
intimate than croquet. He drove over with some fine horses, and several
cases and bags containing instruments and weapons for the fray. His
sister came with him, who had forty thousand pounds, but, they said, in
some mysterious manner dependent on his consent to her marriage; and
it was added that Mr. Blenkinsop would not allow his sister to marry
because he would miss her so much in his favorite pastime. There were
some other morning visitors, and one or two young curates in cassocks.

It seemed to Lothair a game of great deliberation and of more interest
than gayety, though sometimes a cordial cheer, and sometimes a ringing
laugh of amiable derision, notified a signal triumph or a disastrous
failure. But the scene was brilliant: a marvellous lawn, the duchess's
Turkish tent with its rich hangings, and the players themselves, the
prettiest