of the noble house from which he had been so long estranged, and at length
to assume that social position to which his lineage entitled him.
Manliness might support, affection might soothe, the happy anguish of such
a meeting; but it was undoubtedly one of those situations which stir up
the deep fountains of our nature, and before which the conventional
proprieties of our ordinary manners instantaneously vanish.

Coningsby with an uncertain step followed his guide through a bed-chamber,
the sumptuousness of which he could not notice, into the dressing-room of
Lord Monmouth. Mr. Rigby, facing Coningsby as he entered, was leaning over
the back of a large chair, from which as Coningsby was announced by the
valet, the Lord of the house slowly rose, for he was suffering slightly
from the gout, his left hand resting on an ivory stick. Lord Monmouth was
in height above the middle size, but somewhat portly and corpulent. His
countenance was strongly marked; sagacity on the brow, sensuality in the
mouth and jaw. His head was bald, but there were remains of the rich brown
locks on which he once prided himself. His large deep blue eye, madid and
yet piercing, showed that the secretions of his brain were apportioned,
half to voluptuousness, half to common sense. But his general mien was
truly grand; full of a natural nobility, of which no one was more sensible
than himself. Lord Monmouth was not in dishabille; on the contrary, his
costume was exact, and even careful. Rising as we have mentioned when his
grandson entered, and leaning with his left hand on his ivory cane, he
made Coningsby such a bow as Louis Quatorze might have bestowed on the
ambassador of the United Provinces. Then extending his right hand, which
the boy tremblingly touched, Lord Monmouth said:

'How do you like Eton?'

This contrast to the reception which he had imagined, hoped, feared,