ns, the house
she always wished, always intended to have. There is nothing like will;
everybody can do exactly what they like in this world, provided they
really like it. Sometimes they think they do, but in general, it is a
mistake. Lady Montfort, it seemed, was a woman who always could do what
she liked. She could do what she liked with Endymion Ferrars; that
was quite certain. Supposed by men to have a strong will and a calm
judgment, he was a nose of wax with this woman. He was fascinated by
her, and he had been fascinated now for nearly ten years. What would be
the result of this irresistible influence upon him? Would it make or
mar those fortunes that once seemed so promising? The philosophers
of White's and the Coventry were generally of opinion that he had no
chance.

Lady Montfort was busy every morning with her new house, but she never
asked Endymion to accompany her, though it seemed natural to do so.
But he saw her every day, and "papa," who was a most kind and courtly
gentleman, would often ask him, "if he had nothing better to do," to
dine there, and he dined there frequently; and if he were engaged, he
was always of opinion that he had nothing better to do.

At last, however, the season was over; the world had gone to Goodwood,
and Lady Montfort was about to depart to Princedown. It was a dreary
prospect for Endymion, and he could not conceal his feelings. He could
not help saying one day, "Do you know, now that you are going I almost
wish to die."

Alas! she only laughed. But he looked grave. "I am very unhappy," he
sighed rather than uttered.

She looked at him with seriousness. "I do not think our separation need
be very long. Papa and all my family are coming to me in September to
pay me a very long visit. I really do not see why you should not come
too."

Endymion's countenance mantled with rapture. "If I might come, I think I
should be the happiest of men!"

The month that was to elapse before his visit, Endymion was really, as
he said, the happiest of men; at least, the world thought him so.
He seemed to walk upon tip-toe. Parliament was prorogued, office was
consigned to permanent secretaries, and our youthful statesman seemed
only to live to enjoy, and add to, the revelry of existence. Now
at Cowes, now stalking in the Highlands, dancing at balls in the
wilderness, and running races of fantastic feats, full of health, and
frolic, and charm; he was the delight of society, while, the whole