London, whirled along by a horse that stepped out with a proud
consciousness of its master.

The Count Mirabel enjoyed the drive to Richmond as if he had never been
to Richmond in his life. The warm sun, the western breeze, every object
he passed and that passed him called for his praise or observation.
He inoculated Ferdinand with his gaiety, as Ferdinand listened to his
light, lively tales, and his flying remarks, so full of merriment and
poignant truth and daring fancy. When they had arrived at the Star and
Garter, and ordered their dinner, they strolled into the Park, along the
Terrace walk; and they had not proceeded fifty paces when they came up
with the duchess and her party, who were resting on a bench and looking
over the valley.

Ferdinand would gladly have bowed and passed on; but that was
impossible. He was obliged to stop and speak to them, and it was
difficult to disembarrass himself of friends who greeted him so kindly.
Ferdinand presented his companion. The ladies were charmed to know so
celebrated a gentleman, of whom they had heard so much. Count Mirabel,
who had the finest tact in the world, but whose secret spell, after all,
was perhaps only that he was always natural, adapted himself in a moment
to the characters, the scene, and the occasion. He was quite delighted
at these sources of amusement, that had so unexpectedly revealed
themselves; and in a few minutes they had all agreed to walk together,
and in due time the duchess was begging Ferdinand and his friend to dine
with them. Before Ferdinand could frame an excuse, Count Mirabel
had accepted the proposition. After passing the morning together so
agreeably, to go and dine in separate rooms, it would be a _betise_.
This word _betise_ settled everything with Count Mirabel; when once he
declared that anything was a _betise_, he would hear no more.

It was a charming stroll. Never was Count Mirabel more playful, more
engaging, more completely winning. Henrietta and Katherine alike smiled
upon him, and the duchess was quite enchanted. Even Lord Montfort, who
might rather have entertained a prejudice against the Count before he
knew him--though none could after--and who was prepared for something
rather brilliant, but pretending, presumptuous, fantastic, and affected,
quite yielded to his amiable gaiety, and his racy and thoroughly genuine
and simple manner. So they walked and talked and laughed, and all
agreed that it was the most fortunately fine