In this position now stood Lord Vargrave: supported by interested, but
able and powerful partisans; hated in the country, feared by some of
those with whom he served, despised by others, looked up to by the rest.
It was a situation that less daunted than delighted him; for it seemed to
render necessary and excuse the habits of scheming and manoeuvre which
were so genial to his crafty and plotting temper. Like an ancient Greek,
his spirit loved intrigue for intrigue's sake. Had it led to no end, it
would still have been sweet to him as a means. He rejoiced to surround
himself with the most complicated webs and meshes; to sit in the centre
of a million plots. He cared not how rash and wild some of them were.
He relied on his own ingenuity, promptitude, and habitual good fortune to
make every spring he handled conducive to the purpose of the
machine--SELF.

His last visit to Lady Vargrave, and his conversation with Evelyn, had
left on his mind much dissatisfaction and fear. In the earlier years of
his intercourse with Evelyn, his good humour, gallantry, and presents had
not failed to attach the child to the agreeable and liberal visitor she
had been taught to regard as a relation. It was only as she grew up to
womanhood, and learned to comprehend the nature of the tie between them,
that she shrank from his familiarity; and then only had he learned to
doubt of the fulfilment of his uncle's wish. The last visit had
increased this doubt to a painful apprehension. He saw that he was not
loved; he saw that it required great address, and the absence of happier
rivals, to secure to him the hand of Evelyn; and he cursed the duties and
the schemes which necessarily kept him from her side. He had thought of
persuading Lady Vargrave to let her come to London, where he could be
ever at hand; and as the season was now set in, his representations on
this head would appear sensible and just. But then again this was to
incur greater dangers than those he would avoid. London!--a beauty and