^54 THE MASTER OP THE HOUNDS. 



sister's kindness), had let fall certain hints in her confidentia, 

 communications to Constance, which revealed the nature of her 

 feelings towards William Beauchamp. Constance again, in joke, 

 had warned Blanche of the danger to be apprehended from this 

 formidable rival. 



" Keally, Blanche," she observed one day, " I don't like 

 leaving William behind us, at the mercy of mother and 

 daughter ; for what with bags of money on one side, which are 

 daily increasing in number, and such winning smiles, on the 

 other, from the young lady, who has evidently made up her 

 mind to have the young squire, whether he will or no, we are 

 in what I call rather a disagreeable lix." 



" Don't talk so absurdly, Constance," replied Blanche ; " as 

 if WilMam would marry a brewer's daughter, to be saddled with 

 Buch a vulgar mother-in-law, for a hundred thousand a year, 

 instead of as many thousand pounds." 



" I'm not afraid of his being tempted by money bags, my 

 dear Blanche ; but by the bewitching smiles of that little Siren 

 Honoria, who, it must be confessed, sings and plays beautifully, 

 and is much more highly accomplished than I had any concep- 

 tion of before her visit to Bampton." 



"Then, Constance, his professions of love and attachment to 

 me would be a hollow pretence," replied Blanche. 



" Come, sister dear, don't take my jokes in earnest, and 

 visit my raillery on poor, dear AVilliam's head, who, I believe, 

 will ever prove as constant, and turn as true to Blanche 

 Douglas, as the needle to the Pole. Don't fear, my love, that 

 the wealth of Croesus, or the beauty of Hebe, could shake 

 William's loyalty ; but you must ask him to join us in London, 

 and that will be sufficient to ensure his presence." 



The day before the breaking-up of the establishment at the 

 Priory, Beauchamp rode over early and inflicted a long lecture 

 on Blanche, which he deemed necessary previous to her first 

 entrance on this new sphere, so surrounded with allurements 

 and temptations. 



"The routine of fashionable life in London, my dear girl, 

 said he, " is comprehended in one word — dissipation. Night 

 there is turned into day, and morning into night. You dine 

 at eight o'clock in the evening, go at ten or eleven to balls and 

 parties, which generally last till three or four o'clock in the 

 morning ; come home tired and fevered with the heat of the 

 rooms, and retire to yaur roost when the birds have left theirs 

 to warble forth thei»T matutinal songs. Breakfast about eleven ; 



