her return to
London. "It is exactly what I wished," she said. "I wanted you to be
private secretary to a cabinet minister, and if I were to choose any
one, except, of course, my lord, it would be Mr. Wilton. He is a perfect
gentleman, and was dear papa's friend. I understand you will have three
hundred a year to begin with, and the same amount as his secretary.
You ought to be able to live with ease and propriety on six hundred a
year--and this reminds me of what I have been thinking of before we went
to Gaydene. I think now you ought to have a more becoming residence. The
Rodneys are good people, I do not doubt, and I dare say we shall have
an opportunity of proving our sense of their services; but they are not
exactly the people that I care for you to live with, and, at any rate,
you cannot reside any longer in a garret. I have taken some chambers
in the Albany, therefore, for you, and they shall be my contribution to
your housekeeping. They are not badly furnished, but they belonged to
an old general officer, and are not very new-fashioned; but we will go
together and see them to-morrow, and I dare say I shall soon be able to
make them _comme il faut_."

CHAPTER XLVIII

This considerable rise in the life of Endymion, after the first
excitement occasioned by its announcement to him had somewhat subsided,
was not contemplated by him with unmixed feelings of satisfaction. It
seemed to terminate many relations of life, the value of which he had
always appreciated, but which now, with their impending conclusion,
he felt, and felt keenly, had absolutely contributed to his happiness.
There was no great pang in quitting his fellow-clerks, except Trenchard,
whom he greatly esteemed. But poor little Warwick Street had been to
him a real home, if unvarying kindness, and sedulous attention, and the
affection of the eyes and heart, as well as of the mouth, can make a
hearth. He hoped he might preserve the friendship of Waldershare, which
their joint intimacy with the prince would favour; but still he could
hardly flatter himself that the delightful familiarity of their past
lives could subsist. Endymion sighed, and then he sighed again. He felt
sad. Because he was leaving the humble harbour of refuge, the entrance
to which, even in the darkest hour of his fallen fortunes, was thought
somewhat of an indignity, and was about to assume a position which would
not have altogether misbecome the earliest expectations of his life?