The Tale of Chloe | Page 4

edge which
they are desirous of blunting; the old contrariwise. The cry of the
young for pleasure is actually--I have studied their language--a cry for
burdens. Curious! And the old ones cry for having too many on their
shoulders: which is not astonishing. Between them they make an
agreeable concert both to charm the ears and guide the steps of the
philosopher, whose wisdom it is to avoid their tracks.'
'Good. But I have asked you for practical advice, and you give me an
essay.'
'For the reason, duke, that you propose a case that suggests hanging.
You mention two things impossible to be done. The alternative is, a
garter and the bedpost. When we have come upon crossways, and we
can decide neither to take the right hand nor the left, neither forward
nor back, the index of the board which would direct us points to itself,

and emphatically says, Gallows.'
'Beamish, I am distracted. If I refuse her the visit, I foresee dissensions,
tears, games at ball, romps, not one day of rest remaining to me. I could
be of a mind with your Puritan, positively. If I allow it, so innocent a
creature in the atmosphere of a place like this must suffer some
corruption. You should know that the station I took her from was . . . it
was modest. She was absolutely a buttercup of the fields. She has had
various masters. She dances . . . she dances prettily, I could say
bewitchingly. And so she is now for airing her accomplishments: such
are women!'
'Have you heard of Chloe?' said Mr. Beamish. 'There you have an
example of a young lady uncorrupted by this place--of which I would
only remark that it is best unvisited, but better tasted than longed for.'
'Chloe? A lady who squandered her fortune to redeem some
ill-requiting rascal: I remember to have heard of her. She is here still?
And ruined, of course?'
'In purse.'
'That cannot be without the loss of reputation.'
'Chloe's champion will grant that she is exposed to the evils of
improvidence. The more brightly shine her native purity, her goodness
of heart, her trustfulness. She is a lady whose exaltation glows in her
abasement.'
'She has, I see, preserved her comeliness,' observed the duke, with a
smile.
'Despite the flying of the roses, which had not her heart's patience. 'Tis
now the lily that reigns. So, then, Chloe shall be attached to the duchess
during her stay, and unless the devil himself should interfere, I
guarantee her Grace against any worse harm than experience; and that,'
Mr. Beamish added, as the duke raised his arms at the fearful word,
'that shall be mild. Play she will; she is sure to play. Put it down at a

thousand. We map her out a course of permissible follies, and she plays
to lose the thousand by degrees, with as telling an effect upon a
connubial conscience as we can produce.'
'A thousand,' said the duke, 'will be cheap indeed. I think now I have
had a description of this fair Chloe, and from an enthusiast; a brune?
elegantly mannered and of a good landed family; though she has
thought proper to conceal her name. And that will be our difficulty,
cousin Beamish.'
'She was, under my dominion, Miss Martinsward,' Mr. Beamish
pursued. 'She came here very young, and at once her suitors were
legion. In the way of women, she chose the worst among them; and for
the fellow Caseldy she sacrificed the fortune she had inherited of a
maternal uncle. To release him from prison, she paid all his debts; a
mountain of bills, with the lawyers piled above--Pelion upon Ossa, to
quote our poets. In fact, obeying the dictates of a soul steeped in
generosity, she committed the indiscretion to strip herself, scandalizing
propriety. This was immediately on her coming of age; and it was the
death-blow to her relations with her family. Since then, honoured even
by rakes, she has lived impoverished at the Wells. I dubbed her Chloe,
and man or woman disrespectful to Chloe packs. From being the victim
of her generous disposition, I could not save her; I can protect her from
the shafts of malice.'
'She has no passion for play?' inquired the duke.
'She nourishes a passion for the man for whom she bled, to the
exclusion of the other passions. She lives, and I believe I may say that
it is the motive of her rising and dressing daily, in expectation of his
advent.'
'He may be dead.'
'The dog is alive. And he has not ceased to be Handsome Caseldy, they
say. Between ourselves, duke, there is matter to break her heart. He has
been the Count Caseldy of Continental gaming tables, and he is
recently