Chapter 14 - Page 2

Cashel, derisively, catching
the letter as she tossed it disdainfully to him.

"If I was I'd respect myself more than to throw myself at YOUR
head."

"Hush, Fanny," said Mrs. Skene; "you're too sharp. Ned, you oughtn't
to encourage her by laughing."

Next day Cashel rose early, went for a walk, paid extra attention to
his diet, took some exercise with the gloves, had a bath and a rub
down, and presented himself at Regent's Park at three o'clock in
excellent condition. Expecting to see Bashville, he was surprised
when the door was opened by a female servant.

"Miss Carew at home?"

"Yes, sir," said the girl, falling in love with him at first sight.
"Mr. Byron, sir?"

"That's me," said Cashel. "I say, is there any one with her?"

"Only a lady, sir."

"Oh, d--n! Well, it can't be helped. Never say die."

The girl led him then to a door, opened it, and when he entered shut
it softly without announcing him. The room in which he found himself
was a long one, lighted from the roof. The walls were hung with
pictures. At the far end, with their backs towards him, were two
ladies: Lydia, and a woman whose noble carriage and elegant form
would, have raised hopes of beauty in a man less preoccupied than
Cashel. But he, after advancing some distance with his eyes on
Lydia, suddenly changed countenance, stopped, and was actually
turning to fly, when the ladies, hearing his light step, faced about
and rooted him to the spot. As Lydia offered him her hand, her
companion, who had surveyed the visitor first with indifference, and
then with incredulous surprise, exclaimed, with a burst of delighted
recognition, like a child finding a long-lost plaything, "My darling
boy!" And going to Cashel with the grace of a swan, she clasped him
in her arms. In acknowledgment of which he thrust his red,
discomfited face over her shoulder, winked at Lydia with his tongue
in his cheek, and said,

"This is what you may call the voice of nature, and no mistake."

"What a splendid creature you are!" said Mrs. Byron, holding him a
little way from her, the better to admire him. "Do you know how
handsome you are, you wretch?"

"How d'ye do, Miss Carew," said Cashel, breaking loose, and turning
to Lydia. "Never mind her; it's only my mother. At least," he added,
as if correcting himself, "she's my mamma."

"And where have you come from? Where have you been? Do you know that
I have not seen you for seven years, you unnatural boy? Think of his
being my son, Miss Carew. Give me another kiss, my own," she