Chapter 19

CHAPTER XIX.

Henry Wimbush's long cigar burned aromatically. The "History of
Crome" lay on his knee; slowly he turned over the pages.

"I can't decide what episode to read you to-night," he said
thoughtfully. "Sir Ferdinando's voyages are not without
interest. Then, of course, there's his son, Sir Julius. It was
he who suffered from the delusion that his perspiration
engendered flies; it drove him finally to suicide. Or there's
Sir Cyprian." He turned the pages more rapidly. "Or Sir Henry.
Or Sir George...No, I'm inclined to think I won't read about any
of these."

"But you must read something," insisted Mr. Scogan, taking his
pipe out of his mouth.

"I think I shall read about my grandfather," said Henry Wimbush,
"and the events that led up to his marriage with the eldest
daughter of the last Sir Ferdinando."

"Good," said Mr. Scogan. "We are listening."

"Before I begin reading," said Henry Wimbush, looking up from the
book and taking off the pince-nez which he had just fitted to his
nose--"before their begin, I must say a few preliminary words
about Sir Ferdinando, the last of the Lapiths. At the death of
the virtuous and unfortunate Sir Hercules, Ferdinando found
himself in possession of the family fortune, not a little
increased by his father's temperance and thrift; he applied
himself forthwith to the task of spending it, which he did in an
ample and jovial fashion. By the time he was forty he had eaten
and, above all, drunk and loved away about half his capital, and
would infallibly have soon got rid of the rest in the same
manner, if he had not had the good fortune to become so madly
enamoured of the Rector's daughter as to make a proposal of
marriage. The young lady accepted him, and in less than a year
had become the absolute mistress of Crome and her husband. An
extraordinary reformation made itself apparent in Sir
Ferdinando's character. He grew regular and economical in his
habits; he even became temperate, rarely drinking more than a
bottle and a half of port at a sitting. The waning fortune of
the Lapiths began once more to wax, and that in despite of the
hard times (for Sir Ferdinando married in 1809 in the height of
the Napoleonic Wars). A prosperous and dignified old age,
cheered by the spectacle of his children's growth and happiness--
for Lady Lapith had already borne him three daughters, and there
seemed no good reason why she should not bear many more of them,
and sons as well--a patriarchal decline into the family vault,
seemed now to be Sir Ferdinando's enviable destiny. But
Providence willed otherwise. To Napoleon, cause already of such
infinite mischief, was due, though perhaps indirectly, the
untimely and violent death