time, but which boys, when they have become men, often think over with
gratitude, and a little remorse at the ungracious spirit in which they
were received. Not even the dancing-master had afforded his mechanical aid
to Coningsby, who, like all Eton boys of his generation, viewed that
professor of accomplishments with frank repugnance. But even in the
boisterous life of school, Coningsby, though his style was free and
flowing, was always well-bred. His spirit recoiled from that gross
familiarity that is the characteristic of modern manners, and which would
destroy all forms and ceremonies merely because they curb and control
their own coarse convenience and ill-disguised selfishness. To women,
however, Coningsby instinctively bowed, as to beings set apart for
reverence and delicate treatment. Little as his experience was of them,
his spirit had been fed with chivalrous fancies, and he entertained for
them all the ideal devotion of a Surrey or a Sydney. Instructed, if not
learned, as books and thought had already made him in men, he could not
conceive that there were any other women in the world than fair Geraldines
and Countesses of Pembroke.

There was not a country-house in England that had so completely the air of
habitual residence as Beaumanoir. It is a charming trait, and very rare.
In many great mansions everything is as stiff, formal, and tedious, as if
your host were a Spanish grandee in the days of the Inquisition. No ease,
no resources; the passing life seems a solemn spectacle in which you play
a part. How delightful was the morning room at Beaumanoir; from which
gentlemen were not excluded with that assumed suspicion that they can
never enter it but for felonious purposes. Such a profusion of flowers!
Such a multitude of books! Such a various prodigality of writing
materials! So many easy chairs too, of so many shapes; each in itself a
comfortable home; yet nothing crowded. Woman alone can organise a drawing-
room; man succeeds sometimes in a library. And the ladies' work! How