As a competitor on the fashionable race-course,
Lord Hartfield was, in common parlance, out of the running.
And now on this glorious June day, this Thursday of Thursdays, the Ascot
Cup day, for the first time since Lesbia's debut, Lady Kirkbank had
occasion to smile upon an admirer whose pretensions were worthy of the
highest consideration.
Mr. Smithson, of Park Lane, and Rood Hall, near Henley, and Formosa,
Cowes, and Le Bouge, Deauville, and a good many other places too
numerous to mention, was reputed to be one of the richest commoners in
England. He was a man of that uncertain period of life which enemies
call middle age, and friends call youth. That he would never see a
five-and-thirtieth birthday again was certain; but whether he had passed
the Rubicon of forty was open to doubt. It is possible that he was
enjoying those few golden years between thirty-five and forty, which for
the wealthy bachelor constitute verily the prime and summer-tide of
life. Wisdom has come, experience has been bought, taste has been
cultivated, the man has educated himself to the uttermost in the great
school of daily life.
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