Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

At half-past twelve next day Lord Henry Wotton strolled from Curzon
Street over to the Albany to call on his uncle, Lord Fermor,
a genial if somewhat rough-mannered old bachelor, whom the outside
world called selfish because it derived no particular benefit
from him, but who was considered generous by Society as he fed
the people who amused him. His father had been our ambassador
at Madrid when Isabella was young and Prim unthought of,
but had retired from the diplomatic service in a capricious
moment of annoyance on not being offered the Embassy at Paris,
a post to which he considered that he was fully entitled
by reason of his birth, his indolence, the good English
of his dispatches, and his inordinate passion for pleasure.
The son, who had been his father's secretary, had resigned along
with his chief, somewhat foolishly as was thought at the time,
and on succeeding some months later to the title, had set
himself to the serious study of the great aristocratic art
of doing absolutely nothing. He had two large town houses,
but preferred to live in chambers as it was less trouble,
and took most of his meals at his club. He paid some attention
to the management of his collieries in the Midland counties,
excusing himself for this taint of industry on the ground that
the one advantage of having coal was that it enabled a gentleman
to afford the decency of burning wood on his own hearth.
In politics he was a Tory, except when the Tories were in office,
during which period he roundly abused them for being a pack
of Radicals. He was a hero to his valet, who bullied him,
and a terror to most of his relations, whom he bullied in turn.
Only England could have produced him, and he always said
that the country was going to the dogs. His principles
were out of date, but there was a good deal to be said for
his prejudices.

When Lord Henry entered the room, he found his uncle sitting in a rough
shooting-coat, smoking a cheroot and grumbling over The Times.
"Well, Harry," said the old gentleman, "what brings you out so early?
I thought you dandies never got up till two, and were not visible
till five."

"Pure family affection, I assure you, Uncle George. I want to get
something out of you."

"Money, I suppose," said Lord Fermor, making a wry face.
"Well, sit down and tell me all about it. Young people,
nowadays, imagine that money is everything."

"Yes," murmured Lord Henry, settling his button-hole in his coat;
"and when they grow older they know it. But I don't want money.
It is only people who pay their bills who want that, Uncle George,
and I never pay mine. Credit is the capital of a younger son,
and one lives charmingly upon it. Besides, I always deal