Vivian Grey/Volume 1/Chapter 2.12
CHAPTER XII.
A MORNING VISIT.
The gloom which the parting had diffused over all countenances, was quite dispelled when the Marquess entered.
"Lady Carabas," said he, "you must prepare for crowds of visitors to-day. There are the Amershams, and Lord Alhambra, and Ernest Clay, and twenty other young heroes, who, duly informed that the Miss Courtowns were honouring us with their presence, are pouring in from all quarters—Isn't it so, Juliana?" gallantly asked the Marquess of Miss Courtown: "but who do you think is coming besides?"
"Who, who?" exclaimed all.
"Nay, you shall guess," said the Peer.
"The Duke of Waterloo?" guessed Cynthia Courtown, the romp.
"Prince Hungary?" asked her sister Laura.
"Is it a gentleman?" asked Mrs. Felix Lorraine.
"No, no, you're all wrong, and all very stupid. It's Mrs. Million."
"Oh, how delightful!" said Cynthia.
"Oh, how annoying!" said the Marchioness.
"You need not look so agitated, my love," said the Marquess; "I have written to Mrs. Million, to say that we shall be most happy to see her; but, as the Castle is very full, she must not come with fifty carriages in four, as she did last year."
"And will Mrs. Million dine with us in the hall, Marquess?"' asked Cynthia Courtown.
"Mrs. Million will do what she likes; I only know that I shall dine in the hall, whatever happens, and whoever comes; and so, I suppose, will Miss Cynthia Courtown?"
Vivian rode out alone, immediately after breakfast, to cure his melancholy by a hard gallop. He left his horse to choose its own road; and, at length, he found himself plunging in a corn field.
"Halloo, sir! beg pardon; but your horse's feet will do no good to that standing corn; for when there's plenty of roads to ride over—my maxim is, keep out of inclosures."
Vivian turned round, and recognized a friend in the person of a substantial and neighbouring farmer.
Daniel Groves, or as he was commonly called Mister Groves, was one of those singular personages whose eccentricities procure them, from all the surrounding neighbourhood, the reputation of being "quite a character." Daniel was a stout-built, athletic man, with a fine florid countenance, and a few grey hairs straggling over his forehead, and beautifully contrasting with his carnationed complexion. His hazel eyes were very small, but they twinkled with perpetual action. A turned-up nose gave his countenance a somewhat conceited expression; and, as he was in the habit of being consulted by the whole county, this expression became so habitual, that Mr. Groves always looked as if he himself quite agreed with the general opinion—that he was "one of the most long-headed fellows in these parts," and "quite a character." Daniel was not only opulent but flourishing; but he was not above attending to all the details of his farm, though frequently admitted to the tables of the principal neighbouring gentry.
But by this time Mister Groves, with a peculiarly large pet pitchfork over one shoulder, and a handful of corn in the other hand, with which he occasionally nourished his ample frame in his toilsome march over the stubble, has reached the trespasser.
"What! is it you, Mr. Grey? who thought of seeing you here?"
"Oh! Mr. Groves, I wasn't aware I was trespassing on your corn."
"Oh! no matter, no matter; friends are always welcome, that's my maxim. But if you could keep a leettle nearer to the hedge."
"Oh! I'll come out immediately. Which way are you going.? I've been thinking of calling on you."
"Well now, do. Sir; ride home with me and take a bit of something to eat. My mistress will be remarkable glad to see you. There's some nice cold pickled pork—we've an excellent cheese in cut; and as fine a barrel of ale in broach as you ever tasted."
"Why, Groves! really I can't turn back today, for I want to look in at Conyers, and ask him about that trout stream."
"Well Sir! I'm sorry you're so pushed, but I do wish you'd come in some day quite promiscuous. You said you would, for I want your opinion of some port wine I'm going to take with a friend."
"So I will with the greatest pleasure, but I'm not at all a good judge of port, it's too heavy for me; I'd sooner taste your ale."
"Ah! it's the fashion of you young squires to cry down port wine; but depend upon't, it's the real stuff. We never should have beat the French, if it hadn't been for their poor sour wines. That's my maxim."
"Shall you dine at the Château to-day?"
"Why you see the Markiss makes such a point of it, that I can't well be off. And the county should be kept together sometimes.—That's the ground I go upon."
"Oh! do come—you must come—we can't do without you; It's nothing without you, Groves."
"Well, really, you 're very good to say so, so I can't say but what I will; but I hope there'll be something to eat and drink, which I know the name of, for the last time I 'tended, there was nothing but kickshaws; my stomach's not used to such Frenchified messes, and I was altogether no-howish by the time I got home. I said to my mistress, 'really,' says I, 'I don't know what's the matter with me, but my stomach's going remarkable wrong;' so she advised me to take a good stiff glass of brandy and water, while she got a couple of ducks roasted for supper, for peas were just in; sure enough that's all I wanted, for I slept well after it, and got up quite my own man again. There's nothing like a glass of brandy and water, cold, without sugar, when you're out of sorts. That's my maxim."
"And a very good maxim too, Mr. Groves.