ABSTRACT
The interest which the appearance and behaviour of Mr. Powerscourt had excited in lord Monteith’s mind had more permanence than the sudden emotions to which his disposition was subject commonly possessed. His evanescent impulses / might generally be compared to the impression which a stone makes upon the clear surface of a glassy lake, which, after having formed a few tremulous circles, soon resumes its natural tranquillity. But on the present occasion he thought of his good-tempered rival, as he termed him, during most part of his journey to Scotland; and, as neither a whistle nor a song would always excite new ideas, he frequently expressed himself anxious to know whether the poor fellow had shot himself: ‘Yet I protest, my dear Geraldine,’ he added, ‘I do not laugh at him; for, upon my soul, if I were as miserable as he seems to be, I should think of nothing but driving out Cupid’s arrows with a brace of bullets.’
