had first learned to dress, indeed, when Bond Street was at its acme, and
Brummell in his pride. He still retained in his garb the fashion of his
youth; only what then had spoken of the town, now betrayed the life of
the country. His neckcloth ample and high, and of snowy whiteness, set
off to comely advantage a face smooth-shaven, and of clear florid hues;
his coat of royal blue, with buttons in which you might have seen
yourself "veluti in speculum", was rather jauntily buttoned across a
waist that spoke of lusty middle age, free from the ambition, the
avarice, and the anxieties that fret Londoners into thread-papers; his
small-clothes, of grayish drab, loose at the thigh and tight at the knee,
were made by Brummell's own breeches-maker, and the gaiters to match
(thrust half-way down the calf), had a manly dandyism that would have
done honour to the beau-ideal of a county member. The profession of this
gentleman's companion was unmistakable,--the shovel-hat, the clerical cut
of the coat, the neckcloth without collar, that seemed made for its
accessory the band, and something very decorous, yet very mild, in the
whole mien of this personage, all spoke of one who was every inch the
gentleman and the parson.

"No," said the portlier of these two persons,--"no, I can't say I like
Frank's looks at all. There's certainly something on his mind. However,
I suppose it will be all out this evening."

"He dines with you at your hotel, Squire? Well, you must be kind to him.
We can't put old heads upon young shoulders."

"I don't object to his bead being young," returned the squire; "but I
wish he had a little of Randal Leslie's good sense in it. I see how it
will end; I must take him back to the country; and if he wants
occupation, why, he shall keep the hounds, and I'll put him into Brooksby