THE HAPPY HYPOCRITE
patron he had been, who had loved him in her vile fashion, La Gambogi, would she forget him easily, like the rest? As the sweet days went by, her spectre, also, grew fainter and less formidable. She knew his mask indeed, but how should she find him in the cottage near Kensington? Devia dulcedo latebrarum! He was safe hidden with his bride. As for the Italian, she might search and search—or had forgotten him, in the arms of another lover.
Yes! Few and faint became the blemishes of his honeymoon. At first, he had felt that his waxen mask, though it had been the means of his happiness, was rather a barrier ’twixt him and his bride. Though it was sweet to kiss her through it, to look at her through it
The most astonishing matter is that the runaway should have written out a complete will, restoring all money he had won at cards, etc. etc. This certainly corroborates the opinion that he was seized with a sudden repentance and fled over the seas to a foreign monastery, where he died at last in religious silence. That’s as it may, but many a spendthrift found his pocket clinking with guineas, a not unpleasant sound, I declare. The Regent himself was benefited by the odd will, and old Sir Follard Follard found himself once more in the ancestral home he had forfeited. As for Lord George’s mansion in St. James’s Square, that was sold with all its appartenances, and the money fetched by the sale, no bagatelle, was given to various good objects, according to my lord’s stated wishes. Well, many of us blessed has name—we had cursed it often enough. Peace to his ashes, in whatever urn they may be resting, on the billows of whatever ocean they float!”
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