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/*
THE
EXCLUSIVES.

VOL. II.
*/




/*
THE
EXCLUSIVES.

IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. II.

SECOND EDITION.

LONDON:
HENRY COLBURN AND RICHARD BENTLEY,
NEW BURLINGTON STREET.

1830.
*/




/*
LONDON:

Printed by J. L. Cox, Great Queen Street,
Lincoln's-Inn Fields.
*/




THE EXCLUSIVES.




CHAPTER I.

THE CLOSING SCENE AT RESTORMEL.


On the evening previous to Lord Albert's
departure, while Mr. Foley and Lady Hamlet
Vernon were intently engaged in playing at
chess, Lord Albert announced to Lady Ellersby
his intention of leaving Restormel, and
paid her the usual compliment of thanks for
the honour she had done him in inviting him
there.

"You have lost your queen," cried Mr.
Foley, addressing Lady Hamlet Vernon,
"now in two moves I will give you checkmate,
lady fair. But see--what is the matter?--she
is ill--she faints--lend assistance
for heaven's sake!" Lord Albert flew towards
the spot, and caught Lady Hamlet as
she was falling to the ground. The usual
remedies were applied; and when sufficiently
recovered, the sufferer was carried to her
room, apparently still unable to speak.

"I hate all scene-makers," said Lady
Boileau; "if there is a thing I cannot bear, it
is the getting up of a sentimental catastrophe.--Don't
you, Mr. Leslie Winyard?--Don't you
think it is the acmé of bad taste?"

"Oh! most undoubtedly; nothing argues
a decided _roturièrism_ more than allowing
your feelings, if _real_, to get the better of you
in public; and if feigned, nothing is so easily
seen through as counterfeiting them, therefore,
either way, it is at best a _mistake_."

"One don't look well when one faints--that
is to say, _really_ faints," observed Lady
Ellersby; "it is surely best to avoid doing so."

"One may always command one's-self,"
observed Lady Baskerville.

"Oh!" said Lady Tilney, who now and
then really thought and felt right, "it is very
easy to distinguish between a _feint_ and a
_faint_; and I believe every body would ridicule
the first, and nobody would like to do
the latter; because, as Lady Ellersby observes,
no real fainting, or crying, or any of the convulsions
produced by the feelings, are the
least graceful, except in the _beau ideal_ of a
Magdalen, or on a painter's easel; and secondly,
because nothing is less likely to produce
interest than these kind of physical
causes; for, as some great author says, 'all
physical sufferings are soon forgotten even
by the sufferer, when they are past, and by
our friends certainly never remembered beyond
their immediate duration, if so long;'
consequently I believe Lady Hamlet Vernon
did faint _tout bonnement_: she had probably
_une indigestion_; poor Lady!--but she will
soon be well again."

"Spoken like an orator," said Mr. Spencer
Newcombe; "and not only an orator, but a
philosopher."

"Par drivers moyens on arrive à pareille
fin," said the Comtesse Leinsengen; "and
providing one does what one wants to do,
that is all that _sinifies_. One person faints,
another talks, another dresses, another writes,
all in order to get what they wish. On the
success depends the wisdom of the measure."

"Agreed," cried Mr. Spencer Newcombe,
"and conceived like a _diplomate du premier
grade_," he whispered to Lady Baskerville;
then aloud, "if Tonnerre had been here he
would have said--"

"I will bet you ten to one," cried Mr.
Leslie Winyard, "that Lord Albert D'Esterre
does not leave Restormel to-morrow."

"Done," said Mr. Spencer Newcombe.--

"Done," said Lord Baskerville; "ten to
one he does; for I never knew a more obstinate
fellow in my life; one who prizes himself
more _on decision of character_--and when
he says he will do a thing he will do it, however
little he may like the thing when done."

"I don't think he will go," said Lady Ellersby,
gently.

"Why not?" asked Lady Tilney.

"Lady Hamlet Vernon will not let him."

"C'est tout simple," rejoined Comtesse
Leinsengen, with a shrug of her shoulders.

"It appears to me," said Lady Baskerville,
"that if he does go he will not be very
much missed. I never knew so dull a member
of society; he never speaks but to lay down
the law, or to inculcate some moral truth:
now really when one has done with the nursery,
that is rather too bad."

"Providing she don't drive away George
Foley," said Lady Boileau, "she may reap
the fruits of her fainting here."

"Mr. Foley," replied Lady Baskerville to
her dear friend, "is the man in the world
who will do whatever suits him best; and I
particularly admire _his_ manner and his ways:
they are all perfectly in good taste; and I
have already promised him that he shall be
my _cavaliere servente_ for the season."

"Promised!--well, dear Lady Baskerville,
I thought you were too prudent to make such
promises. What will Lord Baskerville say?"
lowering her tone to a whisper.

Lady Baskerville, speaking aloud--"Oh,
dear! la! I should never have thought of
asking him what he likes upon such an occasion;--we
live too well together to trouble
each other with our little arrangements.--Is
it not true, Lord Baskerville? do we not do
exactly as we choose?"

"I hope your Ladyship does," he replied,
in all the airs of his exclusive character; "I
should conceive myself vastly unhappy if you
did not?" Lady Baskerville looked significantly
at her dear friend Lady Boileau; who
knew, as well as herself, that this ultra-liberalism
of her Lord in regard to the conduct
of wives, whatever it might be in respect to
husbands, was entirely assumed on Lord Baskerville's
part.

While this conversation passed in the drawing-room,
Lord Albert and Mr. Foley were
discoursing in their apartment above-stairs.
They had each expressed great interest about
Lady Hamlet Vernon's indisposition; and
after waiting some time to hear accounts of
her from her female attendants, they fell into
other conversation of various kinds, during
which Lord Albert D'Esterre found himself
unfeignedly amused and interested with the
talents, taste, and refinement of Mr. Foley;
and the more so, as he spoke much of
Dunmelraise and its inhabitants, and was
lavish in his praise of Lady Adeline.

"There is only one point," he said, "which
however is hardly worth mentioning, for of
course it only arises out of the seclusion and
the monotony of her present existence; but
certainly Lady Adeline, _pour trancher le mot_,
is a _little_ methodistical--the sooner you go
and put that matter to rights the better."
Lord Albert's manner of receiving the latter
part of this information, proved to Mr. Foley
that he had mistaken the character of the
person he addressed, and he added,

"But indeed Lady Adeline Seymour is so
perfect, that it matters very little what she
does--every thing _she does_ must be right."--The
conversation then took another turn,
and they parted.

Lord Albert D'Esterre was not what might
be called a jealous man; but no man, no
human being can be without the possibility
of feeling jealousy--neither was he naturally
suspicious, but nothing is more apt to generate
a suspicion of the fidelity of another's
conduct, than the consciousness of any
breach in the integrity of our own. He
pressed his hand to his heart--he sat down--rose
up--paced his chamber, and still repeated
to himself the praises which Mr. Foley
had uttered of _his_ Adeline. "_My_ Adeline,"
he said, and then again stopped; "but is
she _mine_? do I deserve she should still be
_mine_, when I have so neglected her? no!"--His
servant came into the room with a note,
the well known shape and colour of which
he could not mistake. It was placed in his
hand--he opened it carelessly and was about
to cast it away, when the name of _Adeline_
caught his eye; then he hastily read the
following words.

"It is not for myself I mourn--it is not
the threatened loss of your society, however
much I value it, which has occasioned my
being so overpowered--it is the knowledge of
a secret which pertains to another, and in
which your fate is involved, that has quite
mastered me--this much I must tell you. I
must see you before you go, I must prepare
you for your meeting with Lady Adeline
Seymour." Twenty times he read over this
note. "What can it mean? can its meaning
be that Adeline loves Mr. Foley, at least that
he thinks so? and I, what have I been doing?
into what a sea of troubles have I plunged
for the enjoyment of the society of a person
that in fact affords me none--for the empty
speculation of recalling the chaotic mind of
one (comparatively a stranger to me) to a
sense of reason and religion, fool that I was
for the attempt." Then, after a considerable
pause, and after deep reflection, he burst
forth:

"Prepare _me_ for a meeting with Adeline!"
as his eye caught again the last line of the
note. "_Prepare me for a meeting with
Adeline_--I cannot bear the phrase; but I
must know what she means--I must drag this
secret from her:"--and he rang the bell
violently!--"I shall not want my horses
till one o'clock instead of seven to-morrow
morning."

The night Lord Albert passed was one of
feverish anxiety. He sent to inquire for Lady
Hamlet Vernon at an early hour the next
day; and hearing she was much recovered,
he besought her to grant the interview she
had done him the favour to offer as soon as
she possibly could. She replied, that in that
house it would be reckoned a breach of all
decorum, if she received him at any undue
hour; but that as soon as the earliest part of
the company breakfasted, which was about
one o'clock, she would be sure, notwithstanding
her indisposition, to be in the breakfast-room
at that time; when she would avail
herself of some opportunity to give him the
information which had come to her knowledge.
This short delay seemed an age to
him. Every one knows, when suspense
agitates the mind, what a total anarchy
ensues, and the hours which intervened
before meeting Lady Hamlet Vernon seemed
to Lord Albert interminable. When they
_did_ meet, the intervening moments ere an
opportunity occurred of Lord Albert's drawing
her aside, appeared in their turn so many
more ages of suffering.

At last the company rose from the breakfast
table, and as Lady Hamlet took Lord Albert's
arm, and walked out on the terrace under the
window, she said, "This is kind of you to
have listened to my request:" and then as
they walked from the house, proceeded in a
graver tone to add, "I am aware, dear Lord
Albert, that my note of last night must have
surprised you, and that the subject connected
with it, on which I am about to touch, is one
of the utmost delicacy, and one which upon
the very verge of the attempt I shrink from;
but you have evinced so much real interest in
the state of my wayward mind, and have
said so much to me with a view, I am certain,
of placing my happiness on a more secure
and steady foundation than I had ever
any chance of before, that I should be ungrateful
in the extreme, if a corresponding
wish for your comfort in life did not in turn
actuate me. I cannot be ignorant of the engagement
between yourself and Lady Adeline
Seymour, the fulfilment of which will not, I
presume, be long delayed; unless, indeed--"

Here Lady Hamlet Vernon's voice faltered,
and for a moment she paused; but, as if
making an effort to subdue her emotion, she
added in a lower and firmer tone, and with
an expression of something like intreaty in
her countenance as she looked up at Lord
Albert, "Unless I, dear Lord Albert, shall
prove the happy instrument of saving you from
too precipitate a step in this matter. May I
continue to speak to you thus unreservedly?"
Lord Albert made no answer, but bowed his
head in token of assent, while he walked by
her side like one lost in a perturbed dream.
She continued,

"I wished, before you went, for this opportunity,
because I was aware that it was the
only one left in which what I am about to
impart would ever be of use; for, lovely as
Lady Adeline is, possessed of charms of person
which would indeed draw any heart towards
her, of the warmest and most enthusiastic
disposition, deeply enamoured of _you_ as
well as sacredly alive to her engagement to you
(and I know her, from a source which cannot
mislead me, in person, in mind, in heart, and
in determination, to be all that I describe
to you)--how could even your judgment,
Lord Albert, which is stronger than many
of twice your years, but yield to such
united influence, and be tempted to decide at
the moment on making so much perfection
irrevocably your own. But with all these
transcendant charms of person and of character,
Lady Adeline, I am grieved to say,
and know, has been unhappily betrayed into
views of life and of the world, which must
unfit her to be the partner of any one who
does not think in accordance with her on
these subjects. From what cause or under
what influence the peculiar turn of mind she has
taken has arisen, I know not, but (and again
I must repeat, that I _know_ the too-sure truth
of all I say) it has been gradually and fearfully
on the increase, and is now become a
fixed principle with her.

"She loves _you_, as I have said, and she
looks upon the coming union with you as
the fulfilment of a sacred engagement, and
a duty she has to perform; but with this
she views the rank you hold in society,
and in which she will be associated,
only imposing on herself obligations of a
higher and severer order, and calling for a
stricter conduct and a greater self-denial on
her part. She condemns what she calls the
dissipations and wicked employment of time,
in the world of fashion; she holds dress, beyond
the plainest attire, to be a misapplication
of the gifts of fortune; she laments over the
worldly career of any one whom she hears
talked of with applause, or whose talents raise
them to distinction in the public eye: she
has even, I understand, wholly abandoned
her music and her drawing, as too alluring
and dangerous an occupation, wasting the
time which ought to be devoted to serious
reading, and an acquirement of that spirit
which has already cast such a gloom over her
existence. The only active employment in
which she indulges herself beyond her books,
is in making clothes for and visiting the poor
in her mother's domain. In short, she is what
the world calls a methodist, a saint; I know
not exactly what these words mean, but I know
they are terms applied by people of sense to
an ultraism in religious matters."

Lord Albert shuddered, and a sigh was the
only interruption he gave, as Lady Hamlet
proceeded.

"Conceive yourself, my dear Lord Albert,
united to a person of this character, however
amiable in herself, with your talents, with your
views, which are" (and she looked at him steadily
as she spoke) "tinctured with ambition.
With your temper and your tastes for the elegancies
of life, how would you brook a wife
who was praying and singing psalms all day
long? who would consider all _your_ actions,
when not in accordance with her own, as so
many positive sins, and whose moments, such
at least as were spared from the offices of her
enthusiasm, would be passed in the cottages
of your tenants, and in making baby-linen for
every expected increase in their families.

"Now let me beseech you, and believe me
to speak from the most disinterested feelings,
that when you meet Lady Adeline, you will
not betray yourself into a too hasty arrangement
for your union. See her--see her, by
all means. Judge for yourself; use your
own eyes, hear with your own ears, and
be the arbiter of your own cause, but do
nothing rashly. Time is necessary for all decisions
in momentous questions; and what
can be more momentous, and in what is there
more at stake, than in an union for life? Can
too much deliberation be given to the subject?
Alas! I know, from my own fatal experience,
what misery must ensue where no tastes, no
principles, no objects exist in common between
those united. I owe to this cause a great
portion of my present unhappiness; for the
misery I endured, and the constant efforts I
made to bear up against the tenfold wretchedness
of my marriage with Lord Hamlet Vernon,
impaired my intellectual powers, and
prevented my turning the energies of my mind
to any useful or profitable purpose. Hence I
have become what I am, dependant on the resources
of the hour, to enable me to pass
through life with any thing like composure."

Lord Albert had listened with feelings
which it would be impossible to describe
to all that had fallen from Lady Hamlet
Vernon; and in the emotion, which her communication
and her entreaties produced, he
could find no words for utterance, no answer
to her appeals. He was like one dumb, and
deprived of sense; and he stood for some moments
rooted to the spot when the voice of
his counsellor had ceased.

"See her! yes, I will see my Adeline," he
at length said in a deep agonized tone, as
if communing with himself. "Yes, I will
see her."

"Lord Albert, I entreat you, I implore
you," cried Lady Hamlet Vernon, with an
emotion that made her words quiver on her
lips, "I beseech you forgive me, if"--the
window of the library was at this moment
thrown hastily up; and Lord Albert D'Esterre
heard his name called by Lord Ellersby,
who held in his hand a letter.

"D'Esterre," said he, "here are your letters."
Lord Albert hastened forward mechanically
to receive them, and one he gazed
upon more intently than the rest, as he looked
them over--it was from Adeline.

Who is there who has not recognised, even
in its peculiar folding, the letter of a beloved
object? and whose heart has not throbbed
with delight ere even the seal were broken?
Such was the emotion of Lord Albert, awoke
up from the paralyzing influence of Lady
Hamlet Vernon's communication to new life
by the letter he now pressed to his bosom;
and regardless of what had passed, he hastened
to his room, and read as follows:--

/#
"DEAREST:--My mother has been gradually
growing worse and worse these two
months, and I have persuaded her to go to
town for a consultation of her physicians.

"It is so long since I have heard from you,
Albert, it is painful for me to write, scarcely
knowing how far you may be interested
in what I have to communicate--but
I try to still my uneasiness--let me but
see you, dear Albert, all will be forgotten,
all will be forgiven; for I am your own true
and affectionate

/*[5]
"ADELINE."
*/

"P.S. You will find us at Mamma's house
in town."
#/

A letter like this, breathing such trust and
love, and so replete with genuine expression
of delight in the prospect of meeting him,
was indeed sufficient to make Lord Albert
forget at once the poisonous theme which
his ears rather than his reason had imbibed in
his interview with Lady Hamlet. Impelled
more by the eager anxiety of affection to
behold the object of his late disquietude, than
to see her for the purpose of convincing himself
of her errors, he leapt with alacrity into
his carriage, and drove towards London,
without casting a thought on those he left
behind.

The mortification which Lady Hamlet
Vernon felt was severe, in proportion as
from its nature it admitted of no sympathy.
She was, of course, ignorant of the cause of
Lord Albert's destination being so suddenly
changed from Wales to London; but in the
blindness of her increasing passion, she resolved
in the first moment of her despair to
follow him thither. A cooler judgment, however,
made her recollect that if she lost Lord
Albert she had other friends to retain, a position
in the gay world to lose, and that, at all
events, it was not by pursuing him at that
moment that any thing was to be gained; she
therefore determined on remaining some days
at Restormel, and making herself as agreeable
as possible to the party that continued
there. To one of Lady Hamlet Vernon's disposition
this was no easy task. Violent and
impetuous as she was by nature, left as she
had been without any control, it was a very
Herculean work to hide all the warring passions
of jealousy and disappointed love beneath
the semblance of a cool indifference--a
disengaged mind.

"What have you done with Lord Albert?"
was Lady Baskerville's first question to her
after the morning's salutation; "I hear he
departed in violent haste at an undue hour this
morning. He looks of such an imperturbable
gravity, one does not understand his ever
being brought to do any thing out of measure
or rule."

"I done with Lord Albert? my dear Lady
Baskerville, you confer too much honour upon
me to suppose that _I_ have any influence with
him. I did not even know that he was gone;
but if you are very much interested in his
departure, perhaps Lord Ellersby can tell us
something about it."

She thought by this means to discover the
cause of his sudden disappearance, and gratify
her inquiries as being the curiosity of
another.--"Lord Ellersby," she said, "Lady
Baskerville is desirous to learn what wonderful
event can have called Lord Albert away
from us so very suddenly."

"I do not know," said Lord Ellersby, "unless
he is going to be prime minister; don't
you think, Winyard, he has the dignity of
office on his brows already?"

"In his own opinion, I make no doubt, he
stands a fair chance for the highest situations;
but we have quite exploded all that sort of
fudge now-a-days, and I think, unless we were
to have a bare-bone parliament, and a cabinet
of puritans, his very consequential lordship has
not much prospect of success in that line."

"No," said Lady Tenderden, taking up a
newspaper, "I think this paragraph in the
Morning Post will rather explain the secret
of Lord Albert's going away:--

/#
"'We understand Lady Dunmelraise, with
her beautiful daughter Lady Adeline Seymour,
is shortly expected in town, and are sorry
to add that Lady Dunmelraise's ill health
has hitherto caused her absence from the gay
circles of fashion.'--This is put in by herself,
or some of her friends, you may depend
upon it."
#/

"Dear," said Lady Baskerville, "those vulgar
newspapers are always filled with trash of
that sort; nobody attends to such nonsense. I
dare say this Lady Adeline is some awkward
raw girl, enough to make one shiver to
think of; however, she may do very well as
a wife for Lord Albert, and he may be gone
to meet her."

"Oh, I do assure you," cried Lady Tilney,
"that the public papers are the vehicles of a
great deal of good or evil; and that not only
political discussion, but the discussion also of
the affairs of individuals, is constantly promoted
by the freedom of the press."

"For my part," said Lady Baskerville, "I
think it is quite abominable that those vulgar
editors of newspapers should be allowed to
comment upon what we do."

"Not at all, my dear Lady Baskerville;
allow me to assure you that we are much
more known--much more distinguished--much
more _répandus_ by being all named occasionally,
never mind how or in what manner,
in the public papers. Besides, on the
freedom of the press hangs all the law and the
prophets; and if some few suffer by it occasionally,
the multitude are gainers; and I can
never repine at the glorious spirit of public
liberty which the papers and the press maintain.
Don't you agree with me, Lord Ellersby?"

"I like it all very well when it does not
interfere with me," he replied, yawning; "but
I think it is very disagreeable when these vulgar
fellows, the news-writers, say some impertinent
thing, for which I cannot give them
a rap over the knuckles."

"La, what does it signify," rejoined Lady
Ellersby; "nobody thinks of any thing above
a very few days, and except some dear friend
or other, no person of good breeding mentions
the subject to one, if it be disagreeable,
so that I cannot really say it disturbs
my tranquillity for a moment, let them
say what they will. As to this puff about
Lady Adeline Seymour, I agree with Lady
Baskerville, there are always a set of would-be
fashionables, who pay for the putting in of
such paragraphs about themselves, _et l'on sait
parfaitement à quoi s'en tenir_ respecting them."

"Nevertheless," rejoined Mr. Foley, who
had just laid down his book, "I do assure you
that, puff or no puff, Lady Adeline Seymour
will astonish you all, for she is a very extraordinary
person."

"Then I am sure I shall not be able to
suffer her," said Lady Baskerville.

"_Je déteste les phénomènes_," said Comtesse
Leinsengen.

"Mr. Foley seems to be paid too," rejoined
Lady Tenderden, laughing, "for making the
young lady notorious; and we shall see him
with a placard stuck on his shoulders, setting
forth the beauties and perfections of the wonderful
young lady."

"These _miracles_," cried Comtesse Leinsengen,
"are only fit to be shewn for half-a-crown
a piece; if you interest yourself very much in
her benefit, remember, I promise to take
tickets."

Mr. Foley smiled as, he replied: "I shall
leave it to time to prove to every one of you
how very much you are mistaken."

"By all that is romantic," cried Mr. Winyard,
"Foley is caught at last; he is positively
going to become a lackadaisical swain,
and write sonnets to his mistress's eyebrows."

"Perhaps even so. It is amusing to take
up a new character now and then; it is like
changing the air, and is equally beneficial to
the health, moral and physical. Nothing so
fatiguing as being always the same, both for
the sake of one's-self, as well as of our associates--don't
you think so, Mr. Winyard?"

"I have always shewn that I did so think.
Few persons have acted up to their principles
in this respect more conscientiously than myself."
Mr. Foley did not press this matter
further; he knew when to retire from the
field, and always cautiously avoided a defeat.
This conversation was at once a key to Lady
Hamlet Vernon, and much as it pleased her
to have discovered the truth, she resolved to
carry on the deception; but Lady Hamlet
Vernon felt that her total silence might be
construed into an interest which, however real,
she by no means wished should appear to exist
in its true colours, and therefore she forced
herself into saying, with apparent indifference,
"I understand Lord Albert D'Esterre's marriage
is shortly to take place; and whatever
people may do _after_ marriage, they must be a
little attentive _beforehand_; so I doubt not
that the arrival of Lady Dunmelraise in town
is really the cause which has deprived us of his
society; and you know I am one of those who
hazard a favourable opinion of Lord Albert,
notwithstanding Lady Baskerville's dissentient
voice."

This speech she conceived to be one of unprejudiced
tone and feeling that would lull all
suspicion to rest, had any existed, as to the
nature of her real sentiments; and it at least
prevented the expression of that ridicule,
which would otherwise have been her portion.
In this society there was a general system of
deceiving on the one hand, and detecting on
the other, which constituted its chief entertainment
and business; and in the present
instance it formed, as usual, one of the main
springs of the interest that filled up the
remaining hours spent by the party at Restormel.




CHAPTER II.

THE BRIDE'S RETURN.


The approaching gaieties of London, after
Easter, were pronounced likely to be of a
more brilliant description than they had been
for years, as is always the case, according to
the interests and wishes of the persons who
raise the report. One of the earliest arrivals
in the scene of _ton_ was that of the Glenmores,
who had returned from Paris, whither they
had proceeded, it will be remembered, shortly
after their marriage.

London, however, was still empty; a considerable
part of the _élite_ remained at Restormel,
and others of their corps were not yet
reunited; while such as had in fact nothing
to do with them, were nevertheless sufficiently
foolish to regulate their movements by those
of the exclusives.

It was in this interval between the two
assignable points of a London season that
Lord Glenmore, turning the corner into the
still deserted region of Hyde Park, met there,
to his surprise, Lord Albert D'Esterre, who
sat his horse like one careless of what was
passing around him, and seemingly so absorbed
in his own thoughts, that the exercise
of riding had the appearance at that moment
with him of a mechanical habit, rather than
a thing of choice. So deeply occupied was he
in reflection, that Lord Glenmore was obliged
to call several times, and at length to ride
close up to him, before he could attract his
attention.

"D'Esterre," said he, as he held out his
hand, "I rejoice to meet you; and this unexpected
pleasure is the greater, as I thought
you had been too fashionable a man to be yet
in London, at least for a day or two to come.
But how ill you look! what is the matter
with you?"

Lord Albert was not in a mood to bear
interruption from any one, or exactly able,
without putting a force upon himself, to meet
any inquiry with a courteous answer. But
Lord Glenmore was, perhaps, one of the
very few exceptions in whose favour something
of this feeling was abated, for their
intimacy had been of long standing; and Lord
Albert's regard and respect for his character
was, as it deserved to be, of the highest
kind.

As soon, therefore, as the latter was roused
from his reverie by the kindly voice of his
friend, he greeted him with answering
warmth, and inquired after Lady Glenmore
with that cordial interest which he felt for
the wife of his friend; he at the same time
endeavoured to laugh off Lord Glenmore's
observations on his own personal appearance,
which were nevertheless well-founded--for
his mind was labouring under an anxiety
which visibly displayed itself in his countenance,
and which, as his first emotion of
pleasure in the near prospect of meeting
Lady Adeline subsided, the mysterious words
of Lady Hamlet Vernon's note were too well
calculated to give rise to. This state of uneasiness
was by no means diminished by the
delay of Lady Dunmelraise's arrival in town.
At her house Lord Albert's hourly inquiries
had for two days been fruitless; and he was
returning from South Audley Street, with
the expression of increased disappointment
painted in his looks, when he met Lord
Glenmore.

After some conversation of a general nature,
and inquiries into the events which had
arisen in the fashionable world during his
absence, and which the latter confessed himself
to have been too happy to have thought
about before, he asked Lord D'Esterre, with
a manner implying more interest, what were
his own views and intentions.

"I hope you are not thinking of returning
abroad," he added, "for we want you at
home, and then you must marry." Lord
Albert sighed as his friend approached the
subject so near his heart, but which he was
little inclined to discuss with him at that particular
moment; while the other, without
remarking the grave expression that had
returned over Lord Albert's countenance,
continued:--

"Allow me to speak to you as a man who
has lived a little longer in the world than
yourself, and to whom you formerly communicated
what were your views and wishes in
life. You told me you would aim at diplomacy
and at office; I am sure in both from
noble motives, and because you felt it to be
your bias, which in all our pursuits is half
the battle in ensuring success. Now you must
permit me to tell you that, however great or
powerful in point of interest a man may be,
he can never with these objects be too much
of the latter. Above all things, then, keep
this principle before you; and, in any alliance
that you may form (for you will marry soon,
depend upon it: the ladies, if there were no
fears from yourself, will not allow you to remain
long in single blessedness), endeavour
to remember my advice, and look round you
before you take the leap which is to break
the neck of your liberty, and do not throw
away the advantages which your situation (to
say nothing of yourself) give you of selecting
where you choose, and where you think your
pursuits will best be promoted.

"Now there is one, _par parenthèse_, among
the many desirable parties I could name
to you--which is Osbaldeston's daughter.
His interest is great; but he has taken
through life the most foolish of all parts
in politics--that of being of neither party;
and, as an independent peer, is alternately
hated and caressed, abused and praised,
despised and sought after by both. You
know, since the death of his eldest son,
all his affections centre in this daughter;
and I am persuaded that any one united to
her, may make all Lord Osbaldeston's interests
his own. I do not mean to force this
match upon you," smiling as he spoke; "but
I allude to it as a sample of what, as your
friend, and one thinking with you in politics,
and pretty much the same in all other matters,
and having your interest, my dear D'Esterre,
much at heart, I would rejoice to see you
assent to. _Enfin_--the Osbaldestons dine with
us to-day, and if you will join us, you will
have an opportunity of judging for yourself."

Lord Albert, as if he thought himself
doomed to undergo violence on all sides in
regard to Lady Adeline, replied with more
petulance in the tone of his voice than he
was ever known to give way to--

"My dear friend, you forget that I am an
engaged man."

"Oh, if you mean to allude to Lady
Adeline Seymour, I had understood that it
was only that sort of engagement which
might be dissolved or not, as the parties
chose when they came to years of discretion;
and as I had heard it whispered that
Lady Adeline was attached to a young man
who was much at Dunmelraise, and a _protégé_
of her mother's, a certain Mr. George Foley,
who turned all the women's heads about two
years ago in London (Lady Hamlet Vernon's
among the rest, by the way), I could not suppose,
seeing you very quietly here, that your
heart was much engaged; and I thought I
knew you too well to believe that you would
ever marry (however much I hope you will
make a prudent alliance) where love and
esteem do not constitute a part of the compact."

"My dear Glenmore, I see your kind intention,
through this apparent carelessness
of my feelings; but allow me to assure you,
you are misinformed--a purer, truer, or more
innocent creature does not exist than Lady
Adeline Seymour; and though I have been
separated lately from her, yet from my correspondence
with herself, and from the invariable
accounts I have received from others, I feel
assured that the ingenuousness of her character
would never allow her to have a
thought concealed from her mother or myself
in the momentous question between us. Oh
no; when I look back to her every letter, the
recollection brings conviction along with it
of her heart being unchanged."

Lord Albert spoke with an inward agitation
which corresponded little with the confidence
which his words expressed. His outward appearance,
however, was calm; and Lord Glenmore,
supposing he had been led into a very
pardonable error, and wholly innocent of intentionally
wounding his friend's feelings,
proceeded--

"Well, if it is thus, D'Esterre, you are
already a married man, I conceive; but be it
so, that does not prevent your dining with me
to-day--pray come."

Lord Albert declined, saying gravely, "no!
that cannot be; for I am in hourly expectation
of Lady Adeline's arrival with her mother,
who, I am sorry to add, comes to town on
account of her health." A momentary pause
ensued in the conversation; and Lord Albert,
seemingly little inclined to renew the last
topic or enter upon any new one, seized the
opportunity of bidding his companion farewell,
and they separated.

From the somewhat cold and reserved manner
of his parting, Lord Glenmore, when
alone, began to think he had committed a
mistake in treating his friend's engagement
with Lady Adeline lightly, and condemned
himself for what had escaped him on the subject.
For Lord Glenmore was a man of honourable,
as well as kindly feelings; and in giving
the counsel of a _prudential_ marriage to Lord
Albert, was at the same time the last person
to think that, in an union for life, happiness
ought to be sacrificed to interested views:
the furthest also from his thoughts would have
been any design to interfere between, or to
disunite any two persons who were attached
to each other. Perhaps the world in general
might not have given him credit for this amiability
of feeling, or for the strict principle
which he really possessed, from seeing that he
lived in constant intercourse with a class,
where, if similar worth of character did exist
at all, it certainly never was looked up to as a
merit in the possessor. It must be allowed
that Lord Glenmore was any thing rather than
a fitting member of such a class; for in addition
to warmth of heart, natural affection, and
good principles, he possessed talents of a very
superior kind, and held opinions quite at
variance with the received creed of his companions.

He believed, for instance, that life was given
for other purposes than to be spent in accident
alone, or that a perpetual course of frivolous
pursuits, without any higher aim or object,
should be suffered to govern human existence;
but that, on the contrary, every action should
tend to some useful purpose. If Lord Glenmore
was ambitious (and he was so), his
ambition was of a noble kind; and while he
sought power, his uprightness of character
could never suffer him to abuse its exercise.
He was called proud by some: but although
impressed with a sense of the dignity of the
aristocracy to which he belonged, it was not
a blind and foolish estimate of rank which
made him value it, but a conviction of the
importance and responsibility which every one
placed in the higher grades of society possesses,
while fulfilling the duties of the sphere
in which Providence places him; and if in
society he sometimes appeared reserved, and
joined not in all the empty, uninteresting topics
that make up the conversation of most of the
coteries of _ton_, it was--that his mind was
filled, even in the buzz of the vapid talk
around him, with matters worthy of the reflection
and study of an intellectual being.

He owed his admission, consequently,
within the line of circumvallation drawn
by the _ultra_ leaders of fashion, to a dread of
the important consequence of his remaining
aloof from their circle, and the preponderating
influence which even his neutrality would afford
(for Lord Glenmore was not a man to lend
himself to either side in such a frivolous warfare
as the decision of who were, or who
were not, worthy members of the _corps élite_).
Although the exclusives, therefore, one and
all, considered him to fall short of a due proportion
of that species of merit necessary to
their order, yet still they united in one common
effort to retain him on their side. They
could have wished him, no doubt, allied to
one of their own peculiar choosing, and had
heard with dismay proportionate to the consequences
which might frustrate their plans
respecting him, the announcement of his
marriage with his present wife.

Determined, however, to make the best
of the unpropitious event, they had from
the first decided on the general policy of
endeavouring to retain Lord Glenmore's influence,
by admitting Lady Glenmore (however
much she might be considered inadmissible)
amongst them; and thus to secure
in the opinion of the world the sanction of
her husband to live on terms of intimacy in
their set.

It was this motive which in some degree
influenced the ladies who were present at
Lady Melcomb's ball, and subsequently at the
marriage, to risk the loss of _caste_ by being
seen in the motley collection of that lady's
assembly: though the ties of relationship, in
one or two instances, would have led them to
the re-union on such a happy occasion. Yet
with Lady Ellersby and Lady Tenderden these
were impulses, which were only to be acted
upon when the laws and dogmas of exclusiveness
permitted such a proceeding.

When Lord Glenmore returned from the
Continent with his young bride, the news of
his arrival quickly spread through the exclusive
circle, and called for some decisive measure
on their part, to ascertain how he might
be induced still to remain, under the circumstances
of his new connexion, in the same degree
of intimacy with them. It was therefore
time, on the part of the exclusives, for bringing
to bear these intentions at the moment
of their re-assembling in London, and more
particularly on that of the individuals who
composed the party at Restormel.

Lady Tilney, whose activity was ever on
the alert, ordered her carriage before the
morning show of London began, that she
might catch all the chiefs of her party at
home. The first house she visited was Lady
Ellersby's, who was not yet risen, but she was
admitted to her bed-side.

"_Reveillez-vous belle endormie_," said Lady
Tilney, kissing her on both sides of her face,
"for what do you think I am come about?"

"I cannot imagine: has Lady Hamlet
Vernon gone off with any body, or do the
ministry totter, or has Newmarket proved
unsuccessful, or, in short, tell me what _has_
happened!"

"No, my dear, nothing of all that; but the
Glenmores are come back from Paris, and
now or never must the question be ultimately
decided whether we are to retain Lord Glenmore
amongst us or not. You know we were
agreed on the general policy of doing so soon
after his marriage, and the first step to take
will be to tutor the young Georgina, so that
she may not on the outset of her _début_ do
any thing to disgrace us. But although I considered
the matter as settled, I would not
take any decided step till I consulted you. It
is on this account I am come at so early an
hour, lest we should not have acted in concert
on this point; for as I always say, it is the
disagreement in the cabinet between their own
members which always breaks up the administration;
so society is, or ought to be, precisely
a type of the government of a state:
don't you agree with me?"

"Perfectly," replied Lady Ellersby, suppressing
a yawn, for she did not, to do her
justice, understand one word of the political
jargon in which her friend always talked, whether
the conversation ran on the choice of a
new cap or the admission of a new member
to their society. Lady Tilney observing her
dear friend's absence of mind, told her that
she looked so beautiful in her night-cap, she
quite made her forget her errand.

"But, nevertheless," (she added) "I must
remind you, that it _is_ one of no small importance,
for you see what a vast field of interests
the Glenmore himself includes. There are
the Melcombs, and the D'Esterres, and the
Osbaldestons--a perfect host. _Some_ of them
may play a card in politics: _all_ of them are
good tools, and I promised Lord Tilney not
to lose sight of that consideration. So if we
exclude la petite Glenmore, we shall be incurring
great risks; whereas, by making
her _one of us_, we shall have a vast addition of
strength added to our party, and we can always
take care that the vulgars belonging to
her, who are only good for certain uses,
shall not come in her train."

Lady Ellersby, whose attention had been
effectually awakened by the admiration of her
night-cap, now sat up in her bed and said,
"Ah! there indeed is the difficulty--how will
you manage that?"

"Nothing easier: we will, as I said, explain
to her what an advantage it is to belong
to us, and the necessity of our confining
our members to a very small circle, and then
tell her that we will always let her know whom
she is to invite to her parties, and whom she
is to go out with. Thus we shall take care
that, from the very beginning, she does not
_compromise_ us. One or other of us must
always be at her right hand, and by flattering
Lord Glenmore, and endeavouring
to make him believe that Lord Tilney is
wavering, and may possibly come round to
his side in politics, we shall easily get that
sort of power established with both, which
it is quite necessary to obtain if they are to
belong to us; and that they are so to do
is, as I have already explained to you,
equally necessary. Not that I, for the world,
would make any body do what he did not
like to do: no one is more for perfect freedom,
as you well know, than myself, but you
must feel that not to belong to us, is in fact to
be nobody, so that we are doing them a favour,
the greatest possible favour indeed; and
I am sure I would not take all this trouble
were it not that I am convinced it is doing
good."

"Oh yes, you are so good-natured, you
are always trying to oblige. And what then
would you have me to do?"

"Why I would have you call upon Lady
Glenmore to-day, and you may tell her how
she ought to dress, and to demean herself in
public. And when she is in public, you may
take care that no one speaks to her but
those whom we approve of; and should any
of her vulgar relations by any accident affect
to get near her, you can contrive to draw her
away, and carry her off to some other place.
Thus, my dear Lady Ellersby, I think, after
having explained this business so far, I need
say no more, though I could talk for hours
on the subject," Lady Ellersby yawned instinctively;
"but the line of conduct I wish
you to adopt has been so minutely pointed
out, that I think you cannot possibly misunderstand
it. And now I will go to Lady
Tenderden and the rest, and I flatter myself
no _diplomate_ ever played his part with more
skill. Depend upon it I will continue to
do my utmost endeavour to succeed in this
affair, which I feel persuaded is of considerable
consequence to our society. Not, as I
before said, that I would ever, either in great
or little matters, stoop to contrivance. I like
to persuade people for their good, and would
have all the world act with a liberal and free
exercise of their own rightful powers; the
right of reason which every individual ought
to exert and use in his own behalf. Ah, if
all governments could but be persuaded of
this, and be ruled in their determinations by
this noble motive of action, how differently
things in general would be managed from
what they are! Kings would no longer
be puppets of state, but be obliged in self-defence
to become rational people, and not to
depend on their ministers and favourites;
and ministers would not depend on each
other as they do, but every body in his own
sphere would be doing all he could to tend
to the public weal."

Lady Tilney had once again got on her
favourite theme; and on these occasions she
never found out that the one part of her
discourse generally contradicted the other,
and that her _meaning_ virtually did so where
her _words_ did not, for it was always herself
who was to be the mover and law-giver.
But this was all matter of moonshine to her
present auditress, who at length shewed
unequivocal symptoms of inattention, and
even hinted that it was time for her to rise.
So at length Lady Tilney, reiterating the part
she assigned to her respecting Lady Glenmore,
took a tender leave and departed.

Her next visit was made to Lady Tenderden.

"Ah!" she said, on meeting her, after
the first greetings, "what a relief it is
to have to converse with a rational being,
one who understands the meaning of things
in general. I have just been talking to poor
dear Lady Ellersby, who is, between ourselves,
become more than ever thick, and
indolent--she actually cannot understand any
thing _consecutively_; however, I have, I think,
at last put her in a right track upon the subject
which I must now discuss with you."

"I know," said Lady Tenderden, interrupting
her (for patience was not her _forte_)
"what you would say. The Glenmores are
arrived, and--"

"Exactly; and it is necessary we talk the
matter over, and settle precisely the _marche
du jeu_."

"Oh! by all means, take _la petite Georgina
en main, et l'affaire est faite--je m'en charge_."

"That is precisely what I wished;--nobody
is better calculated for that office. In the
multiplicity of things which I have to do,"
said Lady Tilney, "it is not possible that I
should pay that sort of attention which she
will require, for she is very childish, perfectly
ignorant of the ways of the world, almost a
simpleton, and our society might be entirely
broken up and destroyed, if we allowed her,
without proper caution being previously
observed, to come in amongst us. At the
same time, I think it is of such consequence
that we should not altogether lose Lord
Glenmore, I mean politically as well as prudentially
speaking, that it does appear to me
to be quite worth while to take the trouble
of forming that little wife of his, and making
her one of us."

"Oh, _certainement_," replied Lady Tenderden.
"Besides, Lord Glenmore is charming;
_il fera fureur_, when he becomes a little
more polished, and I shall with infinite pleasure
_consacré_ some hours to the instruction
of _la petite ladi qui seroit à ravir si elle n'avoit
pas l'air d'un mouton qui rève_."

"Exactly," cried Lady Tilney, "but that
is of no consequence."

"Oh, none in the world," responded Lady
Tenderden.

"Well then, my dear, that is finally arranged,
and I shall now only have to go to
the Glenmores to-morrow; but if it be possible,
_you_ had better see her to-day, and
above all things secure her coming to the
Ellersby's party, and Lady Hamlet Vernon's
on Sunday, and to our own party on the
water on Monday, and to the Opera with you
on Tuesday, and so on; in short, taking care
only that not one day shall be lost or misapplied."

"Depend upon me; and now then farewell,
my dear Lady Tenderden. We meet to-night?"

"Of course. _Soyez toujours séduisante
comme à present; cette capotte jaune est délicieuse;
elle vous va à ravir._"

"_Flatteuse_," rejoined Lady Tilney in a tone
of languishing satisfaction, and so they parted
mutually pleased. Lady Tenderden, true to her
promise, drove straight to Lady Glenmore's,
and found her at home. Having expressed
her satisfaction at this fortunate circumstance,
one too of such rare occurrence, she
praised every part of her dress, and inquiring
of the Paris fashions, thus proceeded: "And
now, my fair queen, you are truly an enviable
personage--_you_, if any body ever had,
have really _beau jeu_, every thing that can make
a woman's life truly desirable; a great establishment,
magnificent equipages, jewels,
and the consideration which attaches to a _haut
grade_ in society, a distinguished title, _tout
enfin qui peut embellir la vie_; truly, _je vous
en félicite, ma belle amie_. But you cannot
occupy so enviable a position without exciting
the most active envy. Now allow me, as
a sincere friend, to put you _au courant_ of some
things, in respect to the true nature of which
you may be deceived. There are a certain
set of persons, who will very naturally pay you
court, and endeavour to obtain your ear; such
as the Duchesse D'Hermanton, the Ladies
Proby, and Ladies How, and all that tiresome
concourse of old dowagers; but be upon your
guard against these, and without giving open
offence to any body, be sure that you get rid
of them in their very first onset."--Lady Glenmore
stared. "_Vous ouvrez des grands yeux,
ma chère_, but you will soon learn the use of
these cautions. If the people I have named
send their names, as they will certainly do or
visit you, be a long time before you return the
call; they are an old-fashioned set, who pique
themselves on politeness, and _veille cour_ attentions,
and feeling affronted by this neglect on
your part, they will not so readily or familiarly
accost you in public. When they do
(for some of them are vulgarly good-natured
enough not to take the hint)--when they do
accost you, take care to look as if you did not
know who they were, and to answer them
by monosyllables, if you answer them at all.

"Above all things, never go to their wearisome
_At Homes_; but if they attack you with
one of their downright speeches,--sorry not to
have had the honour, &c. &c.--hoping you had
received a card, &c. &c.--curtsey, and say you
were vastly sorry, but you forgot the day,
or----no no, say _mistook_ it; yes, _mistook_ it,
that is best, because it is a loop-hole that answers
for dinner as well as any other party;
yes, a mistake of the day is the best recipe I
know, for any invitation which you may
chance to hesitate about, and perhaps think
it possible you might like to accept, and
then having done so, repent of it when the
time comes--a mistake in the day sets all
right. You are _au desespoir_, and _they_ must
believe you, or make themselves appear ridiculous;
it may indeed cost you a note or two,
but that is the worst of it, and then _vous en
êtes quitte pour la vie_."

Lady Glenmore, who had been so astonished
hitherto that she could not reply, now
found herself called upon to make some answer,
as there was a pause on the part of
Lady Tenderden.

"You have told me so many things," she
said, "my dear Lady Tenderden" (smiling
as she spoke), "that I am afraid I shall never
remember the half of them, particularly as
they are upon subjects which, to tell you the
truth, do not interest me much, if at all. One
thing you said, however, that was very kind,
and kindness is not lost upon me I can assure
you, which was the cordial expression with
which you wished me joy of my happiness. I
should indeed be ungrateful if I did not feel
warmly obliged to you; only you omitted in the
catalogue of my felicities, that, without which
there would be no felicity for me--I mean
my being the wife of Lord Glenmore; who,
had he not possessed any of the adventitious
advantages you enumerated, I should equally
have preferred to the whole world."

"Oh! _cela va sans dire_, of course such a
young and handsome husband is taken into
the account; but, my dear young friend, _vous
ne voulez pas vous donner des ridicules_, much
less render your husband the laughing-stock
of all the world, by setting yourself up with
him _en scène de Berger et Bergere_; besides,
permit me to say, that is just the way to lose
him. If you are always at his elbow, watching
him _en furet_, depend upon it he will soon
think you are jealous, and following him out
of curiosity. Now there is nothing a man can
so ill bear as the idea of being watched, particularly
by a wife; besides, all his male friends
would avoid him if they saw he had such an
Argus--for, beautiful as you are, you must not
have an hundred eyes, to spy out every thing
your husband does; no no, my dear, when
you are _en tête-à-tête_, it is all well enough, this
new-married fondness; but it will soon evaporate,
take my word for it, and then you
will be dying to break the troublesome habit
_de part et d'autre_, and will not know how to
set about it: take great care, _ma chère ladi_, to
begin as you mean to go on."

"Certainly," replied Lady Glenmore, "I
have but one meaning, one intention--that is,
to love and be loved; and I shall never, I
hope, do any thing which can run counter to
that prime business, that prime duty of my
life."

"Oh!" cried Lady Tenderden, perceiving
she had gone too far, "it is quite delightful
to hear you. You are, I am sure, destined to
be a phœnix" (sneeringly); "and proud indeed
must any woman be to view one of her
own sex so well calculated to be a glory and
honour to it. I was only warning you against
certain appearances, certain misapprehensions,
which persons of your turn of mind are
liable to fall into, and which might be the
very means of depriving you of that which
you are so anxious to retain. I know the
world, believe me, my dear young friend,
and there is nothing in it I can so ill endure to
see, as an assumption of a happiness which is
out of the common line. If you enjoy such a
superlative felicity, _tant mieux pour vous_, but
do not make an _étalage_ of it, for either its
reality will be questioned, or they will take
care it shall not long be one; whereas if you
do as other people do, you will be allowed to
go on quietly, and you may perhaps carry on
this sort of romantic view of life much longer
than persons in general do."

Lady Glenmore, who had listened with
painful earnestness to this insidious advice,
now felt her heart swell, and the tears bursting
from her eyes. "And must I really,"
she said in a voice of suffocation, "pretend
to be indifferent to my husband, in order to
retain his love?"

"Certainly, my dear child; _peut on être si
enfant_" (observing her emotion), "as to allow
yourself to be thus moved about such a trifle;
take my advice, and you will never lose that
sort of hold over his affections which it is so
charming, I allow, to possess. Shew him
that you can have other men at your feet--that
you are not, in short, dependent upon
him for any thing _faites vous un sort_, in short,
_et vous ne vous en répentirez pas_."

"And pray, how am I to set about this
sort of life?"

"Why nothing so easy; simply, go constantly
out, and take care to have one or two
young men _de la première volée_ always about
you; never be reduced to be handed out or into
any public place by Lord Glenmore; only
now and then _pour faire beau voir_, and to
shew that you have _des procédés honnêtes_
one to the other--or else _par hasard_, but
never as a thing of course. Another point
is, you must establish an apartment of your
own; for you cannot think between married
persons how necessary that is, and what an
independence it gives to both. It is so very
disagreeable to have the exact moment of
our going in and coming out commented
upon."

"Dear no, pardon me, not at all. I am always
glad when Lord Glenmore says, 'Where
have you been so long, Georgina?' because
that shews he misses me."

"Oh, of course," said Lady Tenderden, as
she always said when she did not know what
to say; and inwardly she thought what a
world of nature must here be overturned, before
any thing artificial can be sown in such a
soil! "Well, my dear Lady Glenmore, you
come to the Hamlet Vernon's to-morrow
night?"

"Yes, I believe so; that is to say, if Lord
Glenmore is disengaged."

"Now really we shall all be afraid of such
a paragon of love and obedience; or what is
worse, we shall all laugh at you if you give
_tête baissé_ into that sort of ultra propriety.
What can Lord Glenmore's engagements have
to do with your coming or not coming to
Lady Hamlet Vernon's?" Lady Glenmore
blushed, and confessed that she did not wish
to go out if Lord Glenmore did not.

"Well, my dear, I see the terrible re-action
in perspective which must succeed to all this
red-hot love; and it is mighty well for the
moment; only you are laying up, _croyez moi_,
a store of discontent and dissatisfaction for
yourself."

At this moment a servant entered, and laid
a visiting card on the table. "Oh, Mr. Leslie
Winyard," said Lady Tenderden, taking it up,
"a vastly agreeable creature: you will let
him in of course."

"No," answered Lady Glenmore, "the
only thing Lord Glenmore does not wish me
to do, as a young married woman, is to receive
young men as morning visitors, and I
have no wish to disobey him; therefore Mr.
Leslie Winyard has been included in the general
order I gave to that effect."

"_Je tombe de mon haut_; well, certainly, I
never should have guessed that Lord Glenmore,
that handsome, young, gay Lothario,
would have turned out such a tyrant; and to
commence before the honey-moon be well
nigh over to shew the cloven-foot of _husbandism_,
is really putting a seal to that tyranny
with a vengeance! And he--he too, of _all persons_,
to pretend--but I believe that is always
the way, these men _à bonnes fortunes_ do always
make the most insufferable husbands."

"I am sure," replied Lady Glenmore, with
an air of offended dignity which astonished
Lady Tenderden, "I am sure Lord Glenmore
desires nothing of me but what he conceives
is for my own happiness; and I am perfectly
willing to obey him in every thing, far less
in such a matter of indifference as this."
Her cheeks here grew redder and redder during
every word of Lady Tenderden's insidious
speech. The melancholy, uneasy expression,
nevertheless, which in despite of herself
threw a cast of restless inquiry into her countenance,
as though she would have asked "to
what do you allude?" did not pass unobserved
by Lady Tenderden, and she conceived it to
be a good time to let the poison work which
she had thus insidiously distilled; so she arose
to take her leave, and with apparent carelessness
said, "_Au reste_, remember," and she
spoke in a soothing tone of commiseration,
as if she wished, were it possible, to have
withdrawn, or at least to soften the words she
had uttered, "remember, Lord Glenmore is
not a bit worse than other men, they are all
alike; and really I think him singularly agreeable,
so do not let any thing I have said give
you a moment's uneasiness."

She knew the rankling arrow was in Lady
Glenmore's heart. "You have nothing to do
but to take your own way, and keep it well
in mind that all husbands take theirs, and
my word for it, if you only follow this counsel,
you will live _en Tourtereaux_, and lead a very
happy life."

"I have no doubt I shall do that," said
Lady Glenmore, half-crying.

"Believe me, _cher enfant_, whenever you
feel the least melancholy or uneasy, send for
me, and I shall put all to rights for you in a
moment; you are a delightful, an unique
creature; I really love you, and him too; you
know, he was my play-fellow when we were
children, therefore I take a particular interest
in you both, and am alike the friend of each.
Come, dry these beauteous eyes, whose brightness
ought not to be dimmed by a tear; come,
take a drive with me in the Park." Lady
Glenmore hesitated as she replied:

"I expect Lord Glenmore every moment;
he promised to drive me in his phaeton. He
was to have been here an hour ago" (looking
anxiously at the clock).

"Well, then, if he is an hour after his
appointment, you would not surely wait for
him any longer? Depend upon it he has been
engaged by some business, or it may be love
of virtù or politics, _que sçai-je_--come let us go
and look for him; my life for it we shall meet
him in the Park."

"Perhaps so," said the youthful Georgina
with a sigh, who evidently assented to Lady
Tenderden's proposal for no other reason than
that the hope might be realized;--and ordering
the servant who answered her bell, to
tell her maid to arrange her shawl, she followed
her _friend_ to her carriage.

When they reached the Park her eyes
wandered from one figure to another in quest
of Lord Glenmore; in vain--the admiration
of the passing throng who courted her attention
had no attraction for her, she saw
not the only object she wished to see, and
returned wearied and dispirited, notwithstanding
all Lady Tenderden's endeavours to
amuse and dissipate her thoughts. The moment
she came home, however, she had the
satisfaction of finding her husband already
there, and she scarcely waited to say adieu to
Lady Tenderden before she flew up stairs to
him. After her first greeting, he asked her
where and with whom she had been; and on
telling him, he said, "I am glad, love, that
you like Lady Tenderden, for she has a thousand
good qualities;" (_a façon de parler_ by the
way, which is often taken upon trust from
one month to another, and frequently bears
no true meaning.) Lord Glenmore continued:
"Yes, she has a thousand good qualities, and
is very clever and agreeable in her way, and
has that perfect _usage du monde_ which has
so much charm, and which besides may
be of real advantage to a young person
like yourself entering on the scene; I am
quite rejoiced that she is your friend. It is
true she sometimes overpasses that line of _retenue_
which I might like my young wife to
observe; yet she has never been charged with
any real fault, and in adopting what is best,
you can leave out such parts of her manners
and conduct as may not exactly suit your
age and taste. In short, I think she is a very
useful acquaintance, and you may safely listen
to her advice respecting your conduct in the
world; but after a little experience, my sweet
Georgina, you may make your own choice of
intimates, and I am sure that selection will
always be well and wisely made."

Lady Glenmore listened attentively to her
husband, and sighed as she recalled to mind
the nature of the advice which she had
already received; but thought, "well, then,
Lady Tenderden was right after all, and I
must not tell Glenmore. How childish and
silly I was in having been so vexed about his
not coming home this morning,--still less
must I tell him of her cautioning me against
pursuing him, for should he know that I had a
thought of doing so, it might probably produce
the effect she predicted."

With this idea thus unfortunately impressed
upon her mind by what her husband had
unthinkingly said, Lady Glenmore remained
silent. The hour of dressing now called them
to their toilette, and the subject was not at
that time renewed.




CHAPTER III.

JEALOUSY.


After Lord Albert had parted with his
friend in the Park, he returned again to Lady
Dunmelraise's house; but still in vain--they
came not. The agony of suspense, when prolonged,
is perhaps the severest which the
human mind can know; but like all chastisements
or corrections, it is never sent without
a meaning, and if entertained as it is mercifully
intended it should be, we shall reap the
fruits of the trial.

In the present case, Lord Albert's disappointment
brought back a livelier sense of
the attachment he really felt for Lady Adeline,
and awoke all those tender fears and reminiscences
which cherish love, but which a too
great security of possession had for the present
blunted, or at least laid in abeyance.
He now wondered how he could have
suffered so much time to elapse without
writing to her. He wondered, too, that he
had not heard from her; she had not then
missed the blank in his part of the correspondence;
and it was evident some other
interest had supplied that one in her heart.--He
looked at her picture, as if he could read
in that image an answer to these various
surmises; but it was placid, and serene--it
smiled as was her wont, and he felt displeased
at the senseless portrait, for an expression
which he could not have borne her to wear,
had she really known what his fears and
feelings were. He shut the case and pushed
it from him;--he felt angry--and then
ashamed--for conscience goaded him with its
sting, and in turn questioned him, as to his
right of indulging one such sensation against
_her_, whom in fact he knew he had neglected:
but all this process of mental analization
was salutary, and as he came by degrees to
know himself better, he was enabled to form
a truer estimation, not only of the amiable
person to whom he was bound by every tie
of honour, but of the true nature of real
worth.

At length, on the fourth morning from that
on which he met Lord Glenmore, he found in
North Audley Street a note from Lady Adeline.
"A note only!" he said, hastily breaking
the seal. It was written from an inn on the
road; it informed him that Lady Dunmelraise
had borne the journey very ill, which had
occasioned them to stop frequently; but that
they would reach town she hoped on the following
evening. Lord Albert turned quickly
to the date, and found that it was of the preceding
day, so that he might expect their
arrival that very evening. A gleam of delightful
anticipation now shed joy over his
heart. We easily gloss over our own faults;
and Lord Albert found all his self-reproaches
for neglect and temporary coldness merged
in the fondness he actually felt at that moment,
and his present determination to abide
by, and act upon this feeling, silenced all
self-accusation. With a beating pulse, and an emotion
he did not wish to quell, he determined
on not leaving the house till he should once
more have seen _his_ Adeline.

He seated himself, therefore, in the drawing-room,
and gave a loose to those pleasurable
sensations which now flowed in upon
him. The apartment had been prepared for
Lady Dunmelraise, and all the usual objects
in her own and her daughter's occupations
were set in their wonted places. He recognized
with transport a thousand trifling circumstances
connected with them, which
brought his love, his _own_ love, more vividly
before his eyes. As he carefully enumerated
and dwelt upon these, his eyes rested on a
vacant space in the wall near the piano-forte,
where a drawing of himself had hung; and
the enchanting thought that it had been her
companion in the country, came in aid of all
the rest to soften and gladden every sensation
of his heart. As his eyes wandered over the
apartment in quest of fresh food for delight,
they rested on a parcel of papers, and letters,
lying on the writing table. He turned them
over, hardly knowing why he did so, when a
frank from Restormel, directed to Lady Adeline
Seymour, gave him an unpleasant shock,
and he dropped it with a sudden revulsion of
sensation that was any thing but gentle.

He again resumed the letter, turned it
round and round, looked at the seal--it was a
coat of arms, but the motto, "_for life_," was
a peculiar one. He wondered to what family
it belonged; he thought of consulting some
heraldic work in order to discover, when the
sound of a heavy laden carriage passing
in the street, drew off his attention. He
flew to the window--it was a family coach,
but one glance told him it was not that
of Lady Dunmelraise. Back he came to
the letter table; again _the letter_ was before
his eyes--_the letter_, for amongst many he
saw but one.

"It is surprising," he said to himself, "that
Adeline should have a correspondent at Restormel,
and I not know of it; but shortly,
very shortly, this mystery shall be solved. I
will ask her at once--but carelessly, naturally,
who is her unknown friend at Restormel?
Ask her? no, she will of course tell
me, if she has formed any new acquaintance
with whom she is sufficiently intimate to correspond,
and if she does not of herself tell me,
I shall never _inquire_ into the matter--indeed
why should I? No, there is nothing renders
a man so silly as jealousy, or throws him so
much in a woman's power as letting her see
he is jealous."

With these, and many such contradictory
reasonings as these, did Lord Albert continue
to pace the room along and across, and every
now and then stop and fix his eyes on the
offending letter; when again a sound attracted
him to the window, and though it was dusk,
and objects were indistinctly seen at a distance,
he recognized the well-known equipage. The
next moment he was in the street; and the
next it drove up to the door. He heard Lady
Adeline's soft voice cry out, "There's Albert!"
as she half turned to her mother, and
kept kissing her hand to himself. The carriage
door was opened, and she sprang out,
receiving the pressure of his hand with an
answering expression of fondness.

"Dear Albert, how do you do? have you
not thought we were an age on the road?
But I hope you received my note." Ere he
could reply, Lady Dunmelraise's extended
hand was cordially presented to him, and as
affectionately taken; and while each rested
on his arm on entering the house, he felt in
the kindly pressure of both that he was as
welcome to them as ever.

When he had assisted Lady Dunmelraise,
who moved feebly, to the drawing-room, and
placed her pillows on the couch, even in
this moment of joyous re-union, he could not
fail to observe what ravages sickness had
made in her frame since they last met; and
as he expressed, though in modified terms, in
order not to alarm her, the regret he felt at
seeing her so unwell, he observed the eyes
of Lady Adeline fixed upon him, in order to
read his real opinion on the first sight he had
of her mother; and before he could regulate
his own feelings on the subject, those of Lady
Adeline's overshadowed her countenance with
an expression of sadness she was not prepared
to command, while the tears rushed to her
eyes. Again holding out her hand to Lord
Albert, while a smile of mingled joy and
sorrow beamed over her features, and partly
dispersed the cloud, she said,

"All will be well _now_; my dearest mamma
will soon be better--joy and happiness will
once again be our's." Lord Albert thanked
her with his eloquent eyes; and as he impressed
a kiss on her offered hand, he replied:

"How fortunate that I received your letter
when I did, for in another hour I should have
been on my way to Dunmelraise."

"Indeed!" said Lady Adeline, her eyes
sparkling with pleasure.

"Yes; and I had, but for something which
detained me, been on my road there long
before your letter arrived."

"That would indeed have been unfortunate,"
said Lady Dunmelraise; "to have
missed you after so long hoping to have seen
you there in vain, would have doubled our
regret;" she spoke with a tone of something
like reproach, at least so Lord Albert took
it; and she added, with a melancholy smile,
"It is a bad omen that a letter from _Adeline_
should have _prevented_ you from coming to
us."

Lord Albert felt embarrassed; there was
something relative to the delay of his coming
which he knew he could not explain, and this
consciousness made him feel as if he were
acting a double part. At this moment Lady
Adeline perceived the letters lying on the
table, and taking them up, she glanced her
eye over them as she turned them round one
by one, saying, "this is for you, mamma--and
this--and this--and this, as she handed them
to Lady Dunmelraise--but this one is for myself."
Lord Albert's attention had from the
first moment of her taking up the letters
been riveted upon her, and now with ill-concealed
anxiety he watched every turn of her
countenance, while she broke the seal and
perused the letter. She read it, he conceived,
with great interest; and said, when she had
concluded, addressing Lady Dunmelraise--

"It is a kind word of inquiry for you, my
dear mamma, from George Foley." Lord
Albert changed colour as this name was
pronounced; but neither she nor Lady Dunmelraise
observed the circumstance, and this
gave him leisure and power to recover from
the confusion he experienced. Lady Adeline
again resumed, after a short pause, "You
must have met Mr. Foley at Restormel, Albert;
what do you think of him?"

"I had little opportunity of judging of
him," replied Lord Albert, hesitating as he
spoke; "but he was only at Restormel for a
part of the time I was there. He had, however,
a strong recommendation to my favourable
opinion, from the warm terms of praise and
admiration in which he mentioned you, Adeline."
She smiled, and without any alteration
of manner went on to say:

"I am afraid then he has _too_ favourable an
opinion of me; and if he has raised your expectations
so high of my improvement since
last we met, I shall have reason to lament
your having become acquainted with him;
but he is such an _adorateur_ of mamma's, that
he thinks every thing that belongs to her is
perfection!"

Notwithstanding Lady Adeline's seeming
calmness while speaking of Mr. Foley--notwithstanding
the natural and ingenuous expression
of her words and countenance, Lord
Albert could not divest himself of the idea
that Mr. Foley had some undue power over
her affections. It is easy, perhaps, to shut
the door against evil thoughts; but when once
they are admitted, they obtain a footing and
a consequence which it was never intended
that they should have. Beware, all ye who
love, of admitting one spark of jealousy into
your breasts, without immediately quenching
the same by open and free discussion
with the object of your affections! But there
lies the difficulty--we are ashamed of harbouring
an injurious thought of those we love;
or rather, we are ashamed of _confessing_ that
we do so; and we go on in the danger of
concealment, rather than by humbling our
pride, and laying open our error, obtain the
probable chance of having it exposed, and
removed. While monosyllables of indifferent
import dropped from Lord Albert's lips, he
was in his heart cherishing the false notion that
had the letter, which gave him so much uneasiness,
been entirely of the import which
Lady Adeline represented it to be, it would
have been more natural to have addressed it
to Lady Dunmelraise herself.

He did not, indeed, dare to impugn Lady
Adeline's truth: but he conceived that no
other man should presume to have an interest
in her--in her who _belonged to himself_ (every
man will understand this), which could entitle
him to hold a correspondence with her. He
consequently became abstracted, and there was
a sort of restraint upon the ease of his manner
and conversation, of which Lady Dunmelraise's
penetration soon made her aware, and
to which even the young and unsuspecting
Adeline could not remain wholly blind.

In order to replace things on the footing
which they had been formerly, and which on
their first meeting they still appeared to be,
Lady Adeline turned the discourse to her pursuits
in the country, and spoke in detail of
her drawing, her music, her flower-garden,
and the families of the poor in their neighbourhood
whom she and Lord Albert had so
often visited together.

"You remember," she said, "poor Betsy
Colville, who never recovered the loss of her
lover who was shipwrecked; she is still in the
same state. She goes every day to the gate
where they last parted, takes out the broken
sixpence he gave her at their last interview;
and having returned home, looks in her father's
face, and says '_to-morrow_.' She never
repines, never misses church--joins in family
worship; but her poor mind is touched, and
she can no longer do the work of the house or
tend on her aged parents. I have therefore
paid my chief attentions to that family--and
they are so grateful--so grateful, too, for what
you have done for them. The myrtle we
planted together, Albert, on the gable-end of
the house, now nearly reaches the thatch;
and in all their distress about their daughter,
the good old pair have never forgotten to tend
that plant. Mr. Foley and I rode or walked
there every day."

The latter words of this discourse poisoned
all the sweetness of the preceding part; and the
idea of Mr. Foley became associated in Lord
Albert's distempered mind, with all the interest
and all the enthusiasm expressed by Lady
Adeline; so that he read in her descriptions of
her mode of having passed her time, and the
pleasure she had innocently enjoyed, nothing
but her love of Mr. Foley's company.

Lord Albert became still more silent, or
spoke only in broken sentences; and a deeper
gloom gradually spread over each of the three
individuals, usurping the place of that cordial
outpouring of the heart, which had at first
rendered the moment of meeting so delightful.
After a silence, during which Lady Adeline
and Lady Dunmelraise appeared mutually affected
by the awkwardness which the change
in Lord Albert's manner had excited, yet
anxious to conceal from each other the knowledge
that such was the case--they felt relieved,
when he took up a newspaper, and
read aloud the announcement of an approaching
drawing-room.

Lady Dunmelraise, glad of an opportunity
to find some subject of discourse foreign
to the thoughts which obtruded themselves so
painfully upon her, said, "Well, Adeline, that
is a favourable circumstance, _à quelque chose
malheur est bon_; had I not been so much
worse exactly at this very time, we had perhaps
not been in London; for though I have
for some months past wished you to be presented
at court, we might, ten to one, not
have had courage to leave Dunmelraise at
this sweet season; but as it is, the opportunity
must not be lost, and the only question is, by
whom shall the presentation take place--for
alas! I am not able myself to have that pleasure,
and I fear my dear sister Lady Delamere
will not either;" then pausing a moment,
she added, "perhaps, Lord Albert, Lady Tresyllian
will kindly take that office, if she is to be
in town."

"I am sure she would readily comply
with any wish of yours; but I know my mother
has, in a great measure, given up the
London world, and has not been at any of the
drawing-rooms during the present reign; but,
perhaps, on such an occasion, she might be
induced to forego her determination of retreat."

"Oh, I would not for the world," said
Lady Adeline, "torment Lady Tresyllian
about it; for," she added, smiling, "you know
how very little I care about such things."

"It is well," said Lady Dunmelraise, "to
hold every thing in estimation according to its
due value. Most young persons are _too_ fond of
the gaieties and pleasures of the world; but
you, my dear Adeline, perhaps contemn them
in one sweeping clause of indifference, without
having properly considered to what advantages
they may tend when resorted to in due degree,
and in subordination to better pursuits. A
drawing-room I hold to be one of those very
few worldly pageants which are connected with
some valuable and estimable feelings; the attending
them is an homage due to the state of
the sovereign; they uphold the aristocracy of
the country, which is one of the three great
powers of government, now too much, too
dangerously set aside; and they ought to, and
do in great measure, keep up those barriers
in society, which prevent an indiscriminate
admission of vice and virtue, at least as far as
regards an outward respect to the _appearances
of decorum_. Whenever drawing-rooms shall
be abolished, you will see that much greater
licence in society will take place. The countenance
of the sovereign, the right to be in
his presence, is one which none would voluntarily
resign; and to avoid losing it, is a
check upon the conduct of many, who are
not regulated by better motives; while those
who are, will always duly appreciate those
honours which flow from monarchs, and
which form a part of our glorious constitution.
'Love God, honour the king,' is the
good old adage; and with this conviction on
my mind, and the remembrance of that loyalty
and attachment to the present House of
Hanover which your ancestors have ever displayed,
even to the sacrifice of their lives and
fortunes, my Adeline, I have set my heart on
your being presented to your king; and the
only consideration is, who shall be the person
to present you."

"Well, dearest mamma," replied Lady Adeline,
"any thing you wish, I shall be delighted
to do, and I make no doubt you are perfectly
right; only I did not feel the least anxious, and
I wished to set your mind at rest upon the subject
of my going into public." Lord Albert said,
with an expression of melancholy and displeasure,
"It is quite unnatural for a young person
of your age, Adeline, to affect to despise the
amusements of the world; and unless you
have some _cause_ for doing so, best known to
yourself, I confess I do not understand it."

Lady Adeline was too quick-sighted not to
perceive that something or other pained and
displeased Lord Albert, and had they been
quite alone, she might have asked him the
occasion of this change in his humour; but
as it was, she did not dare to question him;
and by way of turning the conversation into
another channel, she inquired, of whom
consisted the party at Restormel; if they
were clever, or distinguished, or agreeable;
and whether the mode of life there was to his
taste? Lord Albert seemed to awake out of
a sort of reverie into which he had fallen,
and his countenance was agitated by many
commingling expressions as he replied,

"I really can hardly tell you; there were
the Tilneys, the Tenderdens, the Boileaus,
Lady Hamlet Vernon, Mr. Leslie Winyard.
At that sort of party there is little occasion
for the display of talent, and people are glad
to be quiet for a few days when they go to
their country houses; so that each individual
is thinking more of repose than of shining.
As to their mode of life, it was pretty nearly,
I think, what it is when they are in town."

Though Lord Albert spoke this in a hurried
tone, he felt as though he had got well over
a difficulty. But the remark Lady Dunmelraise
made upon his answer, did not particularly
serve his turn at the moment:--"Either
the persons who I heard composed
that party, or Lord Albert, must be much
changed since I knew them, if they could be
in unison," and she fixed her eyes upon him;--his
embarrassment was visible, and did not
subside as she went on to speak particularly
of Lady Hamlet Vernon: "She remembered
her marriage," she said, and commented
upon those sort of marriages, saying, "that
all intriguing schemes were detestable, but
those respecting marriage were of all others
the most thoroughly wicked and despicable.
Lady Hamlet's conduct, too, after marriage
was not very praiseworthy: if a woman sacrifice
every other consideration in allying
herself to her husband for the sake of aggrandizement,
she must at least continue to act
upon that system, and if possible wash out
the disgrace of such an act (for I consider it
to be no less) by her subsequent mode of
behaviour, and the dignified uses to which
she applies her power. But in the present
instance this was far from being the case,
and she had allowed an apparent levity of
conduct, at least, to sully her character. In
one instance, I _know_, she has drawn a person,
in whom I feel great interest, into a manner
of life, and an idleness of existence, which, to
call it by no harsher name, is one of vanity
and folly; but I had hoped her influence was
over in that quarter."

"As I do not know to what you allude,"
rejoined Lord Albert, "I cannot exactly reply;
but certainly Lady Hamlet Vernon is
very handsome, very agreeable, and, for aught
I know to the contrary, leads now a very good
sort of life. She has a finely-disposed heart,
and, I should think, is better than half the
people who find fault with her. If, from having
married an old _roué_, she was thrown into
danger, which her personal charms rendered
very likely to have been the case, kindness I
am sure would at any time open her eyes to
avoid these; whereas undue severity might
make her rush headlong into them--for harsh
opinions in similar cases, nine times out of
ten, drive such persons from bad to worse."

"I conceive," said Lady Dunmelraise, "that
this may sometimes be the case; but it is frequently
only an excuse for not choosing to hear
the truth told. However, there is a society,
of which Lady Hamlet Vernon is one, which
I hold to be the subverter of every thing estimable.
Its great danger is the specious ease
and indifference of those who compose it,
the system being without any system whatever.
The great gentleness of manner and
entire freedom, which seem to be its characteristics,
are its most dangerous snares. No
consecutive speech upon any subject, no power
of reasoning, no appeal to religion, are tolerated
by these persons. They have a lawless
form of self-government indeed, by which they
keep up their own sect and set,--but there is
a mystery in the delusions which they cast
around their victims, the more difficult to detect
since the whole of their lives is spent in a
seeming carelessness about every thing.

"The warning voice of a parent can alone
put a young and unsuspecting member of
society on his guard against being drawn into
this vortex; but it is the young married
persons to whom such warning is more particularly
necessary. However, because there
are persons, who by artful intrigue arrogate
to themselves a certain consideration,
which they receive from the uninstructed and
unwary, and whose ways are certainly not
those of pleasantness or peace--we are not to
say but that there are others who to the
highest rank unite the highest principles, and
who reflect honour on the class to which they
belong--persons who consider their high stations
as being the gifts of God, and themselves
as responsible agents. Yes, the true nobility
of Britain will yield to none other of any
country for intrinsic worth; all the virtues
adorn their families, and religion and honour
stamp them with that true nobility of soul,
without which all distinction is but a beacon
of disgrace.

"It is not, therefore, because a few worthless
or foolish persons, in the vast concourse
of London society, affect an exclusiveness
which rests on no basis of real worth or dignity,
but on the very reverse, that all intercourse
with the world is to be avoided, or all
innocent pleasure to be denied to young persons;
and I should be exceedingly disappointed
to see my Adeline retiring from her
state and station, and coming to have a distaste
for its amusements, because I feel certain that
so violent a re-action is not natural, and that
the real way to be of service to herself and
others, is to fulfil the rank and station of life
wherein she is placed, and in fact to do as our
great inimitable Pattern did--to go about
doing good."

Lord Albert's feelings, while Lady Dunmelraise
was speaking, had undergone many
changes, but the last was that of pleasurable
approval at finding Lady Dunmelraise's opinion
so much in coincidence with his own--and
he said, in his own natural warm manner,
"I hope Adeline will feel quite convinced, by
your sensible manner, my dear Lady Dunmelraise,
of representing this matter, that there is
no virtue, nothing commendable indeed, in despising
or condemning the world _en masse_, and
that there is just as much real good to be done
by living in as living out of it. True virtue
does not lie in time or place--it is of all times,
of all places; and it is a narrow, bigoted view
of the subject alone, which partakes of monastic
rigour and hypocritical ambition under
the garb of humility, which would promulgate
any other doctrine."

"My dear Albert, you know that I have no
wish but to please mamma and you; and I
need not pretend but that I shall be exceedingly
diverted by going to public places. All
I meant to say was, not to make yourselves
uneasy about finding a _chaperon_ for me, because
I am perfectly contented to remain as I
am--although I might be equally well diverted
in leading what is called a gayer life."

Lord Albert's countenance relapsed into
brightness as he said, taking her hand and
putting it to his lips, "You are a dear and a
rare creature--is she not, Lady Dunmelraise?"--and
this appeal Lady Dunmelraise felt no
inclination to controvert; but, rejoicing in the
present disposition which she once more beheld
in her future son-in-law, she now dismissed
him for the evening, saying, "Adeline
and I require some repose, that we may be
fresh to-morrow for all the great events to
which we shall look forward with pleasure, I
am sure, as you seem to be quite of our way
of thinking respecting her _début_ in the great
world--and so good night." The wish was
reiterated kindly, warmly, by all parties, and
they parted happier even than they had met.

As soon as Lord Albert reached his hotel,
he found a note from Lady Hamlet Vernon,
announcing her arrival from Restormel, and
requesting to see him. In an instant, as though
by magic, his doubts and fears respecting Lady
Adeline returned; for with Lady Hamlet Vernon
was connected the recollection of her
mysterious note at Restormel, on the morning
of his departure from thence--and with that
recollection George Foley was but too deeply
mingled. Then ensued a chaos in his mind,
one thought chasing another, and none abiding
to fix any purpose or decide any measure.
At one moment he determined--if such passing
impulse can be called determination--not
to go near Lady Hamlet; but the next he
thought she had shewn so much true interest
for him--she had listened so often to his
rebukes--apparently with more pleasure than
she did to praise from others--that he should
be ungrateful to avoid her _now_, because other
dearer interests filled up his time and his heart,
and he finally resolved on obeying her wishes,
and visiting her the next day.

In the morning of that day, before he had
finished his late breakfast, and ere he was
prepared to deny himself, the door of his
apartment opened, and Mr. Foley was close
to him ere his servant had time to announce
his name.

"I am come," said the latter, with his
polite and honeyed phrase, "to bring you
pleasant tidings, which I trust will apologize
for this my early intrusion. I am just arrived
from South Audley Street, where I had the
happiness of finding our friends pretty well;
Lady Dunmelraise, indeed, was not up, having
been fatigued by her journey; but Lady
Adeline is blooming in beauty--I do not know
when I have seen her looking better." Lord
Albert bowed, and in his coldest manner replied,
"he was very happy indeed to hear that
Lady Adeline Seymour was so well, and he
hoped, when he should make his personal
inquiries, to find Lady Dunmelraise in the
drawing-room."

Mr. Foley was too penetrating not to see
that this information, as it came from him,
conveyed no pleasurable feeling; but affecting
not to observe this, he went on to talk of the
late party at Restormel--spoke of Lady
Hamlet Vernon as being a delightful creature,
and drew a kind of parallel _raisonné_ between
her character and that of Lady Adeline's.
Lord Albert was thinking, all the time he
spoke, of the impertinent assumption of Mr.
Foley's addressing him on the subject of Lady
Adeline, and discussing her merits, as though
he were not aware of them, and had not a
better right and ampler means to know and
to value them.

Still there was a suavity--a delicacy even,
in Mr. Foley's mode of expressing himself,
which gave no tangible opportunity to shew
offence; and Lord Albert, though writhing
under impatience, was obliged to control
himself. As soon as he could possibly contrive
to do so, he changed the conversation, and
spoke of the Opera, the Exhibition, the topics
of the day--of all, in short, that was most
uninteresting to him; and carried on an under
current of thought all the time on the impropriety
Adeline had been guilty of, in receiving
Mr. Foley without her mother's presence to
sanction such a visit, and on going himself
directly to South Audley Street, in order that
he might disclose to her his opinion on the
inexpediency of such a measure, as that of her
receiving the visits of young men when alone.
But though the evident abstraction of Lord
Albert D'Esterre rather increased than diminished,
still Mr. Foley sat on, and sometimes
rose to make a remark on a picture--sometimes
opened a book, and commented upon its
contents. Similar provocation must have occurred
to every one at some time or other,
and it is in vain to describe what, after all, no
description can do justice to. A note arrived
for Lord Albert--it was from Lady Adeline--very
kind, but desiring him not to come to
South Audley Street till four o'clock--saying
she was going, by her mamma's desire, to see
her aunt Lady Delamere, who was confined by
a feverish cold, and could not leave her chamber
to come to them.

Lord Albert's mortification was painted on
his countenance. "If you have nothing better
to do this morning, D'Esterre, and that your
note does not otherwise take up your time,
will you accompany me to Lady Hamlet
Vernon's?" Lord Albert felt, "what, am I to
be balked, dogged, forestalled in every trifling
circumstance by this man!" but he _said_,
hesitating as he spoke, "yes--no, that is to
say, I had an engagement, but it is postponed
for the present--therefore, if you please, I
will accompany you to Lady Hamlet's door;"
and Mr. Foley, evidently triumphing in having
foiled Lord Albert's real intentions, whatever
they might be, but maintaining still his quiet
composure, offered Lord Albert his arm, and
they walked together towards Grosvenor
Square, each talking of one thing and thinking
of another.




CHAPTER IV.

AN EXCLUSIVE MORNING PARTY.


As they walked along between Lord Albert's
house and that of their destination, one idea
took the lead in D'Esterre's mind--it was the
hope of obtaining from Lady Hamlet Vernon
an elucidation of the mysterious expressions
contained in her note. He formed a thousand
plans how he should contrive to remain
alone with her, after Mr. Foley should take
his leave, for he made no question but that
he would be the first to end his visit; and he
settled it in his own mind that he would affect
to have some message to give Lady Hamlet,
which might afford him an opportunity of
procuring the interview he so eagerly desired:
but almost always, in similar circumstances,
none of these minor events occur as
we intend they should; and the first object
Lord Albert saw on entering Lady Hamlet
Vernon's drawing-room was Lady Tenderden,
sitting at a writing table, having taken off
her bonnet as though she had come upon
some particular occasion, and was fixed there
for a considerable time.

"Ah! Lord Albert," said Lady Hamlet
Vernon, "and Mr. Foley too! Most welcome
both.--Restormel was quite dull without
you; and besides the comfort one always feels
at coming back to the dear dirty streets,
after having been banished from them a few
days, I am really charmed to find myself
once more surrounded by all my friends. Do
tell us the news, and sit down--you shall not
positively pay me a flying visit--though you,
Lord Albert, flew away in such a hurry from
Restormel, that we had not time, no not even
to say 'farewell;'"--(and she looked at him
very significantly as she spoke.) "So before I
shall have time now to speak to you, you will
be gone again--but if so, it is not _my_ fault."

Lord Albert thought that he read the
meaning of this speech, and his impatience
and anxiety were increased in proportion.
It was with the utmost difficulty he could
bring himself to leave her side in order to go
to the other end of the room, in obedience
to Lady Tenderden, who called him every
now and then to ask some silly question or
other, which he hardly answered; and which
induced her, therefore, to beg him to come
and sit near her, that she might talk to him
comfortably while she was writing: two
things which she declared she could do quite
well at the same time. As soon as Lady
Tenderden had managed this contrivance,
Mr. Foley entered into (apparently) a very
interesting conversation with Lady Hamlet
Vernon; and Lord Albert sat on thorns as
his eyes were rivetted on them, while he contrived
to answer Lady Tenderden, although
it were as if he was playing at cross purposes.
Any change was a relief, and the announcement
of Lord Glenmore was a real pleasure
to him, for he thought his arrival must at
least break up the _tête-à-tête_ between Lady
Hamlet and Mr. Foley, which seemed to him
as if it never would end.

After having paid his compliments to Lady
Hamlet Vernon and Lady Tenderden, Lord
Glenmore accosted his friend, and cordially
wished him joy in a sort of half whisper, on
Lady Dunmelraise's arrival. But, in Lord
Albert's present frame of mind, this congratulation
was not received with that open warmth
which Lord Glenmore expected; and he
dropped the subject, taking up those of the
common-place occurrences of the day. The
drawing-room was discussed; it was to be
fuller than any preceding one. Lady Tilney
had declared she would not go--so had Lady
Ellersby; "but, nevertheless," said Lord
Glenmore, with one of his good-humoured
smiles, "I dare say those ladies will not
have the cruelty to allow their absence to
be regretted when the time arrives; do you
think they will, Lady Hamlet Vernon?"

"Most indubitably not, and I make no
doubt the _plumassiers_ and jewellers are all
at this moment in requisition in Lady Tilney's
boudoir. But, by the way, Lord Glenmore,
your fair lady will of course be presented on
your marriage--who is to have the pleasure of
presenting her?"

"Who? why of course her mother, Lady
Melcomb."

Lady Hamlet Vernon and Lady Tenderden
here exchanged the most significant glances,
and a silence ensued; which was first broken
by Lord Glenmore, who endeavoured to draw
Lord Albert into conversation by touching
alternately on politics, literature, and all the
subjects which he knew were interesting to
him; but to which he could only obtain some
short answer, that did not promote the flow
of the conversation. He began to ask himself
whether he could have given Lord Albert
any offence, or whether he retained any on
account of their interview in the Park; but it
was so unlike Lord Albert to take offence
where it never was intended to be given,
that he concluded (as was in fact the case)
that something painful was on his mind, of
which he could not divest himself. Having
vainly attempted, by raillery as well as by
engaging his attention, to get the better of
this abstraction and gloom, Lord Glenmore
let the matter pass, and addressed his conversation
elsewhere; but Lady Tenderden was
not to be diverted from her purpose, and she
took up the thread of discourse, requesting
to know if Lady Adeline Seymour had imposed
a vow of silence upon him, or what
other cause had so changed him since he was
last at Restormel? He pleaded total ignorance
of being changed; but the consciousness
that he was so, rendered his efforts at
disguise only more visible.

Lord Albert rose and sat down; a hundred
times he looked at a French clock on the chimney-piece,
which of course did not go; and
at last requested Mr. Foley to tell him the
hour, as he had an engagement which demanded
his attention. Having found that it
was a full half hour past the time appointed
by Lady Adeline, he made his bow to Lady
Hamlet Vernon, and was about to leave the
room, when she called him back, and said,
"of course we all meet in the evening at
Lady Tilney's?" There was a glance and an
emphasis which accompanied these words,
which he could not fail to interpret as an
assignation, and one that he determined on
his part to keep.

Could Lord Albert have known what was
passing in Lady Adeline's mind, while he was
thus misspending his time in a false anxiety
about a few mysterious words, written, it
might be, with no good intent, and indeed it
might be without any foundation, he would
have hastened away from this idle and unworthy
mode of passing his time long before
he did; but experience unfortunately must be
bought, and although we look upon the actions
of others, and comment upon them, it
may be with the calm wisdom of unmoved
breasts, yet in our own time of trial we are too
apt to prove that theory is not practice. One
would imagine that it was the easiest thing
possible to place one's-self ideally in the
situation of another, to feel as he felt, and
yet act diametrically opposite to the way in
which he acted, in certain circumstances
and positions; but this apparent facility of
transmigration into the identity of another's
being is mere delusion. It may be questioned
if any human creature really understands
another, and how much less likely is it that
he should argue justly on his neighbour's
affairs! Oh, if we were more merciful to
others, and more severe on ourselves; more
humble as to our own merits and more alive
to those of our fellow creatures; we should be
nearer the mark of justice than we usually
are.

While Lord Albert, under the influence of
a tormenting incipient jealousy, wasted the
hour at Lady Hamlet Vernon's which he
should have passed in South Audley Street,
Lady Adeline had been with her aunt, Lady
Delamere, who, in a true spirit of affectionate
solicitude, had nevertheless opened up a
source of anxiety and doubt in the breast
of her niece, which proved the cause of
infinite distress to her. Lady Delamere, after
receiving her with all that glow of partial
fondness peculiarly characteristic of her family,
it might be too much so towards each
other, naturally spoke of Lord Albert D'Esterre.

"Ah, my dear Adeline, now the time approaches
when, according to your father's
will, your final decision respecting the fulfilment
of your marriage must take place, my
anxious fondness suggests a thousand fears,
at least doubts, for your happiness. I beseech
you let these four intervening months at least
be given, not only to a serious examination of
your own heart, but to a clear and vigorous
elucidation of the disposition and principles
of Lord Albert."

"As to my own heart," replied Lady Adeline
with quickness, "it has long not been in
my own keeping, for most fortunately, where
my duty was directed to place it, there my
choice seconded, nay, almost preceded the
arrangement. But why should you doubt that,
such being the case, my happiness should be
endangered? say rather, dearest aunt, confirmed."

"It may be so--I trust it will be so, my
sweet Adeline, since your love is fixed; but
remember how very serious a step marriage
is; and before you are bound for life in the
holiest of all ties, again I conjure you to lay
aside, inasmuch as you can do so, all the
blandishments of love, and consider how far
the tastes, the pursuits, the temper, above all
the religious tenets of your husband, will be in
accordance with your own. Indeed, indeed,
people do not reflect seriously _enough_ on these
points. I ask not any long consideration, any
great trial of time or absence--they are both
circumstances which may deceive either way;
for things viewed at a distance, are not seen
in their true light; and one may be as much
deceived at the end of a year, as at the end of
a month--and life is short. The life of life,
the bloom of youth, should not be needlessly
withered in pining anxiety. What I ask of
you is, during the time you are now to be in
town, to go out with moderation into the
great world, to see what it has to offer, and
to know whether any other person might supersede
Lord Albert in your affections; this
is as yet a fair and honourable trial. You are
_not bound_ to each other, if either wishes to
break the tie." (Lady Adeline sighed heavily.)
"And should you, while together, discover
any flaw or imperfection which might make
you wish to dissolve the engagement, now is
the time; but after marriage, I need not say,
my Adeline, that one glance of preference for
another is guilt--one wish, foreign to your
allegiance as a wife, is _misery_."

There was a pause in the conversation.
Lady Adeline felt sorrowful--she scarcely knew
why, except indeed it had never occurred to
her that any thing could step in to break off
her engagement with Lord Albert; and the
bare possibility of such an event seemed to
unhinge her whole being.

The fact is, Lady Delamere had heard surmises
of Lord Albert's intimacy with Lady
Hamlet Vernon, and without informing her
niece of a report which, after all, might not
have any foundation, she yet conceived it to
be a duty to put her on her guard, and make
her ready to observe any alteration that might
have taken place in Lord Albert. She would
have told Lady Dunmelraise all that she had
heard without disguise; but at present her
state of health was such, that she could not
think of endangering her life by giving her
such information; for she well knew her sister's
heart was set upon the match, and that
she had long loved Lord Albert as though he
had been her son. However, she determined,
the moment Lady Dunmelraise was better, to
have no concealment from her. It had not
been without much self-debate that she had
brought herself even to hint any thing like a
doubt to Lady Adeline of Lord Albert's truth;
and even now, she only endeavoured to prepare
her to open her eyes to the conviction,
should such a melancholy change have taken
place, but without naming the real cause she
had for giving her such caution.

As it was, it was quite enough to sadden
Lady Adeline; and her air was so dejected
when she returned home to Lady Dunmelraise,
that the latter feared something had occurred
to vex her. "Is my sister worse,
dearest child?--I pray you do not conceal the
truth from me."

"Oh no;--be not alarmed," she replied,
"my aunt hopes, in a day or two, to be able to
come to see you, dearest mamma. It is not
that--but I have a bad head-ache, and have
undergone too much excitement." The look
of anxious inquiry which Lady Dunmelraise
could not conceal, lessened not Lady Adeline's
unhappiness; and as the time which
she had appointed for Lord Albert's visit
was now far passed, the whole weight of
the sad warnings she had received, seemed
doubled. At length the peculiar knock--the
quick footstep on the stair, told her he was
come, and she passed from her mother's bedroom
into the adjoining drawing-room to meet
him.

They seemed mutually affected by some
secret cause; for there was not that cordial
clasping of hands--that beaming of eyes--that
joyful tone of greeting, which might have been
expected to mark their meeting on this occasion:
their hands touched coldly--and Lord
Albert made no effort to retain her's.

"You have been very much later than I
expected, Albert."

"Yes: I could not exactly obey the hour
named in your note, as you went out before I
could possibly come here this morning; and
as you put me off, I had another engagement,
which in my turn detained me; however, I
was happy to hear you were well from Mr.
Foley, who had the pleasure of seeing you,
I believe, very early."

"Yes: Mr. Foley, you know, as mamma's
_protégé_ and _enfant de famille_, has the _entrée_
at all hours, and I was drawing when he
came in; I thought it was you, and--

"Oh, dear Lady Adeline, you cannot suppose
I should take the liberty of inquiring
what you were doing--I hope Lady Dunmelraise
is better to-day?"

Lady Adeline, under any other influence than
that which now influenced her, would have
said, "Albert, what is the matter with you? are
you displeased?" But her aunt's advice was,
"look well to the real state of Lord Albert's
affections, and do not allow your own to give
a colouring to his, which may not be the true
one, were his heart unbiassed by the flattering
predilection you so openly profess for
him." This advice sealed her lips; and,
checking the natural impulse of her heart,
she replied to his inquiries about her mother
more at length than she would have done,
in order to recover a composure she was far
from feeling; she allowed all further discussion
of her mode of passing the morning to
drop.

Lord Albert's restrained, unnatural manner
increased, and they both felt relieved
when Lady Dunmelraise called from her
apartment to her daughter--who obeyed the
summons; but returning after a minute's
absence, she said,

"Mamma hopes you will dine with us to-day."

"Oh, certainly, if Lady Dunmelraise wishes
me to do so:" and as Lady Adeline made no
reply, but returned to her mother, Lord Albert
departed to dress.

When they met at dinner, Lady Dunmelraise's
presence for a time prevented the
awkwardness they mutually felt; but she
soon found that the conversation was entirely
left to her, and could not be long
without perceiving that something had occurred
which altered Lord Albert's manner.
Hoping it, however, only to be one
of those fallings-out of lovers which are the
renewal of love, Lady Dunmelraise turned
the conversation entirely upon the coming
drawing-room, and the more interest she
seemed to take in her daughter's going into
the gay world, the more grave did Lord
Albert become: this was a contradiction to
what he had expressed respecting that measure,
and, as Lady Dunmelraise thought, a
caprice of temper, which she was sorry to
observe in him. She hoped, however, that
the thoughts which involuntarily arose in her
mind were groundless, and she determined
not to act precipitately; but felt glad that she
was come to town, where she would have an
opportunity of judging further, and of seeing
how matters stood from her own personal
observation of Lord Albert's conduct. She
considered that to probe her daughter's feelings
upon the subject, would be to excite them
so painfully, that they might destroy the power
of a cool judgment. She therefore resolved
to postpone any avowal of her own sentiments,
any positive declaration of her own
doubts, till the time, which was now fast approaching,
for Lady Adeline's ultimate decision,
should afford her a proper opportunity
of speaking her mind unreservedly to Lord
Albert; unless, indeed, circumstances of an
imperious kind relative to his conduct should
make such a step necessary before that
period.

In this disposition of mind, the parties
could not enjoy each other's society. The
conversation was broken, interrupted, and in
itself devoid of interest; so that when Lord
Albert arose to take his leave about ten
o'clock, Lady Adeline almost felt it a relief.
"What, are you going to leave us so soon?"
said Lady Dunmelraise, with visible surprise.

"I am sorry that a particular engagement
obliges me to go."

"And may I ask," rejoined Lady Dunmelraise,
in her quick way when she was not
pleased at any thing, "may I take the
liberty of asking where you are going?"

"Oh, certainly--to Lady Tilney's."

"To Lady Tilney's _party_!" with a marked
emphasis on the last word; and then checking
herself, and resuming her usual dignity
of composure, she added, "I hope you will
have an agreeable _soirée_; when one lives out
of the world, and grows old, one forgets the
delights of these sort of re-unions; but, of
course, one must do in London as they do in
London; and I believe, like most other things,
the habit of attending them becomes a second
nature." Lord Albert smiled--it might be
in acquiescence, it might be in disdain; and
with many good-nights, he slightly touched
the hands of Lady Dunmelraise and her
daughter, and departed.

There was a silence, an awkward silence;
neither liked to express the thought that was
uppermost in her mind, for fear of wounding
the other. At length Lady Dunmelraise
spoke: "It is strange," she said, "to observe
the sort of hold which foolish things sometimes
obtain over sensible men. The class of persons
with whom Lord Albert seems now to be
living, are not those I should have conceived
that he would ever have selected; but fashion
leads young people to do a thousand silly
things, which they repent when their ripened
judgment shews them in their true colours;
and to say truth, I think Lord Albert's manners
altogether have not gained by foreign
travel. But I suppose I must not express
such treason to you, Adeline?" Lady Adeline
tried to smile, as she replied:

"I have hardly had time to judge;" and
Lady Dunmelraise turned the discourse rather
on the associates of Lord Albert than on
himself.

"The persons," she said, "he named to
us as having been at Restormel, and with
whom he now appears so much engaged, are
those who live entirely for this world: and
not even for the most dignified employments
or pursuits of this present existence. Fortune,
health, and morals, are all likely to become
the prey of a voracious appetite for
pleasure; and when we live only to pleasure,
we lose all title to being rational souls, and
make a wreck of happiness. I am willing to
hope and believe, that many are ensnared
to tread this Circean circle who are in ignorance
of what it leads to; who see in it only a
brilliant phantom of amusement, a glittering
_ignis fatuus_ that pleases their fancy, but which,
alas! I fear, too frequently leads them on,
till some entanglement of fortune, or virtue,
levels them with its worse members; and from
which it is a mercy indeed if they ever escape."

Lady Adeline had listened to her mother
with an interest that made her shudder.
"And is it, indeed," she cried, "in such a
set that Albert is thrown!" while the paleness
of her countenance expressed the anguish of
her mind.

"I trust not, my dearest child. I do
not mean to say, for I have no right so
to say, that Lord Albert is habitually one of
this set;--heaven forbid!--but that he frequents
their society appears evident. However,
let us not think evil before it actually
occurs; let us judge dispassionately, and see
for ourselves. You are now, my love, to enter
into the great world under an excellent and
loving guide; and having warned you, I leave
your own good sense to do the rest." Lady
Adeline sighed heavily, and did not seem able
at all to rally her spirits. "Now, love, let us
turn to lighter matters," said Lady Dunmelraise,
"and consider the arrangements of
your presentation dress."

"I should prefer its being as simple as possible,"
said Lady Adeline, "and the rest I
leave entirely to your, and," she added hesitatingly,
"to Lord Albert's tastes." Her
mother shortly after proposed retiring for the
night, and trembled as she saw how deeply
her daughter's happiness seemed to depend
on Lord Albert, perceiving that she referred
every trifle to his arbitration.

When he left South Audley Street to go
to Lady Tilney's supper party, Lord Albert
ran over again in his mind the occurrences of
the day, and in Lady Adeline's silence, her
manner, her looks, he thought he read an
indifference towards himself, which at once
piqued and wounded him. In all that had
fallen from Lady Dunmelraise, in all that he
could gather from _her_ manner towards himself,
he could not fix on any thing unkind or
unjust; but from the consciousness of his own
conduct not having been what it ought, his
heart was ill at ease, and he knew not with
what right he felt angry; but yet he did so
feel, and was tempted to inveigh against
the fickleness of woman, while a thought of
Mr. Foley obtruded itself among all the rest,
and shewed him an imaginary rival.

"Can all this," he asked himself, "be only
preparatory to her breaking off her engagement
altogether?"

Such was the mood of mind in which Lord
Albert entered Lady Tilney's drawing-rooms,
and as hardly any of the invited were as yet
come from the Opera, he had leisure unmolested
to walk through them. They were brilliantly
lighted, and filled with all the rifled
sweets of the green-house; sweets, which
seem but ill suited in their fresh purity for the
scene they were brought to adorn.

While the apartments were still empty, he
had an opportunity of examining some of the
works of art with which they were decorated.
He stopped opposite to a Claude, which was
certainly a contrast to the feelings of his own
mind. The glowing sunrise, the dancing
wave, the palace of the Medici, the business
of a sea-port, conveyed him in idea to the
Pitti Palace. "Often as that subject has been
repeated," he said, turning to Mr. Francis
Ombre, "by the same pencil, it is always new,
always redolent of repose and pleasure; the
scintillating sunbeams are still emblematic
of that dancing of the heart, which in the
morning of our days gilds every thing with
beauty: no, there is no after-pleasure which
can equal the sunrise of existence; and if
ever picture conveyed a moral truth, the pictures
of Claude most assuredly have this
power."

"Yes," replied Mr. Ombre, "I love to
sun myself at a Claude, it is the only sun one
does see in this climate." Lord Albert passed
on, sighing as he went, and his attention was
again arrested by an antique bust of Psyche:
"What refinement of tenderness in the eyelid;
what soul in the curvature of the lip!
how the line swells, and then is lost again in
the almost dimpling roundness of the chin!
how child-like, and yet how replete with
meaning, the turn of the head and neck! it is
at once the bud, the flower, the fruit of beauty
amalgamated and embodied in the marble."

It was indeed an emblem of soul. And
of whom did it remind Lord Albert? Of
his own Adeline. His own! there was an
electric touch in the thought--was she _indeed
still his own_, or had he lost her for ever?
Lady Hamlet Vernon had stood unperceived
by him, watching him for some previous
minutes, and by that sense which
never fails to inform a woman in love, she
felt certain from his manner of looking at
the Psyche, that it conveyed more to interest
him than any mere ideas of _virtù_ could possibly
do.

Her agitation was extreme, and she could
scarcely master it so as to wear a semblance
of composure; at length, though the part
she had to play was a difficult one, she determined
on fulfilling her assignation; and
having previously decided how she should
manage what she had to do, she went up to
him, and at the very moment he was asking
himself whether or not he had lost Adeline
for ever, a soft voice awoke him to a sense of
who and where he was: he turned round and
beheld Lady Hamlet Vernon. The recognition
of any one whom we believe has an interest
in us when the heart feels desolate, is a
powerful cordial to the spirits.

Lord Albert greeted her with an animation of
pleasure that he was scarcely himself aware
of, and which elicited from her an answering
sentiment of kindness, that at once cheered
and gave him new life. "I have much to say
to you," he whispered; "let us sit down in
yonder alcove, which is unoccupied, and
where we may have an opportunity of speaking
unheard by others." He offered her his
arm, which she accepted, and they moved to
that part of the apartment. At the same instant
Lady Glenmore entered, leaning on her
husband's arm, and a crowd followed which
filled the room. Among these, Mr. Leslie
Winyard and Lady Tenderden were conspicuous
personages: but Lady Glenmore was
the _nouveauté du jour_. When Georgina Melcomb
was an unmarried girl, nobody looked
at her, or thought about her; but now that
she was to play a part, and in her turn become
a card to play in the game of fashion, all eyes
were fixed upon her. At this moment she
was the very picture of innocent happiness,
and in the countenance of her husband shone
the reflection of her own felicity. There is
something in that sort of happiness which
involuntarily inspires respect, and to all
hearts that are not dead to nature, there is
awakened a simultaneous sensation of pleasure.

But yet there are serpents in the world,
who, envious of such pure bliss, seek only its
destruction. "Really," said Mr. Leslie Winyard
to Lady Tenderden, "that is a fine-looking
creature!" speaking of Lady Glenmore
as she stood talking with animation to
her husband, "and when she has rubbed
off a little of her coarseness, and become
somewhat less conjugally affected, I don't
know but what I may do her the honour to
talk to her sometimes myself." Lady Tenderden
laughed as she replied,

"There is no saying how condescending
you may become--but when do you intend to
begin? don't you see that if she is allowed to
go on in this way, she will never get out Of
it? and as I have undertaken her education
myself, I do beg that you will by some contrivance
unhook her from Lord Glenmore, and
leave me to engage his attention while I make
my pupil over to you for the evening, _vraiment
ça vaut la peine_; only _la jeune Ladi est
tant soit peu maussade et il faut la mettre sur
le bon chemin_."

"With all my heart; if you will only
begin the attack I will follow it up."

"_Allons donc_," she replied, taking his arm
and going towards the Glenmores.

The usual nothings of common-place talk,
the unmeaning greetings, and the self-same
observations on singers and dancers which
have been made a hundred times before, opened
the meditated campaign. "My dear Lord
Glenmore," said Lady Tenderden, "I have
long wished to consult you about a _changement
de décoration_" (and she looked at Mr.
Leslie Winyard) "which I purpose making in
my house in town, and I have some thoughts
of copying in part the Rotunda-room which
is here, only there are some objections to be
made to it, which I wish to avoid if possible,
and I am desirous that you should assist me
with your perfection of taste; have the kindness
for a moment to come with me--but I
could not think of giving Lady Glenmore that
trouble. There, Mr. Winyard, while I run
away with my lord, do you make the _preux
chevalier_, and defend Lady Glenmore from
all dangers."

So saying, she passed her arm through
Lord Glenmore's and led him away. Lady
Glenmore looked for a moment as if she
intended to follow, and even half rose from
her chair for that purpose; but the lessons
Lady Tenderden had given her about
not seeming to pursue her husband recurred
to her, and she sat down again, blushing and
breathless, and evidently discomposed. Mr.
Leslie Winyard enjoyed the scene: "shall I
call Lord Glenmore back again?" he asked,
after fixing his eyes upon her maliciously,
"or will you allow me to conduct you to
him?" and he smiled, evidently in ridicule at
her awkwardness. But she was not a fool,
though ignorant of the ways of the world; and
in a few minutes she recovered herself, and
spoke uncommonly well on common-place
topics, to the astonishment of her hearer:
she even passed upon the set to which he
belonged some very stinging remarks, the
more so from their being uttered as if unconscious
that they were so, or that he was one
of the persons to whom they applied.

"Do you know," said he, gazing at her with
looks of admiration, "do you know you are
a very extraordinary personage? Suffer me to
say that this is all very well in joke, but if
you are _serious_ in your opinions, we must
undergo a great revolution, or we shall not
be at all able to live with you. I do not pretend,"
he said, "to decide who is in the right
or who is in the wrong, but I am very certain
of one thing, a change must take place
somewhere, if your ideas of things in general
are correct." Lady Glenmore replied, "that
she was very certain her ideas would _not_
change;" to which he rejoined, "_nous verrons_."

At that moment a move in the room
announced that every one was going to supper,
and the doors were thrown open into an
adjoining apartment, towards which there
was a general rush. Lady Glenmore again
cast her eye anxiously around, but in vain--her
husband was not to be seen.

"Allow me," said two or three young men,
offering their arm to her, "to hand you to
supper," and in the confusion she took that
of Mr. Leslie Winyard. "But," he observed,
"you seem so uneasy, that if you will allow
me, I will merely see you agreeably placed,
and go in quest of this envied Lord Glenmore."

"You are very good," she replied, "but
I cannot think of giving you that trouble."

"Oh dear, I beg you will not mention it;
and the mission is so new a one, that I am
particularly proud to be employed in executing
it."

"How, new? Is there any thing extraordinary
in wishing to know whether one's husband
chooses one should go home, or whether
he stays supper or not?"

"Yes, Lady Glenmore! most new! most
wonderful! But I do not think it is a fashion
that will generally take. But here is
a table with some seats unoccupied. Will
you allow me to recommend your availing
yourself of it? It seems to be the choice of the
chosen; here is Lady Hamlet Vernon, and
Lord D'Esterre, and the Boileaus, and the
Ellersbys, and Mr. Spencer Newcomb; do
take this seat, and I will go in quest of your
lord and _master_. But see, he has not fallen
into any of the whirlpools or quicksands that
you seem to apprehend for him in these dangerous
regions, for by all that is fortunate
there he is next to Lady Tenderden."

"Where?" cried Lady Glenmore, looking
eagerly around.

"The third table from us, just behind
Lady Baskerville; however, if you are still
_uneasy_, you have only to command me."

"No, it is his intention to remain for supper,
and all is well, for if he had wanted me he
would have sought for me."

"Always depend upon that. And now what
shall I help you to?" Lady Glenmore, in
her own mind, was not at all satisfied as to
the danger of whirlpools and quicksands,
though they were of another sort from those
Mr. Winyard had passed his jokes on; but
again Lady Tenderden's advice recurred to
her, which had acquired consequence from
Lord Glenmore's opinion of that lady, and
she endeavoured to enter into the conversation
of those around her. It was a sort of
dead language as yet to her ears, but she
could perceive that, under disguise, many
allusions were made to herself, and to her untutored
behaviour, which checked her natural
flow of spirits, and she gradually became silent,
and could no longer conceal her anxious
impatience to be once more safe under her
husband's wing. The very first person that
arose afforded her an opportunity of doing so
likewise, and making a sign to Lord Glenmore,
she waited for him in the door-way.
He was not long before he joined her, and
with apparently mutual satisfaction they once
more found themselves together. This difference,
however, existed in their feelings, that
Lord Glenmore, though honourable himself,
and incapable of thinking really ill of others,
however he might consider them trifling, yet
from habit and the manners of the world, had
not an idea of watching his wife's conduct in
public.

Lord Glenmore's character has been already
described; but it has not perhaps been sufficiently
explained how very much his guileless
unsuspecting nature laid him open to become
the prey of others who were the reverse.
Let no man cast a young wife (unprepared for
the dangers she will meet with) upon the
licentious intercourse of the world of _ton_, nor
leave her, unguarded by his presence and
authority, to stem the tide of vice which may
steal in upon her unawares. It is a husband's
duty to be the guide and support of his wife;
and, without tyranny, but with the determined
rectitude of tender solicitude, to watch over
their mutual interests. The maxim so often
quoted, that "the wife whom a man can doubt
is not worthy of his regard," is not always a
true one. Every mortal is liable to err--and
why should woman, the weaker sex, be cast
upon the world, and committed to its dangers,
without stay or support from her natural
guardian and protector?

The fact is, it is a maxim often resorted to
in idleness or indifference, and is more frequently
an apology for bad conduct in those
who make it, than arising from any true nobility
of soul or any moral or religious principle.
Lord Glenmore, from living in the midst of
the world of fashion, and from never having
(a rare instance) been spoiled by such a life,
was less aware than any human being perhaps
of the danger to which he was exposing his
young wife. Had any body told him the terms
upon which she was to be admitted as one of
the _élite_ of _ton_, in plain language, he would
have started with disgust and horror from all
such association; but, like some few, deceived
as he was by specious appearances, he saw
nothing in the set but the airiness of fashion,
and the folly, at worst, of a few months during
the London season; whereas the truth stood
thus.--

The husband of an Exclusive must be exclusively
given to his own devices, without ever
making his wife a party at all concerned in
them; unless, indeed, they arrive at that _acmé_
of exclusive perfection when they boast to
each other of the degrading license of their
lives, and tell of their different favourites,
comparing the relative merits of these with
that of others of the same society. Into the
mysteries of an exclusive _coterie_ no unmarried
woman, that is to say, no girls, are to be admitted--in
order that the conversation may be
unchecked. The more admirers a married
woman has, the higher her reputation amongst
them; and it is never quite complete till some
one _adorateur_ moving in the same circle is the
_ami preféré_. If the cavalier be a man of title,
power, and wealth, then the lady has _the
world--their_ world--at her feet. This arrangement
ensures the latter (whatever her husband's
fortune may be) the advantages of dress
and equipage, from which expense _he_ is then
exonerated; and while he has the credit of
keeping up a tasteful establishment, he is
exempted from all trouble or thought as to the
means by which it is so kept. But as in all
communities there are different degrees of
distinction, so in this,--those who commence
their career have a certain rubicon to pass
through before they arrive at such a height of
perfection.

The first requisite for a newly-initiated
member to know is, how to cut all friends
and relations who are not deemed worthy of
being of a certain _coterie_;--the next, is to dress
after a particular fashion, talk a particular
species of language, not know any thing or
any person that does not carry the mark of the
coterie, and speak in a peculiar tone of voice.
To hold any conversation which deserves that
name is called being prosy;--to understand
any thing beyond the costume of life, pedantic.

Whatever vice or demoralization may exist
in character, providing it exist with what they
call good taste (that idol of their idolatry), is
varnished over. If not approved openly, it is
tacitly assented to, and allowed to pass as a
venial error; whereas whatever takes place
contrary to this _good taste_, though in itself
perfectly innocent, tending it may be to virtue
rather than vice, is insufferable--not to be
named _among them_; and unfits the offending
parties from communication with the Exclusives.
Indignation expressed at crime is voted
vulgar; any natural expression of the feelings,
ill-breeding; and right and wrong, in
short, consists in being, or not being, _one of
the set_. To their choice meetings children
dare not invite parents, or brothers and
sisters of one another, except under their seal
and sign-manual. The husbands and wives,
who are members of the association, are
invariably persons who have separate interests,
separate views, and agree only in this
one point, namely, in being a cloak for each
other's follies or vices.

It is to be hoped, and indeed may be asserted
with truth, that many are ensnared to
tread this Circean circle who are in ignorance
of what it leads to; who see in it only
a brilliant phantasm of pleasure and of pride;
an _ignis fatuus_ that pleases their fancy; but
which terminates too frequently in leading
them on, till some entanglement of fortune,
or virtue, levels them with its worse members;
and from which it is a mercy indeed if
they ever escape.

An open defiance of received laws and customs,
a coarse career of vicious pleasure, a
bold avowal of any illegitimate pursuit, would
startle and astound many a wavering mind;
but the slow-sapping mischief of this love of
exclusiveness, the airy indifference with which
all the safeguards of conduct are broken
down, the cruel heartlessness which lies concealed
under apparently indifferent actions,
the artful weaning of the mind from all fixed
principle of conduct, these are the means
they use; and which, step by step, adulterate
the character, indurate the heart, pollute the
judgment, and are subversive of every thing
that is dignified or amiable in human nature.
It is precisely because the evil works so insidiously,
and under such a variety of masks
(under none more than a placid _insouciance_),
a fortuitous occurrence of accidents--that the
veil should be drawn aside, and that it should
be set forth in its native deformity and danger.




CHAPTER V.

A RURAL EXCURSION.


A brilliant water party had been arranged
among the exclusives, to go to Richmond,
merely to view the scene; it consisted of the
Glenmores, Baskervilles, Lady Tenderden,
Comtesse Leinsengen, Lady Tilney, Lord Boileau,
Sir William Temple, Lord De Chere,
Mr. Winyard, Mr. Spencer Newcomb, Comte
Leinsengen, and a few other young men of
their set.

When the day arrived, Lord Glenmore told
his wife that as he was on a committee of the
House, he should not be able to accompany
her.

"Then I would far rather not go myself."

"Do not be so childish," he said; "for
as we could not, at all events, be together,
you might just as well be at Richmond
as here; and the day is beautiful, so that I
hope you will have a pleasant excursion."
Lady Glenmore sighed, and hung her head,
while a tear came into her eye.

"What is the matter, love?--Has any
thing vexed you?--is it any thing which I
can remedy?--You know you have only to
speak, and your wishes are my laws." He
pressed her fondly to his breast as he said
this, and she replied:

"Nothing; nothing vexes me, except that
we are hardly ever together, as it seems to
me--or never, but when in public; and I long
for the time when we shall be in the country,
and that all our occupations will be mutual;
when you are not with me, I find more pleasure
in music, or in reading, than in going to
parties: for nobody cares for me; and I am
sure I return the compliment."

"Nay, my sweet Georgina, this is really
nonsense. Are you not courted and paid attention
to by every one in the most marked
manner?"

"Do not mistake me," she replied; "I
have not explained what I mean. As to outward
attentions of politeness, oh! yes, I receive
them in abundance; but what I intended
to make you understand is, that the
things I take interest in, and the pleasures I
have in view, seem so entirely different from
those of the generality of the set I live in,
that there is nothing left for me to say; and
I often observe that when I do speak, my conversation
is either laughed at, or they stare at
me as if they did not believe I was serious."

Lord Glenmore smiled, and loved his innocent
little wife a thousand times the more for
her unsophisticated sweetness; nevertheless,
as he was likely always to have a part to play
in the great world, he could not help wishing
that his wife should be able, without putting
any force upon her inclinations, to do so likewise.
He therefore said, and speaking rather
more seriously than he had done: "Retain
always, dearest Georgina, this youth and
purity of character; but, for my sake, learn,
my love, to endure an intercourse with others
who may be of a less pure nature than yourself;
but who are yet, from your situation
and circumstances, likely to be those with
whom you must naturally associate: to please
me, then, my dearest Georgina, begin from
to-day: put on all your smiles, and let me
hear that you are the envy of the women, and
the admiration of the men. Remember, love,
to _please me_."

"Any thing to please you," she replied;
and she decorated herself with more than
usual care. Just as her toilette was about to be
completed, Lord Glenmore entered her room
with a quantity of lilies of the valley. "Here,"
he said, "I have brought you your favourite
flowers; wear them, love, and let their fragrance
remind you of the donor." All this
lover-like attention enchanted the person to
whom it was addressed, and her eyes sparkled
with unwonted brilliancy, and her cheeks were
tinged with the glow of pleasure as she fastened
her _bouquet_ in her breast. Lord Glenmore,
proud of such a wife, as well he might
be, handed her into her carriage, and she
drove to Lady Tilney's, where the party were
to assemble to go to Whitehall stairs.

When she entered the room she found nobody
yet arrived; a servant made Lady Tilney's
apology, saying she should be dressed
shortly. Having played a few airs on the
piano-forte, she took up a novel, and was
busily employed in its pages when Mr. Leslie
Winyard was announced. Lady Glenmore felt
embarrassed in his presence, she knew not
why, but there was something of fear and
flutter that came over her whenever he approached,
which she could not command.
She arose and curtseyed; and then, as though
she had payed him too marked a distinction,
she remained awkwardly standing, as though
she had taken that position by accident--not
in honour of him.

All this was not unobserved by Mr. Winyard.
He was too well practised in the ways
of women's hearts not to read her's at a
glance. At least he occasioned emotion, no
matter what emotion. He was not to be seen
with indifference--that was enough for him;
and he despaired not of turning it to his own
advantage. This advantage, however, was
not, in the present instance, to be obtained by
a _coup de main_; and assuming an air of polite,
but frigid _nonchalance_, he accosted Lady Glenmore
with an expression of surprise at finding
her the first-arrived person; and then examined
one of the miniatures which hung in a
glass cabinet. Lady Glenmore soon recovered
her composure, and entered into conversation
by asking some of those questions which are
merely the opening of conversation. "Yes,
I like music," said Mr. Winyard, in answer
to one of her questions; "it is one of the very
few things which is worth giving one's-self any
trouble about. I once learned to sing; the
only thing I ever learned." Lady Glenmore
laughed; and as her own ingenuous manner
returned, she evinced that propensity to being
amused by the present moment, which is so
natural and so pleasing in youth.

"Will you do me the honour to sing a
duet with me?"

"Oh! certainly," she said; and turning
over some music which lay scattered on the
instrument, she added, "Oh! here is that
delightful little duet, '_Sempre piu_' which,
though not new, is always charming." Mr.
Leslie Winyard had a sort of shuddering at
the idea that, notwithstanding her general
elegance, she might excruciate his ears by an
open English pronunciation, and a drawl by
way of sentiment; but he had embarked in
the danger, and fortunately there was no one
in the way to hear if his own talent should be
marred. He therefore courageously opened
the music leaf; and Lady Glenmore, having
touched a few chords, gave an assurance that
better things were in store. Nor did she disappoint
the promise; her sweet, rich-toned
voice had been tutored by Italian taste, and
swelled or sunk to every intonation, with a
delicacy of feeling which could not be surpassed;
the _sempre piu t'amo_ was uttered in
the purest enunciation of the language; and
Mr. Leslie Winyard thought, if it were only
addressed to him, it would be a triumph, which
the world he had lived in had not yet afforded.
Lady Tilney entered the room while they were
yet singing.

"I am glad to find you have not been
tired," she said, "waiting for me. I beg you
a thousand pardons, Lady Glenmore; but
really I had so many things to do to-day--notes,
those terrible time destroyers; and then
the last number of the Edinburgh Review, together
with Mr. Kirchoffer's last work, have
so entirely occupied me, I totally forgot how
the hours flew past, till Argenbeau told me
that you were arrived. However, I hope you
find the instrument in good order. Mr. Winyard
sings like an angel; and I make no doubt,"
(looking at him, to ask how far she was right
in the assertion) "Lady Glenmore does so
likewise."

Mr. Winyard said, "I assure you, Lady
Tilney, _que voilà ce que l'on appelle chanter_,"
indicating Lady Glenmore with a movement
of his head, "I had no idea any thing not
of the Land of Song could sing in that manner."

"Well, really, you astonish me; why Lady
Glenmore keeps all her perfections to herself!
But she must really be drawn out, and not
suffered to hide her talents in obscurity."

At this moment Lady Tenderden and the
Baskervilles entered, and shortly after the
remainder of the company. "Well, it is time
we should be gone, if we mean to see Richmond,"
observed Mr. Spencer Newcomb,
"though I believe _eating_ Richmond is fully
as interesting, and candle-light at any time
is better worth seeing than the sun-light;
are you not of my opinion, Lady Glenmore?"
He addressed himself in preference to her,
because he thought she was new enough to
be astonished, and astonishment was an homage
paid to his power which he well knew
he could not extract from any of the rest of
the company.

"Both are good," replied Lady Glenmore,
"in their proper season."

"A philosophical answer!" cried Sir William;
"you did not expect that, did you,
Newcomb?"

"No, it is too wise for me," he said, "for
it leaves me nothing to say--it is a truism;
_messieurs et mesdames, je vous avertie_, that as
I do not like the evening fogs of the river I
cannot postpone my departure. Lord Baskerville,
Mr. Winyard, will you come with me?
I have a _voiture a quatre places_, and any
lady may come that likes." Mr. Leslie
Winyard bowed and whispered Lady Glenmore,
"would she go?" Lady Tenderden
whispered her on the other side, "by all
means go, my dear Lady Glenmore, and I will
arrange my party in your carriage."

Lady Tenderden's advice was not to be
slighted, and Lady Glenmore accordingly accepted
Mr. Leslie Winyard's offered arm, and
followed Comtesse Leinsengen, who treating
her as nobody, as she was generally wont to
do every one whom she dared, she entered
her carriage and drove off. At Whitehall-stairs
they found their boat waiting, the best
barge, the most knowing bargemen, and all
things in exquisite order--they take their
places, and, a band of music following, glide
down the stream, and are, or appear to be, in
the most harmonious of humours.

"What is become of Glenmore to-day?"
asked Lord Gascoigne.

"I am sorry to say he was obliged to be
on a committee, and I feel so lonely without
him, half my pleasure is gone," replied Lady
Glenmore. The men looked at one another--the
ladies tittered; there was a pause, and
the speaker felt sadly embarrassed, she knew
not why. Lady Tenderden whispered to her
as they leaned over the boat-side:

"That was a very injudicious speech of
your's, my dear; you must learn not to _affiché_
these tendernesses; for if you really feel them
nobody cares, and people in general only imagine
you affect them by way of being singular."

Poor Lady Glenmore made no answer;
but was again convinced that she should
never like a society in which she was to be
so perfectly unnatural. Mr. Leslie Winyard,
who saw at a single glance the truth and
freshness of Lady Glenmore's character, was
certain that it would not do to attempt to gain
her good graces by any common-place mode
of attack, such as flattery of the person, or
intoxicating representations of power, dissipation,
and pleasure. He therefore took
an opportunity, when the rest of the party
were engaged in their own conversation, to
approach Lady Glenmore, and having found
a seat next to her, he commenced a discourse
which he conceived would be more to her
taste. Music afforded him an opening; it
was a subject on which he spoke elegantly
and well, and she listened with pleased attention.

"After all," he observed, "where science
and taste have done their utmost to produce
perfection, and without these guides certainly
nothing will do; even after they have lent
their assistance, there is a third ingredient
which is _given_ only, and cannot be _acquired_,
without which there will ever remain a flatness,
an _ineffectiveness_, if I may so speak,
which renders the whole vapid and inefficient--I
mean feeling; and there, indeed,
you must know, Lady Glenmore, that you
are not wanting." He fixed his eyes on her
with an expression which made her blush;
but she replied smiling:

"How can _you_ know that, Mr. Winyard?"

"Did I not hear you a short time ago sing
'_Sempre piu t'amo_'?"

"Oh," she replied, "you judge by that?"

"And can I appeal to a more convincing
proof of what I assert? But if I needed any
other proof, surely the words, and the look
which accompanied the words, when you expressed
your regret at Lord Glenmore not
being of the party to-day, would be an
undoubted corroboration of the fact."

"Oh, that was natural," she said; "it
would have been odd could I have done
otherwise. But real feeling is a much deeper
seated quality than can be judged of by singing
a song, or a passing impulse, and I do
not own that you can know any thing about
me or my feelings."

"Perhaps not," replied Mr. Leslie Winyard,
looking grave and humble; "may it be
my good fortune to know more of these, and
to have the honour and advantage of improving
my acquaintance with you."--Here a
louder laugh than was usual among the fastidious
in manners, interrupted this _tête-à-tête_;
"will you not allow us to benefit by the wit?"
asked Mr. Winyard.

"Oh," said Lady Tenderden, "it is only
that Sir William Temple fell asleep, and asked,
when he was awoke, for some more maids
of honour."--"To be sure," he said, "what
does one go to Richmond for, but to eat those
exquisite compositions. If all maids of honour
were like them, I am sure their race would
be more in vogue than it is. I would give a
hundred or two to have the receipt, for notwithstanding
that I have brought my cook
disguised _en valet de chambre_ a thousand
times, he never could find out the secret;
neither has he been able, with all his art, to
produce any precise _fac-simile_."

"Ah!" exclaimed Lord Gascoigne, "that
is the true spirit of philanthropy; a hundred
or two for a receipt to make cheesecakes!
while we have such men in the state we need
not be under any apprehension that the arts
and sciences will fail."

"Yes, arts and sciences, my Lord Gascoigne;
for I affirm that the pleasures of the
table require one to be an adept, both in
order to procure and preserve them in perfection.
Who will deny that the cultivation
and use of the animals, and vegetables, and
elements, that are employed, do not include
all these, not to speak of the _main d'œuvre_."

"I am not disputing the fact," said Lord
Gascoigne; "why did you address yourself to
me? On the contrary, I am so well convinced
of it, that I pay my cook a hundred a year:
but the rascal threatens to leave me if I do
not raise his wages."

"I cannot be surprised at that," said Lord
Baskerville, "for I give mine two, and he is
only a second-rate performer."

"It is vastly extravagant," cried Lady
Tilney; "however, one need not do it if one
does not chuse; and, after all, it is not too
much to pay a man to become a salamander."

"Oh," cried the Comtesse Leinsengen,
"_ils son fait au feu ces gens-là_, they are good
for nothing else, and if you were not to yield
to them, you would have them for half de
money; but you are all _des dupes_ in England.
You think the more you pay, de grander you
are, that is the truth."

"Well, my dear Comtesse," rejoined Lord
Baskerville, "that is all very well to say, but
I am certain that you never would get any
body to serve you if you did not pay him
well; and I must declare that I had rather
give a hundred or two more to my cook, than
to any other servant in my house; for one's
whole domestic comfort depends upon one's
cook, don't you think so, Temple?"

"I was always of opinion that you were a
wise man, and I am now confirmed in that
opinion. Most indubitably one's cook is the
great nucleus upon which one's whole existence,
mental and physical, depends; for if
you eat of a bad greasy ragoût, the _physique_
immediately suffers, and then bilious hypochondria
ensues, and one's friends are the
victims of one's indigestion; and all the economy
of life, in short, goes wrong, if there is a
failure in that department."

"Nobody has ever denied," observed Mr.
Spencer Newcomb, "_que le bonheur est dans
l'estomac_, and that happiness depends very
much on what one eats--and what one
eats depends upon the cook. I hold it to be
an incontrovertible maxim, _que le bonheur des
bonheurs_ is to have a _cordon bleu_ at one's
command--even the ladies will agree with
me."

"Certainly," said Lady Baskerville, "I account
it to be one of the requisites of life."

"Yes," rejoined Mr. Winyard; "for a
lady ought to appreciate the beauty of every
thing, even of a _poulet santé aux truffes_; and
though I cannot endure a woman to have
what is vulgarly called a good appetite--a
sort of beef and cabbage voraciousness--I like
her to know the various flavours and high-wrought
refinements of the palate. Indeed,
I am sure she is always vulgar if she does
not. But here, we are nearly at the landing-place;
and now let us hope to put our theories
in practice, and find in this _rural_ retreat
a change of viands to recreate and stimulate
our somewhat palsied palates."

As the ladies were gathering up their
shawls and reticules, Lady Glenmore stooped
down to arrange a part of her dress, and the
lilies of the valley her husband had given her
fell into the water. She made an exclamation,
and attempted to catch them, but a
breeze bore them beyond her reach. "Oh
my nosegay! I would not lose it for the
world," she cried.

Mr. Leslie Winyard looking in her face, and
seeing that she was eager in her wish to recover
the flowers, hastily darted from another
part of the boat; and in making an effort to
catch them, lost his balance, and fell into the
water. As they were literally on the shore,
there was no sort of danger, besides that
of getting a ducking; but he thought it
might avail him something in Lady Glenmore's
favour: nor was he mistaken. Seeing
him floundering in the water, she cried out,
"for God's sake save his life!" and while
he made the most of the awkwardness of his
situation, he kept brandishing the lilies with
one hand, and would not suffer any body to
touch them till he delivered them safely to
her. She was exceedingly touched by this
effort to oblige her, and for the rest of the
evening, after he had made a fresh toilette,
he reaped the rewards of his gallantry, by
finding that Lady Glenmore listened to him
with a kind of favourable impression, that
he could scarcely have hoped to inspire her
with, had not fortune thus favoured him.

During dinner nothing was talked of but
the merits of a Richmond party:--"there is
surely nothing in the world more beautiful,"
said Mr. Newcomb, "than the view of Richmond
Hill; it is the only _riante_ landscape in
England; a perfect Claude; and for my part,
I never desire to go farther in quest of the
picturesque--it is quite a _gentle_ scene; no
horrors, no rugged rocks or torrents; but a
sweet, soft, sylvan composition."

"Enlivened too," observed Sir William
Temple, "by stage-coaches, and mail-coaches,
and coaches of all sorts, in short; without
which I hold all views to be very wearisome
things _à la longue_."

"Only made for the eyes of the vulgar, depend
upon it," was Lord Baskerville's observation.
"Except during the hunting season,
the country is hateful; but one may bear a
row to Richmond, especially in such company,"--and
he bowed to Comtesse Leinsengen.

"The country is all very well," she rejoined,
"in a _grande chateau bien remplie de tout ce
qu'il y a de mieux en fait de société_; but it
makes me shudder to think of being in one of
your provinces, in a house in the middle of a
shut-up park, with a neighbour or two _pour
tout bien_; no no, I am perished with _ennui_
but to think of it."

"It makes me shudder too," said Lady
Baskerville, smiling at the Comtesse Leinsengen's
broken English; "but, in fact, it
is what nobody does now-a-days; either the
real or the pretended incapacity on the score
of fortune for living at the country-seats, as
they used to be called, gets rid of all that
sort of thing. People live very much now
as they used to do in France, I am told, when
Paris was the only place in that country which
any body lived in."

"Yes," said Mr. Spencer Newcomb, "and
as long as the people don't find out that their
landlords forsake them, and rack them for
their money, which they spend any where
rather than in doing them any good, it is very
agreeable not to be bored with that sort of
useful virtuous life. Long may they continue
to administer to our pleasures--they ought
certainly to be made for nothing else; but,
unfortunately, there came a time in France
when these things were all changed, and the
vulgars took it into their heads that they were
to have their day; and off went heads, and
on went caps of liberty, and all things were
turned upside down, as every body knows.
I wonder now how Lord Baskerville would
like to turn groom, and rub down his own
horses!"

"Ha! ha! ha!" was echoed around.

"So long as you keep a good whip hand,
and de rein in both, you will not be in any danger,"
cried Comtesse Leinsengen; "you have
only to keep down _de canaille_. What sinifie
all these schools of learning? dey are the most
terrible nonsense; good for nothing but to
turn the people's heads, and make them think
themselves wiser than their masters; we do
not do so in my country. When they learn to
sing, they only learn _one note_, so that no
single person is independent of anoder, and
yet they make excellent concerts; these sort
of people should be always kept dat way, so
you see dat keeps all quiet, and the country
goes on from one age to another all de same."

"Capital," said Winyard, "that is worth
putting in print."

"Oh, I am quite of another opinion,"
cried Lady Tilney; "you must pardon me;
but I think that every thing which has not
freedom for its basis, must be wrong; let
every body have a fair chance of becoming
something; above all, let the light of learning
shine every where, in every thing; there will
always be ways and means of keeping people
in their several stations. A country may
have all the blessings of liberty, and yet a
certain set may exist who shall have a superiority
of its own, move in a sphere of its
own, and be kept quite apart from the vulgar
crowd; there is always a way of managing
these things. I uphold liberty and literature;
but that is not to say, that your authors
and your musicians are to mix with certain
societies--quite the contrary. The liberty
of the latter will always keep its ground against
the intrusion of the former, don't you think so,
Sir William?"

"I think, Lady Tilney, that whatever you
say must be right; and when you command,
I feel always inclined to reply, as some body,
I forget who, did to the Queen of France, _si
c'est possible c'est déjà fait, si c'est impossible
ça ce fera_."

"I have always thought," rejoined Mr.
Spencer Newcomb, "that that speech ought
to be the truest that ever was uttered, for
it is exactly the sort of thing a lady would
like to have said, and I am sure it is the
most ingenious that ever was contrived." A
walk was now proposed, previous to which
the ladies withdrew to the drawing-room.

"Well," said Lady Tenderden, "I think
we have had a charming day, do you not Lady
Glenmore?"

"Very much so," she replied, "and if
only----."

"I will finish the phrase for you--if only
Lord Glenmore was here--now my dear, I
thought I had warned you not to indulge in
that infantine habit of saying always what
you think. You cannot conceive what strange
ideas men attach to these sort of declarations;
they are apt to suppose it is a hint to them to
make love to you."

"Impossible!" said Lady Glenmore, colouring.

"Oh, you do not yet know the world, my
dear Lady Glenmore. Be advised at first, and
then afterwards act for yourself."

"I must beg of you, ladies," interrupted
Comtesse Leinsengen, coming up to them, "to
patronize a little _modiste_ who is newly
established, and whom I take under my special
protection. She has all her patterns from
Paris--dey are of the _premier goût_, and have
that particular mark of distinction about
them, which dose who are copied from the
_feuilles des modes_ never so attain. Mademoiselle
Dumesnil has promised me never to
sell certain things but to certain people;
so that one is quite sure of not seeing _le double_
of one's own dress on Mrs. Hoffer, or Lady
Delafont, which is quite sufficient to make
one fall into a syncope, and put one in bad
humour for de whole season."

The Ladies smiled, agreed with her, and
promised compliance with her wishes. "Mademoiselle
Dumesnil's story," continued Comtesse
Leinsengen, "_feroit un roman_; it is
quite touching, and" (she added in a whisper,
as the gentlemen entered the room), "its
hero, _le voilà_," pointing to Mr. Leslie Winyard;
then in a low voice she proceeded to
give the whole particulars to the two Ladies,
Glenmore and Tenderden, who sat next to
her.

The gentlemen now expressed their wish
to know whether the ladies would not profit
by the beauty of the evening to walk out,
and the measure being agreed upon, the party
was so arranged that Lady Glenmore fell to
the lot of Mr. Leslie Winyard, and much as
she now felt averse to accept his arm, after
the particulars she had just heard from Comtesse
Leinsengen, it was impossible for her
to refuse without incurring, as she thought,
Lady Tenderden's animadversions. Lady
Glenmore's silence, however, as they walked
along, attracted her companion's particular
notice. Something, he conceived, must have
occurred, to change her manner so completely
since dinner; but Mr. Leslie Winyard was too
well versed in intrigue to augur from this
circumstance any thing unfavourable to his
wishes, because he knew that to have made
an impression _quelconque_, was the first step
towards attaining his end.

Determined, nevertheless, to ascertain the
reason of this alteration in Lady Glenmore's
manner, he very cautiously, but very adroitly,
contrived to find out that something had been
said which she conceived was to his disadvantage;
and he could be at no loss to guess of
what nature it was, for the affair in which
his name had been mixed up, in Comtesse
Leinsengen's conversation, was of too recent
a date, and too _marquante_, to have escaped the
memories even of that thoughtless circle--it
was, in short, his last.

With this just apprehension of the fact,
therefore, he turned the conversation upon
the subject of scandal, which he deprecated
bitterly; and, as if instancing the effects of it
in regard to a person intimately known to
himself, gave a totally different, but very plausible,
interpretation of the exact story, which
Lady Glenmore had heard detailed half an
hour before by Comtesse Leinsengen.

Lady Glenmore had listened to this artful
language with considerable interest and
surprise. From the generosity of her nature,
she felt much pleasure in thinking that
the evil she had heard, and which made her
uneasy even to be in Mr. Leslie Winyard's
society, was totally without foundation. Her
manner, therefore, gradually relaxed in rigour
towards him; she seemed to have suddenly
recovered her spirits, and her conversation
flowed naturally without any constraint.

The moment the party returned from their
walk she flew up to Lady Tenderden, and
referring to the previous conversation of Comtesse
Leinsengen, repeated that which she
had just heard from Mr. Leslie Winyard, and
which she conceived to be his interpretation
of his own story; commenting, as she related
it, on the injurious effects of speaking evil of
any person without a thorough knowledge of
the fact. Lady Tenderden foresaw, that were
all this carried back to Lord Glenmore, many
impediments would arise in fitting Lady Glenmore
for their exclusive circle, and bringing
her down to a moral level with themselves;
she therefore said, after a minute's pause, "I
make no doubt the Comtesse Leinsengen has
been exceedingly misinformed; but at the
same time the less that is said of these matters
is always best, on every account; and as Mr.
Leslie Winyard is my very particular friend, I
shall esteem it a favour, my dear Lady Glenmore,
that you do not mention this idle
story to Lord Glenmore, who might conceive
some prejudice against him, which
would make me very unhappy. It is, in
fact, of no consequence whatever; but when
things of that nature pass through various
mouths, they accumulate a consequence in
their passage which they have not in themselves;
and therefore promise me, dear
Lady Glenmore, that you will not mention
this matter to any one; besides," she added,
looking very mysterious, "you know Lord
Glenmore's great interests may be much
affected by the Leinsengens; and the knowledge
of her having retailed that sort of
story, and retailed it under a mistaken
point of view, might produce some coolness
between them; for you know Lord Glenmore
is vastly fond of Mr. Leslie Winyard."

Lady Glenmore did _not_ know this, and
hardly comprehended any part of the speech;
in truth, how should she? But she remembered
her husband's having recommended her to
take Lady Tenderden's advice, and therefore
she determined so to do in the present instance.

Shortly after this conversation, it was put to
the vote whether the party should return to
town by land or by water; and with the
exception of Princess Leinsengen and Lord
Baskerville, who preferred a close carriage
for fear of damp, the rest agreed to go as
they had come. It was soon quite night;
but a brilliant moon made the water look very
beautiful; and the soft language of Mr. Winyard,
as he sat by the side of Lady Glenmore
in the boat, fashioned in its phrase to the taste
of his hearer, appeared to her in unison with
the scene, and she thought him the only one
of the party who was at all amusing, or had
given a colouring of any interest to the hours
she had passed with them.

Arrived at Whitehall, Lady Tenderden proposed
their adjourning to her house, where
supper was prepared; but Lady Glenmore,
uneasy at a longer absence from home and
her husband's society, determined for once to
be firm in her refusal; and stepping into
her carriage, which awaited her, drove at
once home. On her arrival there, however,
she was doomed to sustain an unexpected
disappointment, as she found a note from
Lord Glenmore, dated from the House; in
which he told her not to be uneasy if he were
late, for that the business of the morning was
likely to be followed by a protracted debate on
an important question. Lady Glenmore sighed
over this note as she perused it; and, tired
with the day's excursion, yet not sufficiently
composed for rest, she experienced that listlessness
of mind, which admits not of any
active exertion, and yet affords no satisfactory
contemplation whereon to dwell.

Lord Glenmore's attention happened to be
at this moment directed to a high post under
government, which it was more than probable
he would attain. But could he have dreamt
that in this pursuit he was neglecting the
duties of private life, and casting forth an
inexperienced young person, unprotected, amid
all the dangers of a pleasure-loving world,
he would have left all else to guide her
through the perils to which he now so frequently
left her exposed. How often does it
happen, in various instances, that in the blindness
of human wishes, we hurry to the goal of
our desires--even those which we deem innocent
and praiseworthy; but which, when suffered
to lead us on, without a reference to a
higher power, never fail to _mislead_, and prove
fallacious when obtained. Yes, this is that
self-pride of reason, which, confiding too much
in its own merits, and not acting under the
reliance of a superintending Providence, even
when on the point of realizing its fondest
hopes, finds it has grasped at a shadow; and
to an ideal good, sacrificed a permanent happiness.

Had Lord Glenmore paused to reflect, and
had recourse to that unerring light, which
never dazzles to betray--his steps would
have been guided by unfailing wisdom, and
he would have found his chief happiness in
his chief duty; whereas he pursued the phantom
ambition; he did not consider that the
necessary consequence which must follow an
official occupation, was his leaving his young
wife without a natural protector, amid scenes
that were any thing but safe; and he was
desirous that she, too, should play her part,
and by those graces and influences which
have such sway over the destinies of men and
of empires, take an interest and acquire a
power in that vaulting game of ambition in
which he himself delighted to engage. He
considered not how often he must leave her
through the day, and the greater part of the
night, to run this hazardous career, at an
age when caution sleeps and passions are
awake, and in the midst of a set which, though
certainly not wholly devoid of some unblemished
characters, was yet, generally speaking,
in its whole tendency perilous to the
pure and domestic virtues--a woman's only
true glory.

Yet on this precipice was Lady Glenmore
placed, without one real friend to whom
she could look for genuine advice or succour.
Her mother's (Lady Melcomb) absence from
town prevented that natural tie, and had she
been there it would have proved the business of
the exclusives to have prevented that free and
happy intercourse, both on the principle of
not allowing any aged person to mar the
brilliancy of their set, as well as that of excluding
all those who might see through the
drift of the society. On Lady Melcomb's part
it was too early in the day to have any suspicion
of the work of mischief which was carrying
on to separate her from her daughter,
and thus was Lady Glenmore like a lovely
lamb amidst ravening wolves.

Scarcely had she been received amongst
them, when Mr. Leslie Winyard, being at the
moment _desœuvré_, conceived that she was just
put in his way as a fit play-thing for the hour,
and without the least scruple he determined
she should swell the list of his conquests, already
as numerous as those of Don Giovanni
in all lands. He took no pains to conceal this
design from any one save herself, and his intentions
served many of the set as a topic of
conversation, a fit subject for betting on:
"how would Glenmore take the thing;
would he be a wise man or a fool--put on the
cap which fitted him with a good grace, or
make grimaces at it?" Such is the license
with which the most serious delinquencies
were talked over, and though when set down
on paper they may seem exaggerated, yet
certainly the fact is not in the least so; only
people start at things and actions when called
by their right names, which under the title
of venial errors, youthful indiscretions, and the
sanction of custom and habit, are certainly
tolerated, if not commended; _tacitly_ approved,
if not openly avowed. Ought not such a
desperate system to be analyzed? Ought not
language to pourtray in its strongest terms
those deeds and those manners which, under
the semblance of polite terms, and fictitious
representation, and deceptive elegancies,
pass current as being harmless or indifferent.

Let those whose hearts have bled on the
shrine of fashion and of _ton_--who have mourned
the loss of all that was valuable in character,
or beautiful in mental existence, sacrificed
to the insatiable appetite of pleasure,
the degrading occupations of frivolous pursuit,--let
_them_ say if colours can be too deep,
or language too strong, to paint so destructive
an evil as that of the whole false, futile
system of the exclusiveness of _ton_.

Lady Glenmore was evidently one of those
persons marked out to become its victim, and
when the character of Mr. Leslie Winyard is
taken into account, as being the man who
attempted above all others to lead her to her
ruin, it cannot be wondered at, circumstanced
as she was, that the pit of degradation yawned
at her feet. Mr. Winyard was one of those
who to the gentlest manners united the hardest
of hearts: he had not, perhaps, always
merited such a description; but the being who
lives entirely for pleasure, becomes gradually
hardened to every natural sentiment, and selfishness
is the invariable consequence of a life
of idle dissipation. From selfishness springs
every other evil, and as it is the meanest of all
principles of action, when considered in the
baldness of the term, so it is, perhaps, the
most common, and the one which above all
others no person will like to avow--no, not
even Mr. Leslie Winyard.

Yet he was a man who, after having by
every sort of riot and debauchery ruined
himself, proceeded to ruin his own mother
and sister, bringing the grey hairs of the
one to the grave with sorrow, and leaving the
other to work out her existence in a situation
unfitting her rank, but far more honourable
and desirable than the one he filled; yet
this was a man, the beauty of whose personal
appearance, the refinement of whose manners,
the powers of whose understanding
and charm of fascination, were calculated
to destroy every innocent mind; and it was
difficult to arm against such a powerful
enemy--a very Proteus in the power of
becoming all things at pleasure, and suiting
himself precisely to the taste and habits of
the victim whom he was insidiously endeavouring
to undermine.

What could protect an unsuspecting,
youthful mind against such an enemy?
Nothing but religion; nothing but that habitual
looking for wisdom, where alone it
may be found; and perhaps, Lady Glenmore
was in this only security fatally defective;
she was good and pure, in as much as
human nature can be said to be so. And
how totally valueless this goodness is, without
it rests on a firmer basis, may be
seen in her, as in every other person to
whom the same vital want attaches: for her
character was not built on that rock which
when the floods come, and the storm beats,
will remain unmoved by them: she had yet
the greatest of all lessons to learn, not to
depend on _self_.




CHAPTER VI.

RETROSPECTION.


When Lady Hamlet Vernon drew Lord
Albert D'Esterre aside, at Lady Tilney's supper
party, it was, he conceived, with an intention
of explaining to him the words contained
in her note at Restormel alluding to Lady
Adeline Seymour--and he was confirmed in
this idea by the violent agitation which her
manner betrayed, although she strove to retain
that composure which the circumstances of
the time and place particularly demanded.
For several minutes after they had sat down,
she seemed labouring for breath; and Lord
Albert, notwithstanding his own anxiety
and impatience felt exceedingly for her distress.

"My dear Lady Hamlet Vernon," he said,
"I beseech you be not thus agitated; remember,
whatever you have to say, however
painful it may be to me to hear, I am certain
that it must be from friendly motives
alone that you make such communication,
and I must always feel grateful to you for
your intention; but keep me no longer in
suspense I entreat, for I am prepared for
whatever you may have to tell me."

"I have nothing to tell you, Lord Albert."

"What do you mean? what, can you possibly
intend to disappoint me; and, having so
cruelly excited my feelings, cast them back
upon me to prey upon themselves? No, I
never can believe you so inconsequent; so
very--"

"Stay, Lord Albert, and before you condemn,
hear me.--It is true I was on the
point of betraying a trust--of revealing a
secret--of becoming _really dishonourable_--for
what? for the sole purpose of befriending
you--for the sole purpose of snatching _you_
from a danger which it was then time to
prevent your falling into; but since that moment
is past for ever--since it is now in vain
that I should prove useful to you by being
false to another, my lips must for ever be
sealed."

"Strange and unaccountable mystery!
What, you will not tell me--you will not endeavour
to warn me against a danger which
hangs over me--is this friendship? How _can
you_ know that the time is past for pointing
out to me such danger? How can _you_ be so
thoroughly acquainted with the events of my
life--the secrets of my heart, as first to imagine
my fate _was_ in your hands, and then
suddenly be equally well assured it is so no
longer? No, I cannot conceive there is any
friendship in such conduct."

"Ah," said Lady Hamlet Vernon, sighing,
"I see you are like all your sex;
you receive the devotion of a heart as a
thing of course; you take into no consideration
the pain, the remorse I felt, at the
idea of becoming false to a trust for your
sake, when I thought that by so doing I
might save you from misfortune. And now
that I tell you the time is gone by when I
might possibly have been of use, even by the
sacrifice of my own integrity, you still wish
for that sacrifice, although it can avail you
nothing:--is this generous?" Lord Albert
felt confused; he was even moved by the look,
the air, the words of Lady Hamlet Vernon,
but still the disappointment wrung his heart,
and jealousy, with every other feeling, goaded
him on to press for a disclosure of the
secret.

"I am not ungrateful, indeed I am not; I
feel deeply the kind interest you take in me;
but if that interest does not sleep, or rather
if it is not extinguished, I still plead to be
made acquainted with a circumstance so very
nearly affecting my welfare; and when I say
that your disclosing it to me would be like
keeping it in another casket, surely, surely
you will not deny me."

"In this respect, my dear Lord Albert,
I alone can be the judge, and even at the
risk of losing your good opinion, or rather
of losing your friendship for the time being,
I must persist in remaining silent." There
was a long pause, which was at last interrupted
by Lady Hamlet Vernon resuming the conversation.

"Whatever may be your opinion of me, I
must, ere our intercourse altogether ceases,
touch upon one subject, which I believe to be
the prime object of your life, and that to which
all your views tend--I mean the noble career
which lies open to your ambition; may you
pursue it with unbounded success; but remember,
that you are not likely to do so if you have
any secondary interest to clog and drag you
back. If domestic troubles, at least domestic
cares, obtrude themselves upon your higher
aims, what a terrible hindrance to your plans
they must of necessity become. Think well, my
dear Lord Albert, of this--for _le roman de la
vie_ is soon over you know, but life itself goes
on to the end; and whatever women do, men
should look to that alone with a providing
care. We, who are creatures born to suffer
(at least all women who live as most women
do, the slaves of your sex), we indeed may
live upon that illusion, which destroys while
it delights; but it is not in your nature to do
so; public concerns--public applause--public
success--facts, not feelings, must fill up
the measure of a man's existence. Think,
then, what it is to have these great ends
marred, defeated, by some minor power that
corrodes and destroys in detail those thoughts,
those actions, which, if unshackled by petty
duties, would raise you to high consideration
and power; but if tied to a partner wholly
a stranger to your feelings and pursuits, she
must, however amiable in herself, ultimately
poison all your happiness."

Lord Albert had listened to Lady Hamlet
Vernon without a wish to interrupt her, and
with deep and fixed attention, painfully dwelt
upon every word she uttered; he could not
remain in ignorance of the drift of her words,
and they pierced him like swords, yet still he
remained silent.

"If," continued Lady Hamlet Vernon, "a
woman shares her husband's feelings, enters
into his views, goes along with him, not
merely from duty but from habit and inclination,
in all his interests, then indeed it is
possible such a woman might forward, and
not impede his prospects; but where habits,
principles, and prejudices, have all tended to
form a different character, and above all,
where bigotry has fastened chains on the
mind wholly destructive of any active or
useful pursuits, the probability is, that
wretchedness to both ensues." Lord Albert
no longer affected to misunderstand her, and
replied,

"Every thing you have said has been in
allusion to my approaching union with Lady
Adeline Seymour, an engagement you cannot
be ignorant of, as it has been well known to
the world in general for some years past.
Tell me, I adjure you tell me, to what principles,
to what habits do you allude? There
is enough in your words to startle and confound
me; but there lurks yet an unpronounced
sentence in your mind, which I now
implore you to declare. If, indeed, the least
regard for my happiness ever swayed your
breast, be explicit now, for my destiny perhaps
hangs on your open sincerity." Lord
Albert's thoughts were one chaos of uneasiness
and pain; jealousy had fired the train,
which set his whole being in a state of
anarchy, and he lost all command over himself--all
presence of mind, or capability of
sifting truth from falsehood. Poor human
reason, how weak is it even in the strongest
minds! when the passions are roused, who
dares to answer for himself, unless a higher
power assist him in his hour of need?

"Be composed, be calm," said Lady Hamlet
Vernon, "do nothing in haste; suffer me now
to drop this subject, and we may resume it at
a more favourable opportunity, when you
have considered fully the opinions I have now
expressed. All I wish you to remember is,
that when a man chooses a companion for
life, the chief thing to be considered is, not
her amiable qualities, but whether they are
of a kind which will assimilate with his. The
mere obedience which proceeds from duty,
will never satisfy a noble nature: no, it is the
devotion of a glowing heart which beats in
unison--a mind capable of sharing in the
plans and pursuits of an aspiring nature, unwarped
by prejudice, unobscured by fanaticism;
above all, a heart that is wholly and
undividedly its own."

Lord Albert, in listening to these words,
unconsciously compared the happiness of
being united to such a woman as the one he
now heard and beheld, to that of the pure
but infantine mind of Adeline Seymour. "Besides,"
he thought, "is she so pure? has no
preference for another, usurped the allegiance
which she owes wholly to me? Has George
Foley not become more necessary to her than
myself?" And while these imaginations, and
such as these passed rapidly to and fro in his
mind, his eyes were rivetted on Lady Hamlet
Vernon, whose exceeding beauty heightened
by the expression of an interest for himself
which he never before had seen so visibly betrayed,
made him say, in a tone and manner
not devoid of a similar feeling,

"Oh! Lady Hamlet Vernon, you who
can paint happiness so well--you who know
to distinguish, with such enchanting delicacy,
those shades of felicity which my warm imagination
has figured to be the charm of
married life, do not with a pertinacity unlike
yourself, withhold from me the secret on
which my fate depends, and either be my
guardian-angel or--"

"Hold, I beseech you in my turn; I have
already told you that I cannot fully impart all
I know--I may not, must not be explicit.
But this much I will reveal to you, providing
you swear to keep the secret, and never to
probe me further."

"Oh yes, I swear I will never betray so
generous a friend; I will never search further
into what you wish that I should not know."

"Well, then," Lady Hamlet Vernon replied,
after a pause, and trembling with excessive
emotion, "for the sake of the great, the deep
interest I feel for you, and have felt since
I first knew you, receive this pledge and
earnest of my friendship;" saying which, she
placed a ring in his hand, and added at the
same time in a low distinct voice, "you can
never be happy with Lady Adeline Seymour."

There are blows and shocks which strike at
the very vitality of existence--who has not
felt these before he has numbered many
years? and such was the power of these
words on Lord Albert, that he remained for
some minutes motionless; their sound vibrated
in his ear long after the sound itself
had ceased; for strange it is, though true, that
we can sometimes endure to think what we
scarcely can bear to hear uttered. In the one
case the thought seems not to be embodied in
reality; in the latter it has received existence,
and appears actually stamped with the seal of
certainty.

At length, however, he had summoned his
reason to his aid, and was about to speak further
to Lady Hamlet Vernon, when, interrupted
by the quick succeeding questions of many
of the company who were passing the room
in which they sat to go to supper, Lord
Albert offered his arm mechanically to Lady
Hamlet Vernon, and they followed in the
train of others. The noise and gaiety and
brilliancy of the scene could not for a moment
take Lord Albert out of himself; one idea,
one image engrossed him, and all the surrounding
persons and circumstances glanced
before his eye or came to his ear, with the
glitter and the buzz of undistinguishable lights
and sounds. He went through the forms of
the place and scene with the precision of an
automaton, and when the supper ended he
followed Lady Hamlet Vernon about like her
shadow, sometimes absorbed in the deepest
concentration of thought, sometimes endeavouring
to revert to their former conversation,
which had been so abruptly, and to
him so unopportunely broken off; eager to
renew its discussion, as well as to elicit a
disclosure (regardless of his solemn promise)
of that part of the subject on which she refused
all explanation.

In both, however, he wholly failed; and
having been obliged, although reluctantly,
to part from her for that time, he handed
Lady Hamlet Vernon to her carriage
and bent his way home. He felt it a
relief to be alone, in order to take a review
more collectedly of what was passing
in his own breast: but yet, when he commenced
the task, he found a contradiction of
thoughts and feelings which were so involved
that for a time he yielded to them,
and they alternately swayed him in opposite
directions, without his being able to come to
any decision.

On considering the length of time, and the
intimate footing on which Mr. Foley had lived
at Dunmelraise (notwithstanding the peculiar
circumstances in which he was placed, as the
son of Lady Dunmelraise's dearest friend, and
her own _protégé_), on recalling his descriptions
and praises of Lady Adeline when they
met at Restormel, he thought he saw a confirmation
of his worst fears. What, he asked
himself, could induce a young man to seek so
lonely and retired a situation but love? And
Lady Dunmelraise he thought must have approved
his views, or she would not have suffered
such an intimacy to subsist, even though
as her friend's child she received him under
her roof; at least it was evident that she
chose to give her daughter an opportunity of
turning her affections from that quarter to
which they had been originally directed. Adeline's
letters, too, so equable in their expression
of calm content, so lavish in Mr. Foley's
praise, so minute in her detail of his way of
thinking and manner of feeling, showed that
had she not been more than commonly interested
in him, she could not have thus busied
herself with analysing his character.

"It is clear," he said, "Adeline does not
love me; and her mother is no longer anxious
in consequence that our union should take
place!" While this idea prevailed he was desirous
immediately to break off the engagement;
formed a thousand plans for doing this,
in such a way as to appear disinterested and
honourable in their opinion; and worked himself
up to a belief, for the moment, that he
was only acting with that refinement and generosity
due to his own feelings as well as to
Lady Adeline's, by losing no time in putting
this resolve into execution, and then she
would be free. But for himself, would the
same step afford him the same advantage?
Would his heart be really free? were there
no strong ties that bound him to Adeline? no
habit of attachment formed in his breast,
though she had broken through the one, and apparently
could never have cherished the other?
Would he, in short, be free, though she were?
Could he turn the current of his affections
at once towards another object; could he accept
the heart, even were it her's to bestow,
of the person who had shewn such an interest
in his welfare; of one whose beauty was enhanced
by the deep expression which played
over her features--whose manners, talents,
character, were alike formed--could he make
her his wife? Again he paused at that title--it
had never been associated with any save
Adeline, and when coupled now with another,
it made him start from his own thoughts, as
though he were guilty in indulging them.

Struck at this idea, and with the conviction
of what would be the state of his own
mind were he indeed at once to let Lady
Adeline loose from her engagement, his feelings
and his reasonings took another course.

"Should I be justified," he asked himself,
"in the steps I am proposing, without further
proofs of Adeline's inconstancy? My surmises
perhaps have ground sufficient, but something
more than surmise is due to her. It is true,
I am told I shall never be happy with her,"
(and he shuddered as he repeated the words
to himself); "but I very much doubt if ever I
can be happy without her. My own conduct,
too, lately--what has it been? Has it not
carried with it proofs of coldness and neglect?
Why should I expect to receive that constant
and ardent devotion, which I have shewed no
anxiety to retain; and what, on my part, has
occasioned this passive indifference? Has it
not been a growing partiality for the society
of another--and was _this_ Adeline's fault?"
He dwelt on this idea for some moments, and
his self-reproaches were painful. Then again
he thought, allowing that all is as it was
between us, that she loves me in _her_ way,
and I her in mine, is that enough to constitute
lasting happiness? "_No, it is not._ I
should loathe the insipid homage of daily
duties pointedly fulfilled, and weary of a mind
which had not sufficient energy to think for
itself. If I saw that my wife did not enter,
from a similarity of tastes, into my occupations
and pursuits, I should feel no satisfaction
in her doing so to oblige me; and I certainly
have already observed, that Adeline's habits,
and even her principles, have led her to a life
of monotonous tranquillity and insipid cares."

And here again Lady Hamlet Vernon's words
recurred to him with tremendous power.
Would it not then, after all, be more noble to
set her free from an engagement, which
would fail in producing the happiness
that they both had been led to expect? He
mused with painful intensity as his thoughts
rested on this idea; but in the exercise of
analyzing, comparing, and combining these
various views of his situation, his mind was
imperceptibly drawn to the single subject
productive of them--his early attachment to
Adeline; and he fell into a comparatively calm
reverie--that species of calm, which dwelling
upon _one_ feeling generally produces, after the
mind has been tossed about in various contending
conflicts. His youthful and first affections,
together with all the awakening recollections
of early tenderness--the development of their
mutual passion, ere yet they knew they were
destined for each other--the happy prospect
of bliss which had succeeded--all, all recurred
to him, and revived the dying glow of attachment
in his breast. He took out her picture
from his writing-desk--gazed at the well-known
features, yet thought he had never
before been aware of their full and perfect
charm, that union of intelligence with purity
which is supposed to constitute the being
of an angel, that perfect candour, mingled
with quick perception, which this portrait
conveyed, and conveyed but feebly in comparison
with the original,--set the seal to his
conviction, that no one could prove to him
what Adeline had been.

In replacing the portrait, he lifted up some
loose papers, and it chanced that the lock of
Lady Hamlet Vernon's hair, which he had
kept (and never since looked at) on the night
when she had been overturned at his door,
dropped from the paper. He could not but
admire it; its glossy richness--its hue of gold
shining through the depth of its darkness:
it was certainly very beautiful, and he sighed
as he laid it down. "What if, indeed, her
words should be true, and how can they be
_true_ unless in one sense--in that of Adeline's
loving another? It must, it must be so!" and
this fatal conviction broke down once more
all the fabric of happiness which a moment
before he had erected: and in this revived
frenzy of feeling he passed the night. It was
broad daylight ere he could bring himself to
seek repose, nor did he then till worn-out
nature sunk in forgetfulness and sleep.

When he awoke the next day--for morning
was far advanced--it was like one awaking
from the delirium of fever. He felt exhausted,
spent, as though a long illness had shaken
his being--so much will a few hours of mental
agitation unnerve the strongest frame.
The more he tried to collect his thoughts and
bring them to a final result, the less did he
find himself capable of the effort; the energies
of his mind seemed paralyzed; he appeared
to himself to be under the influence of
some spell which impelled all his actions in an
opposite direction to his wishes, as in paralytic
affections, the limb ever moves in a contrary
motion to that which the sufferer would
have it. He was perplexed, amazed, and saw
no clue to guide him through the labyrinth.
The object of all his wishes--she to whom all
his views and plans had had reference from
the moment he could feel at all--now appeared
to have been almost within reach of his attainment,
and yet, by some inimical power,
was placed at a greater and more uncertain
distance than she had ever been. Lord Albert
was not a weak character: but who is not
weak, while they admit passion, and not principle,
to guide their conduct.

At length, after having run over the subjects
of his last night's perturbed reflections,
the decision to which he came was one, that
feeling alone, unaided by moral and religious
principle, was likely to conduct him to; and
he determined to pursue a middle course,
without making known his suspicions. He
resolved to miss no opportunity of observation,
till he should either have his fears dispelled
or confirmed concerning Mr. Foley. He
argued, that to speak openly to Lady Adeline,
would _not_ be to know the truth. Perhaps
she would not break from her engagement,
from a motive of delicacy as a woman, however
much she might wish to do so; and it
was left for him to free her from a chain
which was no longer voluntarily worn.

The more he reflected the more he thought
the intricacy of the case required this delicacy
on his part. She may not, he thought,
be herself aware of the nature of the attachment
she feels for me; compliance with her
parent's wishes, habit, duty, the kindly affection
of a sister's love, may be all that she
has felt towards myself; and now, for the
first time, she may experience the overpowering
nature of love. This must be what Lady
Hamlet Vernon alluded to; and if it is really
so, I should mar her happiness as well as my
own, by leading her to fulfil such a joyless
engagement. Oh, if indeed Lady Hamlet Vernon
has saved me from the wretchedness
which a marriage, under these circumstances,
with Adeline, must have produced, what
do I not owe her--gratitude--friendship--He
hesitated even in thought--he hesitated
to pronounce the word love; but a glow of
feverish rapture passed through his heart as
he recalled Lady Hamlet Vernon's beauty, her
fascination, her evident partiality for himself.
Yes, I must sift this matter to the utmost; I
must have irrefragable proofs of Adeline's
unshaken truth; nay more, of my being the
decided and sole chosen object of her truest
affections: and in the interim I will see her
frequently--see her in the world as well as in
retirement--and not allow myself to be blinded
by the specious veil which hitherto habit,
perhaps, has rendered equally deceptive to
both.

Could Lord Albert have known this to be
the self-same decision that Lady Adeline and
Lady Dunmelraise had come to in regard to
himself, it would have gone far to have settled
his determination at once, and to have
hastened a declaration which must have
confirmed his union with Lady Adeline. The
fatal security however of thinking that, under
all circumstances, Lady Adeline would keep
her engagement with him, whatever he might
ultimately decide upon, made him the more
apprehensive of owing her possession to any
motive save that of pure attachment; and
it may be also (for the heart is deceitful above
all things) that, resting on this very security,
he had allowed his feelings to betray him imperceptibly
into an aberration from their
natural channel, till at length he could not
distinguish truth from falsehood, and would
too certainly deplore his error when the remedy
was past his power.

Under the false but specious reasoning, then,
in which he now indulged, he strengthened
himself in his determination to pursue the plan
he had laid down, namely, of watching the
feelings and conduct of Lady Adeline in silence,
and of endeavouring to elicit from
Lady Hamlet Vernon, in whose friendship
and interest he placed a fatal but implicit
confidence, some of the grounds upon which
her mysterious words rested. With this decision
he prepared to go to South Audley
Street.




CHAPTER VII.

TRUE NOBILITY.


It must not be supposed that Lady Hamlet
Vernon admitted to herself that she was the
mover of _premeditated_ evil. Impelled by violent
impulse, it is true she hesitated not in
adopting means of any kind to attain her
wishes; for she invariably succeeded in reasoning
herself, however falsely, into a belief
that she had at least some apology to gloss
over, if not to justify, the measures she pursued.

Whatever calm she had assumed in her
late interview with Lord D'Esterre, she suffered
in secret the most painful agitation: the
violence she had done her feelings, in concealing
the disappointment she endured on
Lord Albert D'Esterre's leaving Restormel,
and the restraint that those feelings had since
undergone before she found a favourable opportunity
of speaking to him, all contributed
(when at length that opportunity at Lady
Tilney's supper-party did present itself) to
render their indulgence more overwhelming.
When she returned home that night, the
sleepless hours of suffering she passed were
not less painful in degree than those in which
Lord D'Esterre shared; with this difference
only in their nature, that the anguish endured
by him was of a varied and mixed kind;
whereas the whole mass of Lady Hamlet's
wishes were centred in an uncontrolled
passion for him; a passion which, since
she had allowed it to wear its undisguised
character, she found a thousand plausible
reasons for admitting to control her every
thought.

There was no cause, she argued, sufficiently
strong in Lord D'Esterre's engagement
with Lady Adeline to forbid the indulgence
of her love for him; _she_ had no relative
duties to sway her conduct--she was her
own mistress: and in the opinion of the
world--_her_ world at least--she would be
justified, where envy did not bias the
judgment, in endeavouring to form so desirable
a connexion. However Lord Albert
D'Esterre might have been ostensibly considered
by the members of the exclusive
circle as one of themselves, and however
much they affected to deride and despise his
principles and habits, yet as a man whose
talents promised to shine in the senate, and
whose interest was considerable, his actions
were not, in fact, quite so undervalued, or so
indifferent to the leading personages of that
body, as they might on a cursory view appear
to be. He was still, Lady Tilney thought,
too young, in her political way of viewing
every thing, and had not given sufficient
proofs of firmness, as a party man, for any
direct overtures to be made to him on that
score. But in as far as regarded his admission,
in the first instance, to society amongst
her coterie, he owed that distinction to his
youth, his personal appearance, and his high
rank; to his youth especially, as fitting him
to become, under clever tuition, an obedient
satellite; and when his very attractive exterior
and manners, which were at once dignified
and original, were added to the account, it
is not to be wondered that he was reckoned
a person worth courting, and a character
worth forming, which might be incorporated,
in due time, as one of their own.

Still there was a probationary state to pass
through before any one was actually admitted
into the arena of that circle. Lady Hamlet
Vernon, however, who from his first appearance
had marked him with her peculiar approbation,
was very clear-sighted as to the
views which might be formed of others respecting
an appropriation of him to their own
purposes; and she thought she perceived,
almost from the first, in the politic and eager
attentions of Lady Tilney towards him, as
well as in those of her silent but not uninterested
lord, some ulterior object in obtaining
his favour and confidence, which she
imagined might also turn to her own account,
as affording herself means to acquire an influence
over him of another nature.

It is surprising with what quick perception
women will discover the most hidden sentiments
of others, when they have the remotest
reference to the object of their favour and
predilection; and many a man owes his success
in life to the unceasing, and perhaps unknown
endeavours to serve him, of some devoted,
and it may be, unrequited heart. Who
will watch like a woman over those minute
details, which swell the aggregate of greater
means? Who can feel, as a woman can,
those vibrations of circumstances which may
enable her to seize upon favourable moments,
those _mollissima tempora fandi_, when the
current of success may be directed to the
object of her wishes. Lady Hamlet was well
skilled to do all this, and from the first of
Lord Albert's appearance in the circle in
which she moved, her most diligent attention
was ever awake to all that concerned him.
She perceived that whenever he was spoken
of, the Tilneys were particularly cautious
and guarded in giving their opinion; and
she was not mistaken in thence arguing
that they were aware he might become a
man of high consequence, in every sense of
the term, as well as in their own peculiar
acceptation of it.

Lady Hamlet Vernon felt that in this they
had not formed an erroneous view of him,
for she read ambition in his character: and
though the species of that quality of mind
was certainly very different in Lord Albert
and in herself, yet its general nature was no
stranger to her, and she knew it to be too
powerful a lever in human actions to overlook
or disregard it in this instance. On the
contrary, she determined to use it in behalf of
her own views; and from this motive she dwelt
with energy on the subject of Lord Albert's
prospects for the future, while conversing
with him at Lady Tilney's. She then
found she was touching a master-key to open
the secret recesses of his mind and feelings.
In its very first application, she had found it
more than answer her expectations; and the
consciousness that the apparent harmony of
her sentiments with his on this point, had
established an interest in and obtained an
influence over the very main-spring of Lord
Albert D'Esterre's being, inspired her with
the liveliest hope.

No mercenary views, it is true, no mean
love of power for little ends, actuated her,
but a violent and overpowering passion,
which, however, was equally subversive of
rectitude of conduct, since it was neither
guided by principle, nor restrained by moral
or religious control. It was not directly any
selfishness of motive that impelled her to
the course she was pursuing, for she would
have gone blindly forward in any plan the
most contrary to her interests, her habits, or
her feelings, which promised to draw her into
a union of sentiment with the object of her
passion; but those who suffer themselves to
be directed by such impulses, are under complete
delusion respecting the estimate they
form of themselves. Whenever passion obtains
the mastery, the effect is equally certain;
the wholesome freedom of a mind at liberty
is gone; and when once enslaved, it becomes
like a wave of the sea, tossed about in every
direction the sport of winds, and is as liable
to dash into ruin, as to use any power it may
possess to beneficial purposes.

Whilst the fever of agitation swayed Lady
Hamlet Vernon, she gave herself up in
secret to the inebriating delight of dwelling
upon Lord Albert's looks and words, during
their last interview; she recalled the expression
of his eyes, as he gazed at her while she
was speaking; she still seemed to feel the
pressure of his hand thrill through her veins,
as when he received the ring she gave him
in pledge of friendship; but as these intoxicating
sensations subsided, she relapsed again
into fear, lest she should have gone too far at
first; lest any thing she had said or looked
might have appeared too violent, too plainly
have told the tale of her feelings, ere time
had ripened the moment when their disclosure
might be more in unison with his
wishes. Then again she hoped that her agitation
might have been attributed alone to the
caution which she had ventured to give him
respecting Lady Adeline; and that she gave
him such caution, she trusted would have been
ascribed to a friendly feeling for his happiness.
"Yes, his happiness!" she repeated
to herself; "for I could sacrifice my own to
secure that boon for him. It is not from
motives of jealousy that I did so warn him,
for I could bear to see him the husband of
another, providing that other were really
worthy of him, one who would share in his
views, his plans, his feelings; but to unite
himself with a woman wholly unfit for him--a
girl, a weak insipid girl, made up of puritanical
observances and prejudices--no, I could
not see him set the seal to his future misery
by allowing him to remain in ignorance of
a fact which is known to all the world except
himself."

In this sophistical manner did Lady
Hamlet Vernon argue herself into the belief
that no selfish motive impelled her, but
that she was acting a noble part, and as
the end designed was good, the means she
thought were so likewise. In flattering
this belief, she recalled every look and
gesture of Lord Albert D'Esterre, and she
thought she had perceived that he entertained
a feeling of jealousy towards Mr.
Foley. "Perhaps," she said, musing on that
point, to which she had not before given her
full attention, "perhaps his jealousy is not
without foundation. Why is Mr. Foley so
much at Dunmelraise? The circumstance
of Lady Dunmelraise's protection of him
through life, is not sufficient cause. After
all, why should he not marry Lady
Adeline, if she likes him? It would be a
union much more consonant with Mr. Foley's
happiness (inasmuch as he would not care
what were her ways of thinking) than it
would be for the noble-minded, aspiring
D'Esterre."

In this new point of view Lady Hamlet
Vernon found another specious argument in
favour of her own conduct, and her secret
wishes; and if indeed this latter assumption
of a fact were true, she would be doing a
doubly generous action, in forwarding the
wishes of her friend Mr. Foley, while she at
the same time saved Lord D'Esterre from
a step that would inevitably render him
unhappy.

Such were the false reasonings with which
Lady Hamlet Vernon justified her feelings
and her conduct to herself, and under their
sway, she awaited with the utmost anxiety
and impatience for Lord D'Esterre on the
following morning. But it was late before he
came, and he was abstracted and silent when
he did arrive; unlike the animated being
whom she had witnessed speaking to her
with such force and expression of lively
feeling on the previous evening. The fact
is, Lord Albert D'Esterre had been at Lady
Dunmelraise's, where he had found Adeline
alone; and as, in her converse and presence,
there was a soothing calm, a persuasive assurance,
even in her silence, of her perfect
purity and truth, those feelings of jealous
doubt and mistrust that had preyed upon
him before his visit to her, had gradually
subsided while under the influence of her
immediate power. Above all, the interest
she expressed for him, the alarm she declared
she felt on beholding his haggard
look, and suddenly changed appearance,
awoke in his breast all those tender feelings
which it was a second nature for him
to cherish towards her.

He felt indeed that he could have laid his
head on her breast, confessed his folly, and
wept out his fault in having for a moment
suspected her; "but then again," he thought,
"it will be time enough thus to humble
myself when I see proof that my suspicions
are indeed groundless; and I shall not be
acting up to my resolution, if I allow a moment
of tenderness to put it out of my
power to certify the truth of her's."

Mr. Foley's name was not once mentioned
during his visit. Mr. Foley did not appear;
and for the time Lord Albert D'Esterre felt
happy. "We shall see," he said to himself,
"if this fair shew is real; a short time will
serve to prove its truth, and then my happiness
will stand on a secure basis."

He took leave, therefore, of Lady Adeline
with a mind much relieved, and having
impressed her also with the sensation that
he felt towards her, all he had ever felt; but
no sooner did he quit her presence, than,
with that waywardness of spirit, which is too
often apt to embitter our best interests, he
was impelled to call on Lady Hamlet Vernon,
for the sole purpose, as he fancied, of
gathering indirectly from her conversation a
more clear insight into the subject of her
discourse. But in her presence, he in vain
endeavoured to lead her to it; she avoided
all reference, however remote, to the cause
of his inquietude, and when she touched on
the topic of his public career in life, Lord
Albert felt that it was done in so vague
and wary a manner, as to afford him no clue
whatever to what engrossed at that moment
all his thoughts, and he involuntarily became
silent, and manifested an indifference to
all farther converse. When he arose to take
his leave, if he was less happy than when he
had left Lady Adeline, he was not conscious
of any reason why it should be so; but that
of which he could not fail to be conscious, was
the sensation that a spell was spread around
him, whenever he approached Lady Hamlet
Vernon.

To her inquiries if he would join her circle
in the evening, and if he were one of those
invited to the water-party the following day,
he answered with apparent indifference; and,
with a doubtful half-formed promise to attend
her in the evening, he left the house.
He was bewildered and uneasy; dissatisfied
with himself, and consequently with all the
world; and Lady Hamlet Vernon was miserable
on her part at witnessing his change
of manner, and remarking the serious and
preoccupied expression of his countenance,
which seemed totally at variance with her
wishes.

That evening Lord Albert dedicated to a
few hours of quiet in his own apartments;
but the habit, of any kind, which has once
been broken through, is not so easily resumed;
and in particular the power of sober
application to serious pursuits is hardly by
any man to be laid by and recovered at will.
The mind which is suffered to float about,
driven by the winds of chance, becomes unfitted
for fixed attention to any one particular
point; and the effort is painful which must
be made before it can be brought to bear on
reflective subjects, after having been suffered
to follow the vague direction of the feelings,
or the yet more debilitating influence of dissipation.

Lord Albert acknowledged this, as he had
recourse to various books for amusement.
His attention wandered; and now he was at
Lady Dunmelraise's, now at Lady Hamlet
Vernon's--but never was he on the subject
of the leaves which he vainly turned over;
and after an evening spent in vacuity, he felt
as fatigued, and more dispirited than had he
been deeply engaged in some mental effort.
The consciousness of this lowered state of
being was exceedingly uneasy to him. He
was one who, for so young a man, had
learnt thoroughly to know the value of time,
and when it was thus utterly lost or misapplied,
he could not forgive himself for the
irreparable fault.

Lord Albert, too, had an impression fixed
indelibly on his mind, that when we are not
advancing we are retrograding in our mental
or moral course of existence; and fortunately
for him, he was yet keenly sensible to the
reproaches of conscience. His determination
at the moment, therefore, to redeem this
heavy loss was salutary and sincere; and he
felt a renovation in his whole being when he
took his early walk next day to Lady Dunmelraise's,
full of the good resolutions he
had formed the preceding day. To be in the
presence of Lady Adeline Seymour, was like
being in the sunshine of spring. There was
an habitual serenity about her, which seemed
to animate all around her; every thing and
every sentiment of Adeline's was in its right
place--no one took undue precedence of the
other; the harmony of her form and features
was a true reflection of her happily disposed
nature; but that nature owed its very essence
and continuance to the great ruling
feeling of her mind. Every thought, and every
action, were immediately or remotely under
the guidance of pious belief: the nature of
her happiness could not be uprooted by any
earthly power; she might suffer _anguish
here_; but she had a secret and secure joy
that those only know who, like her, fix the
anchor of their trust on an hereafter.

Having spent the greater part of the morning
in such society, Lord Albert tacitly acknowledged
its superiority to that in which
he had lately lived, and the invitation he
received to dine in South Audley Street was
eagerly accepted. The party which he found
assembled at Lady Dunmelraise's consisted
chiefly of her family,--Lord and Lady Delamere,
their two sons and daughter, and a
few other persons who came in the evening.
Lord Delamere was a shy man, and his shyness
had sometimes the effect of pride; but
the estimable points in his character were of
such sterling value, that his friends loved him
with a zeal of attachment which spoke volumes
in his praise; and he was looked up to
by his family, not only as their father, but
their companion: nothing could be more
beautiful than the union which subsisted between
them; nothing more truly worthy of
imitation than the virtuous dignity with which
they filled their high station.

Lady Delamere still possessed great beauty;
and the charm that never dies, the charm
of fascination of manner and of air, defied
the inroads which time makes on mere personal
beauty. She was one of those very
few women, who unite to feminine gentleness
the qualities ascribed to a masculine mind.
At the time she married, her husband's affairs
were so much involved, that nothing but the
utmost self-denial could possibly retrieve
them: and she entered into his plans of retrenchment
with an alacrity and vigour,
which proved her to be a wife indeed; not
the play-thing of an hour, to deck the board,
or gratify the vanity of the possessor, but a
companion, a friend, a helpmate, one who
in retirement possessed resources that could
enliven and cheer the solitary hour: who
knew she was loved, and felt she deserved to
be so, with that security of honest pride,
which the consciousness of desert never fails
to impart in married life, and yet whose
refinement and delicacy of feeling never lost
the elegancies of polished manners, because
there were no novel objects to excite a sickly
appetite for admiration.

To please is certainly the peculiar attribute
and business of woman, in every relation
of life; and those who neglect to foster
and keep alive this power, reject one of the
greatest means which Providence has placed
in their hands to effect mighty operations of
good. But there is a false and spurious kind
of pleasing which must not be confounded
with the true. Every woman will know
how to distinguish these in her own conscience.
When the wish to please is a
mere gratification of vanity, when it lives
always beyond the circle of her own hearth,
and dies as soon as it is called upon for
exercise within domestic walls; then, indeed,
it may be known for what it is: but
when, as in Lady Delamere's case, this virtue
shone most splendidly confined to the sphere
of home, its price was above rubies; in
short it might truly be said of her, "the
heart of her husband doth safely trust in
her."

At the time when Lord Delamere was
in the greatest difficulties, he did not, as
too many do, fly to a foreign country, to continue
the life of self-indulgence which he
could no longer maintain in his own; he
did not make it an excuse for forsaking his
patrimony, and the seat of his ancestors,
that he could not live there in that splendour
which he had formerly done; but with a
spirit of true pride he said: "the land of
my forefathers with bread and water, rather
than banishment and luxuries." He
made no secret of his poverty; and it was a
means of clothing him with honour: for
with patience in his solitude he found content,
and with content all things. His self-denial
enabled him to be generous to others:
and the very act of living on his estates, gave
bread to hundreds. Lady Delamere went
hand in hand with him in all his plans; and
they pursued, for some years, with untiring
step, the path of duty which they had marked
out.

Meanwhile, their family grew up around
them, and every thing prospered--for a
blessing went along with them: they were
adored by their dependents; honoured even
by those who hated them for their superiority;
and with the occasional visit of a
relative or friend their time flowed on, fruitful
in its course, and fraught with real and
substantial happiness.

But in this their retirement they were not
forgotten. It is not those who are fluttering
about their empty shewy existence in the
sunshine of pleasure and splendour whose
memories live longest, even in that very
world they so busily court. All great and
useful works are the fruit of retirement; all
strength of character is formed, not in indulgence
and prosperity, but in retreat, and
under the grave hand of that schoolmaster
Adversity. The corn is not ripened till it receives
the first and the latter rain: neither is
the moral character formed to its great end,
till it has known the storms of adversity. The
Delameres had now reaped the fruits of this
earthly probation, and they shone forth with
lustre, which could not be eclipsed by any
tinsel splendour of mere outward grandeur.
The children of such parents could not be
supposed to be altogether different from
themselves, for though there are anomalies in
nature, it rarely happens that the offspring
are not like either father or mother, still
less that they are not ultimately influenced
by the example of parents.

When Lord Albert D'Esterre found himself
in this happy society, so different, and
yet, as he acknowledged to himself in every
passing moment, so superior to that in which
he had lately lived, he felt as if he also
were of another race of beings; a pleased
sort of self-satisfaction took possession of
him: so much are we affected by outward
things, so much does the mind reflect the
hues by which it is surrounded. Are these,
he thought, the persons whose names I have
been accustomed to hear coupled with ridicule
or condemnation--are these the persons
who are designated vulgar? Strange indeed
is the misnomer! And that there were
many in the same grade, whose characters
shed lustre upon their high stations, many
who constituted the true character of British
nobles, was a truth that Lord Albert had not
sufficiently considered; for where is there
a body in any country more worthy of respect
and admiration than the real nobility
of our land? It is only to be lamented that
the errors of the few, and the assumed superiority
of the _ton_, should have given ground
for a false estimate of those characters of
solid worth, whose virtues and whose ancient
ancestry reflect a mutual value on
each other; and the moral tranquillity of
whose lives is at once a dignified refutation
of the depreciation of high birth, and the
best confirmation of its real consequence.
But the middling classes, those who envy
their superiors, or those who would attain
to a distinction in society to which they have
no immediate claim, are too apt in these days
to form a mistaken judgment, founded upon
newspaper reports or the spurious publications
of the day, in which much false representation
is mingled with some gross truths,
and the delinquency of the few ascribed to the
conduct of the many. Nor is it these alone,
who are thus led into an erroneous opinion.
The public press produces a circulation of
good and evil, of truth or falsehood, universally;
and wherever the latter creeps in, there
ought to be an antidote administered. It
should not be suffered to smoulder and gain
force till it produce some serious mischief.

It should be told that the few individuals,
whose idle and trifling lives, and whose tenour
of conduct lay them open to contumely
and blame, do _not_ constitute the great mass
of English nobility. So far from it, they are
persons whose lives differ as much from the
general existence of their compeers, as does
the life of one individual in any class from
that of another. Vice is not confined to
nobility because a few great names have
sullied its brightness. It is a false conclusion
to consider _them_ as examples of their
caste, any more than the man in inferior
station, whose delinquency is proved, and
who suffers the penalty of the law, is to be
taken as a specimen of the people at large.

In the course of conversation at Lady
Dunmelraise's dinner, the ensuing drawing-room
was spoken of. "I am one of those
old-fashioned persons," said Lady Delamere,
"who feel a real pleasure in the thought of
going to court--for first, I shall have the
gratification of seeing my Sovereign, and of
presenting to him another branch of that
parent stock, who are personally as well as
on principle attached to him and to his
house. And though, doubtless, there are
many who share in these feelings, yet I will
yield the palm of loyalty and zeal to none;
and, in the second place, I do very firmly
believe that, in as far as society goes, a drawing-room
does much moral good. There
are certain lines drawn, which are useful to
remind persons in general, that vice is contemned,
and virtue honoured; and there is
a distinction, too, of time, and place, and situation,
which is not yet laid aside; I heartily
wish there were many more drawing-rooms
than there are."

Lord Delamere fully agreed with his
wife in this opinion--the young people did
not giggle and whisper, "what a bore it
will be," but coincided with their parents.
Lady Mary Delamere too declared, that she
thought there was no occasion better suited
to shew off real beauty to advantage than the
splendour of a mid-day assembly, where
every thing conspired to give people an air of
decorative style which they could not possess
at any other public meeting. "What pleasure,"
she continued, "I shall have in going
with my cousin Adeline, and gathering up all
the stray words of admiration, which I am sure
will abundantly fall in her praise. Do tell
me, love," addressing herself to her in a half
whisper, while the rest of the persons at
table conversed on other matters, "do tell
me of what colour is your dress, and how it
is to be trimmed?"

"Really," replied Lady Adeline, colouring
as though she had committed a crime, "I
have not thought about it. All I begged of
Mamma was, that it might be very simple,
and, I believe, of a rose-colour--for a rose is
my favourite flower."

"Dear child," said the good-natured
Lady Mary, "you must think about it now,
for the day is drawing near, and I shall
be so disappointed if you are not well
dressed."

"You are very kind, sweet cousin, but if
you only knew how very little I care about
the matter;" and she laughed heartily at the
idea of its being a subject of the least importance.

"But, Lord Albert D'Esterre," said Lady
Mary, appealing to him as he sat on the
other side of Lady Adeline, "you will
interfere, will you not? You will not be
pleased, I am sure, lovely as Adeline is, to see
her a _figure_ at a drawing-room."

"What sort of figure do you mean?" he
asked, smiling.

"Oh dear! you know well enough what
I mean--unbecomingly attired."

"I think," he replied, "that although
some figures will always be admired, still
there is no merit in disdaining the usages of
society or the advantages of dress, and that
the neglect of appearance may in a young
person be produced by some causes which
are not desirable." He looked fixedly at
Adeline as he spoke, and she blushed very
deeply; but answered with an unhesitating
voice:

"I shall be always desirous of pleasing
those I love, even in trifles; but I should be
sorry that trifles occupied their thoughts."

Lord Albert was silent; he felt a kind of
chill come over him, for the remembrance
of Lady Hamlet Vernon's instructions recurred
to him; and he thought he saw a
species of puritanical pride in the general
tenour of Lady Adeline's manner of thinking
and speaking, which seemed to justify the observations
she had made upon her character.
Then again he feared, that in other points
he might discover more reason still to be
dissatisfied--points on which his vital happiness
rested. He looked instinctively round
the room; but the person who at that
moment crossed his thoughts was not present,
and he again wrapped himself up in
that mood of suspicion, which is ever on
the alert to seek out the object which
would give it most pain; under this influence
he returned to the subject of Adeline's
presentation dress, and said, addressing
Lady Dunmelraise:

"I am not particularly an advocate for
splendid attire; but I am sure, Lady Dunmelraise,
you will agree with me in thinking,
that there is an affectation in going unadorned
to a court, which is a sort of disrespect
to the place."

"Indeed," said Lady Adeline, in her wild
eager way, "I will not go to much expenditure
on my dress, for I have a plan for doing
some good going on, which will require all
the money I can collect, and I should be very
sorry to see mamma wasting her's on any
thing which I so little prize as my court-dress."

Lady Dunmelraise only smiled, and replied,
"We must all subscribe to Adeline's
toilette, for she is the veriest miser on that
score herself. However, Lord Albert, do not
be uneasy, I think she will not disgrace us,"
and the pleased mother passed on to other
discourse.

This tenacity of Lady Adeline appeared to
be a confirmation of his suspicions; and
when, in the after part of the evening, Mr.
Foley was announced, Lord Albert lost all
command over himself, and under plea of
a bad head-ache, sat silent, that he might
the better watch every look and motion of
Lady Adeline and Mr. Foley. Turning every
indifferent word and gesture into the meaning
with which his jealousy clothed it, he fancied
that they were certainly mutually attached.
Whatever soothing attentions Lady Adeline
shewed to himself, he imagined were put
on for the purpose of deceiving him; and
his manner was so cold and haughty, that
she in her turn began to shrink within herself,
and to wear an abstracted, and somewhat
distressed countenance.

Under this impression, Mr. Foley, with
his _doucereux_ air, whispered Lady Adeline,
"that he was sure she was ill," and asked
her "to cast out the evil spirit by her sweet
power of music."

"Do, my love," said Lady Dunmelraise,
"sing that delightful duet, which is always
charming, '_O Momento fortunato!_' and
then I feel sure we shall be all love and
harmony--shall we not, Lord D'Esterre?"

The chords of the piano-forte relieved
him from the embarrassment of a reply, and
he listened to the impassioned tones of _poi
Doman, poi Doman l'altro_, ascribing to every
intonation and every sentiment of her feeling
voice the dictates of a passion for his
supposed rival.

"That used to be a favourite of yours,
Albert," said Lady Adeline when the duet
was finished; "but I am afraid your head-ache
prevents you from enjoying any thing
to-night."

"I do not feel well," he replied shortly;
"and lest my indisposition should in any
way affect the pleasure of others, I will
hasten away."

"Oh yes, you appear ill, indeed!" said
Lady Adeline, fixing her eyes tenderly on
his; "and, dear Albert, perhaps you had
better go--the noise of company may be
too much for you:" and she held out her
hand to him--"Oh, if you are unwell, by
all means go home," she repeated, with an
anxiety of tender interest, that no one else
could misinterpret to be any thing but
genuine affection, but which to him seemed
to spring from the desire of his absence.

"You shall be obeyed," he said, returning
her look reproachfully; and at the same time
reaching his hat, which happened to lie on
a table beyond Mr. Foley, he almost rudely
snatched it away, and with a celerity of
movement that admitted of no courtesy to
any one present, departed. Lady Dunmelraise
called after him, "Lord Albert, do
you dine here to-morrow?" But he heard
not, or affected not to hear, and with the
gnawing rage of blind jealousy darted into his
carriage, and gave the order, "home."

Soon after the rest of the party broke up;
and when Lady Dunmelraise and her daughter
found themselves once more alone, their
mutual silence proved that they both felt the
strangeness of Lord Albert's manner of departure.
But although the words were on
Lady Dunmelraise's tongue to utter--"_he is
capricious_,"--she restrained, and suffered
them to die away in silence, determined that
her daughter's own unbiassed judgment
should form for herself that opinion of Lord
Albert's character, which would soon now
ultimately decide on her acceptance or rejection
of him as her husband.




CHAPTER VIII.

OFFICIAL LIFE.


It may be recollected, that when Lady
Glenmore returned from the water-party, she
was cruelly disappointed at finding only a
note from her husband. "How little," she
thought, as she sat at her toilette taking off
the dress which in the morning she had not
despised, as having been approved of and
admired by him, but which now she cast aside
with disdain--"how little men know how
to value the affections of a wife! I have been
for many hours in what is called a gay scene,
and during the whole of the time, I cannot
recal one moment when Glenmore was
not present to my fancy; but he, I dare say,
on the contrary, has not given a wish or a
sigh to me." She looked in the glass as she
thought this, and although a tear dimmed
her eye, vanity whispered, "ought this to
be so?"

"I am at least _pretty_; young, no one can
deny; yet I am neglected for a number of
old stupid men, a dull political discussion.
Oh, those vile politics! how I hate them.
And when he comes home, he will look so
grave, so preoccupied! Oh, I wish there was
no such thing in the world as a House of
Lords or Commons. Is life itself long enough
for love?--and must dull, dry business, consume
the hours of youth, pale his cheek,
perhaps blanch his hair, his beautiful hair,
for they say care has whitened the locks even
in one night! how very terrible this is."--And
she arose, and walked to and fro in her
room, and listened to every carriage that
rolled by--then she took up Lalla Rookh--read
some of the most impassioned passages,
and wished herself a Peri.

"I have but one wish," she said, "that
wish is to be loved as I love."--Poor Lady
Glenmore! this beautiful phantom of a young
heart is, nevertheless, in the sense in which
she framed it, a mere deceit. Love such as
her's does _not_ grow by feeding on; there is
a strength of character, a consciousness of
self-dignity, the duties of a rational being,
above all, the duties of a Christian, which
must be cherished and understood, before
any lasting fabric of happiness can be built
on love. This was never more proved than
in the restless impatience, the miserable (for
such hours to such minds are miserable)
anxiety and disappointment, which converted
minutes into hours, and hours into ages, before
Lord Glenmore returned. As she foresaw,
when he did come, though he pressed
her with almost rapturous tenderness to his
heart, and inquired with trusting fondness
at her party, hoping she had been well
amused, he was himself so exhausted and
harassed by business, that he professed himself
unable to talk. "Why did you sit up
for me, dearest?" he asked; "you will fatigue
yourself uselessly; and I must really insist
in future that you do not do so. At least,
if you had been _amusing yourself_, I should,
not be so sorry; but as it is, really Georgina,
love, you must be better behaved in future--but
why did you not go to the supper?"

"I came home to see you," she answered
in a tremulous voice. Lord Glenmore chided
her lovingly, and assured her that he had
not less anxiously desired to return to her;
but he said, smiling,

"You know you have the advantage over
our sex, for _your business_ is love--but our
_business_ is a matter apart from that gentler
care. I long to tell you, my sweet Georgina,
all that has interested me this day, and I
think you will share in my satisfaction; but
I am really unequal to enter into the details
at present: to-morrow, love, you shall know
all." Lady Glenmore only sighed; but with
the sweet docility of her nature, never questioned
his will, and his being with her constituted
in fact all she cared to know. The
truth was, that certain changes in the ministry
had long been talked of, and on that
morning overtures had been made to Lord
Glenmore to take on himself an important
office. The whole of the morning had been
occupied in settling preliminaries, and ascertaining
the sentiments of these public men
with whom he was to act: for Lord Glenmore
was a conscientious man, and would
not mount a ladder, which he intended
afterwards to cast down. It was not place
he sought, but power, for purposes alike
good and great. He felt within himself a
capacity for the honours and distinctions
he aspired to, and knew on principle the
responsibility which attends success in such
measures.

One of the first persons, whom he considered
to be a man of inflexible integrity,
and whom he wished for as a colleague
in office, was Lord Albert D'Esterre;
and since the situation which he
had himself received threw several appointments
into his own hands, Lord Glenmore
lost no time in writing him the following
note:

/#
"MY DEAR D'ESTERRE:--I think that I
shall not be making a proposal unacceptable
to your wishes, or in discrepancy with your
future plans, when I announce to you that
I have accepted the office of ----. The
official appointments immediately connected
with it of course become mine, and it would
afford me the greatest satisfaction in my
arduous undertaking, to have one possessed
of your talents to aid me in the performance
of its duties. Would you accept the
office of under Secretary of State in my
department? I need not express my ardent
hope that you will consent. You know that
our views of public matters coincide thoroughly--let
me therefore hear from or see
you as soon as possible.

/*[5]
"Your's ever most truly,

"GLENMORE."
*/
#/

After despatching this note, Lord Glenmore
sought his wife, and entered into
an account of what passed the previous
day; he spoke of the increased expediency
that would ensue of her living very much
in society, whether he could himself be
present with her or not; and added, that she
must not allow any fears or mistrust, either
of herself or him, to lessen the pleasure
which it was natural, at her age and with her
charm of person, she should derive from the
homage around her.

"It is not mistrust, dearest Glenmore,
that makes me feel joyless in your absence,
for what can I fear?--it is true that I am
uninterested in every thing, when you are
not by to share my pleasure; but indeed
you quite mistake me, love, if you suppose
that I am not all confidence in you. And as to
myself, what is there that can be for a moment
dangerous to my peace, when all my
interest, all my wishes, are centred in your
love?"

"My own best Georgina," he replied,
pressing her to his breast, "be ever thus, and
what can I wish for more. But, love, mark
me--you are now no longer the girl, whose
duties were centred in passive obedience to
her relatives, and whose recreations were the
innocent, but trifling pursuits of girlhood;
you are the wife of a man who is become a
servant of the public--whose high cares must
necessarily debar him frequently from the
enjoyment of those domestic pleasures which
a less busy or responsible life might allow.
It is now become your duty, love, to feel your
own consequence in his--to play _your_ part in
the scale by which his actions must be measured,
and to be aware that many will court
you from an idea of your being wife to a
minister, who  would not for your own sake
alone, perhaps, have thought of you; while
others who previously courted you for the
charm of your presence and the beauty of
your outward shew, will now doubly affect your
society, and endeavour, it may be, to use your
influence to undue purposes. All are not pure
and single-hearted like you, my dearest, and
these cautions, believe me, are not given
as to one whose worth I doubt, but, on the
contrary, to one whose very ingenuousness
and worth may prove a snare to her. In all
that concerns mere knowledge of the world
I recommend you to look to Lady Tenderden
and Lady Tilney; they have passed creditably
through the busy throng, and are certainly
in all respects fashionable, and bear
a high consideration in the estimation of
the London world. You cannot do better,
then, than to shape your course by their's
in respect to what the French call _conduite_;
and to the dictates of the heart, and moral duties,
I refer you to your own and your excellent
mother's."

Lady Glenmore scarcely knew why, but
her heart swelled almost to bursting while
her husband spoke thus to her; and it was
with difficulty that she restrained the tears
which seemed at every moment ready to
overflow. The truth was she dwelt upon
his first words, his declaration that his newly
acquired honour would debar him from the
pleasures of home society; and she looked up
timidly as with tender accents she asked,
"whether she was doomed now to be always
absent from him."

"I trust not, dearest; at all events, you
know my best and fondest interests are centred
in you, and you would, I am sure, consider
your husband's advantage and glory to
be of value to you, even though these were
obtained by the sacrifice of his company."

She said "yes," but _felt_ decidedly, that had
she spoken the truth, the "yes" would have
been "no."

Lord Glenmore received several notes,
and with a preoccupied air which prevented
his observing the melancholy depicted
on his wife's countenance, he snatched a
hasty embrace, and was hurrying away,
when looking back he said, "Remember
love, not a word of this to any one, even
to your mother. A few days will release
the restraint I put upon your tongue," he
added, smiling; "but in you I expect to
find the _wonder_, that a woman can keep
a secret;--in all things, I believe in, and
trust you. Adieu, love, adieu." And he was
gone.

That which would have pleased a vain
woman, and gratified an ambitious one, fell
only like lead on the young Georgina's
heart.

"So," she said, sinking down in a chair, "I
am a minister's wife. And am I the happier?
Far, far from it; I am seldom now to see my
husband, and when I do, the concerns of the
public are to form our consideration and
discourse; whereas, hitherto, in the short
sunshine of our marriage, ourselves, our
mutual hopes, our own dear home, have
constituted all our care; and I fondly
trusted, perhaps foolishly hoped, would have
continued to do so. What a desolating
change! But he says I must prepare
for it; and since it is his will that thus
it should be, I will endeavour to hide the
mournful feelings of my heart. My dear
mamma shall not see that I have wept either,
for she will, perhaps, ascribe my tears to my
husband's temper, and that would be worse
still." So saying, she roused herself from the
despondency into which she had fallen, bathed
her face, called up smiles which were _not
genuine_ for the first time in her life; and,
having re-arranged her dress, she said to
herself as she cast a glance at her mirror,
"Am I not now metamorphosed into the
wife of a minister?" Just as she was preparing
to ring her bell for her carriage,
Lady Tenderden arrived.

"How well you are looking, _la belle aux
yeux bleus_," said Lady Tenderden, kissing
her: "there certainly never was any body
who had the azure of the skies so exactly reflected
in her eyes." This might be true;
but it certainly was not true that she was
looking well. To a vague answer given by
Lady Glenmore she made no allusion; but
looking at her very fixedly, so fixedly that
it made her colour deeply, Lady Tenderden
said, "Yet methinks something more than
usual has occurred--is the report true?"

"What report?"

"Nay, now, do not make the _discreet_, for
by to-morrow it will be in the newspapers.
Come, tell me, your friend, am I not to wish
you joy?"

"Of what, I may ask you in return,
Lady Tenderden, for I can sincerely answer,
that no increased cause of joy has befallen
me, that I know of." This was said so
very naturally, that her interrogator was
posed. Judging by herself, Lady Tenderden
conceived it impossible that the report
of Lord Glenmore's having accepted a high
office in government, which would have
been the envy of so many, should be true;
or else she thought the little lady must be
more silly than she ever believed her to
be. She went on, nevertheless, to sound
Lady Glenmore in various ways, expecting
to make out something relative to the subject;
but Lady Glenmore's calm indifference
totally foiled her, as she herself afterwards
confessed; and she set it down in her own
mind that for the present she could not
be of any particular service to her, or derive
any more reflected lustre from her, as being
the friend of a woman whose husband was
in power.

How the simplicity of a genuine character
confounds the pertinacity of a keen worldly
mind! Lady Tenderden was completely at
fault: when another visitor, who came much
on the same errand, afforded an additional
proof of the truth of this observation. Lady
Tilney came up to Lady Glenmore, and after
the first salutation, entered with all her
energy and eloquence upon politics; inveighing
against government measures, and
hoping that now a man of more liberal
principles had come in, some change of
_measures_ at least would be adopted. Lady
Glenmore sat abstracted, and began arranging
her embroidery frame; seeing that there
was no chance of Lady Tilney's speech coming
to a conclusion:

"Well, my dear, and now," the latter said,
"you will really have a part to play: how I envy
you! What interest--what endless business
will devolve on you! Were I you, I would
propose to Lord Glenmore to write all his
private letters for him; by this means you
know you would be _au fait_ of all the state
secrets, and could, in a great measure,
guide things your own way. You write rapidly,
I believe; and your hand is not bad;
it wants a little more character perhaps: but
you know there is the man who advertises to
teach any hand-writing. I do assure you he
is excellent--I tried him myself, and a very
few lessons from him would teach you to give
your writing the firm diplomatic air--and
you would quickly learn that significant
style which means nothing; and by which,
should any thing occur to make you change
your mind (Lord Glenmore's, I mean), you
could twist the phrase into another meaning,
suitable to the occasion. I am sure I am
always for decision and truth; but in certain
cases prudence and caution are necessary;
and therefore these resources are requisite to
be observed in diplomatic writing. If you look
back, you will always see it has been so in
all ministers' letters."

Lady Glenmore, who had sat silent hitherto,
now conceived herself obliged to
speak, and replied, "that she knew nothing
of diplomacy, except the name; that every
thing of the kind always made her yawn, and
she hoped she should never have to copy any
letters of business for any body." Lady Tilney
in her turn stared, and observing that
Lady Glenmore was very young, she said:
"Well, but at all events you will be delighted
to see your name perpetually with
all the people in power; and to hear them
say, that is the minister's beautiful wife! and
the honours of your husband, at least to any
one so domestically inclined, must be a great
delight."

"I do not want Lord Glenmore to have
any more honours than he has, for my own
sake; but whatever pleases him will certainly
please me."

"Oh, oh! so then you do confess it? and
he _is_ minister for ----"

"I am happy to hear it, if it really is to
confer all the honour you seem to think upon
him. But I wish you would tell me what _you_
mean, Lady Tilney, for I do not quite understand
you." There was a sort of real _not
caring_ about Lady Glenmore, which deceived
Lady Tilney, as it had done Lady Tenderden.
It was a thing so totally out of Lady Tilney's
calculation that any one should not be
enchanted at such a situation, that she was
persuaded either that the fact was not so, or
that Lady Glenmore did not know that it was
the case.

Just as this inquisition had ceased, a servant
entered with a few lines written in pencil
on a card, which he gave to Lady Tenderden:
they were from Mr. Leslie Winyard, to say,
that having seen her carriage at the door,
and having something very particular to
communicate to her, he requested ten minutes'
conversation, if he might be allowed
to come up. Lady Tenderden remembered
Lady Glenmore's former scruples about receiving
him, but determined to overcome
them.

"_Chère ladi_," she said, "you must positively,
notwithstanding the fear of Lord
Glenmore, allow me to see Mr. Leslie Winyard;
I will take all the _imminent_ risk of the
danger upon myself; and besides, you know,
visiting _me_ is not visiting _you_." Lady Glenmore
looked exceedingly distressed, and
said, "If you want to speak to Mr. Leslie
Winyard, why can you not speak to him in
your carriage?"

"Oh! that is so uncomfortable. Besides,
Lady Tilney, I appeal to you, was there ever
any thing so strange as Lady Glenmore's
refusing to let Mr. Leslie Winyard come up
stairs to see me, merely because _le tiran de
mari_ does not approve of morning visits
from gentlemen?"

"Pho, pho," said Lady Tilney, "he was
only joking, and that dear little good Georgina
thought he was serious." Then turning
to the servant who was waiting for orders,
"Shew Mr. Leslie Winyard up stairs directly,"
commanding, as she always did, or
tried to do, in every place and every person.
In a few minutes Mr. Leslie Winyard made
his appearance; and having paid his compliments
to Lady Glenmore and Lady Tilney
for some little time, he then stepped aside
with Lady Tenderden, and after conversing
together, apparently engaged on a most interesting
subject, they returned to the other
ladies, and he entered into general conversation
with his usual light and amusing
anecdote. At length, however, Lady Tilney
arose, saying to Mr. Winyard, "well, notwithstanding
your _agrémens_, I must go, for
I have a hundred things to do." Lady Tenderden
echoed this declaration, and they both
went away, leaving Mr. Leslie Winyard, who
seemed determined to sit them out _en tête-à-tête_
with Lady Glenmore.

The consciousness that any thing has been
said on any subject, always creates in an unartificial
mind an awkwardness when the predicament
that has led to the discussion really
occurs;--and Lady Glenmore experienced this
painfully. Every instant the sensation became
stronger, and, of course, was not lost to
the observation of her companion, though he
affected not to perceive it; and by dint of
feigning ignorance, and talking on indifferent
subjects, he arrived at bringing her into
the calm and comfortable frame of mind
he had in view, one in which she would
feel _le diable n'est pas si noir_; and this
he effected with his usual address, till he
evidently saw that she was rather diverted
than otherwise by his conversation.

He then led the discourse to music, and
entreated her once more to sing the _Sempre
più t'amo_ of Caraffa. She readily agreed, and
their voices were in beautiful and thrilling
unison when the door opened, and in came
Lord Glenmore. His wife suddenly stopped,
and rising from the instrument, looked abashed.
Lord Glenmore, with the manners of a man
of the world, addressed Mr. Leslie Winyard,
regretted that he had interrupted the music,
declared that he had some letters to write,
and prayed him to finish the duet. But Lady
Glenmore tried in vain to recommence singing--her
voice faltered, her hand trembled,
as she touched the keys--her eyes wandered to
her husband with an expression of inquiry
and uneasiness; and Mr. Leslie, too much the
man of the world, and too much skilled in
his _métier_ to push matters at an unfavourable
moment, declared that he was exceedingly
sorry, but found himself under the
necessity of going away, having an appointment
on business which he could not put
off. Apologizing, therefore, to Lord Glenmore,
to whom he always took care to pay
particular deference, for not being able to
remain, he hurried out.

Lady Glenmore hastened with considerable
trepidation of manner to explain to her
husband how it had chanced that he found
her singing with Mr. Leslie Winyard; but
Lord Glenmore seemed more deeply engaged
in thinking of the letter he was perusing
than of what she was saying, and only looked
up smilingly in her face, and said, "My dear
love, why are you so agitated about such a
trifle?"--"Is it a trifle?" she said: "well,
then, I need not care, and am quite happy
again." She kissed his forehead; and further
discourse was prevented by a servant's entering,
to inform Lord Glenmore that Lord
D'Esterre requested to see him if he was
disengaged. Lord Glenmore immediately
desired that he might be shewn into his private
apartment; and at the same time gave
orders that no one else might be admitted
except the persons whose names were on the
list; then pressing his wife's hand tenderly,
but evidently much preoccupied in mind, he
left the room.

"Is it possible," thought Lady Glenmore,
looking after him--"can this be _my_ husband,
who so lately appeared to have no thought
save what we mutually shared? and now we
seem suddenly cast asunder: different interests,
different hours, different societies, all
seems to place us, as if by magic, apart, and
to divide us from each other. He too, who
dwelt so particularly on my not receiving
morning visits from young men, now seems
to think it is become a matter of indifference,
or rather not to think about it at all. Has
power then changed him so quickly? What
a horrible thing power is!--how it transforms
every thing into its own heartless self!
Surely, surely, it is the most miserable thing
in the world to be a minister's wife!" To
dissipate the melancholy she felt, she ordered
her carriage, and proceeded to visit
her mother, who she found was ill, having
caught cold in coming out of the Opera.

"Why did you not inform me of your
indisposition before, dearest mamma?--I
would have been here early?"

"I know, love, that you would not have
been remiss in any kindness; but when a
woman is married, her first duty is to her
husband; and I fancy," she added, smiling,
and implying by her manner that she knew
more than she would exactly say; "I fancy
Lord Glenmore will occupy more of your
time than ever, dear Georgina, if what is
reported be true."

"I am sure he will never prevent my
coming to you, under any circumstances; but
really he has so much business, that I see
less and less of him every day."

"Indeed!" said Lady Melcomb, looking
rather blank. Fortunately for both parties,
Lord Melcomb came in from his morning
walk, with a countenance even more bright
and cheerful than was his wont. "So, my
love," he cried, "I fear you must now be
no longer my little Georgy, if the current
news be true, I must look at you in a new
light--eh?" and he examined her countenance.

"I am very sorry to hear that, dearest
papa; I was so happy in the old one, that
nothing can make me wish to change in
your eyes."

"Come come, love, tell us now, has Lord
Glenmore accepted the appointment of ----
or not?"

"Whenever he tells me to say that he
has done so, I shall certainly, my dearest
papa and mamma, make you the first to be
acquainted with the event."

"Well, Georgina, I see how it is: you
need not say more, for you are already quite
diplomatic in your mode of answering. But
you are right, my child: whatever confidence
your husband reposes in you, you ought to
regard it as sacred;" and Lord Melcomb
changed the subject like a good and a sensible
man, who wishes really that his child
should prove a good and faithful wife. "You
have given the best earnest any girl can
give," he said, "my sweet Georgina, of being
an invaluable treasure to your husband, by
having first been such to your parents; and
the obedience you paid us should now be
implicitly transferred to Lord Glenmore. The
woman who has not learnt obedience, is likely
to be very unhappy: for it is surely one of
the first duties in every sphere of a woman's
life. You know the lines, that I have
so often repeated to you, and I am sure you
practise them, my own Georgina, as forming
the great golden rule to be observed by
a married woman: one who

/P
"'Never answers till her husband cools;
And if she rules him, never shows she rules.'
P/

"But when I say obedience, I do not mean
that slavish obedience, which in matters of
conscience must remain a question for conscience
to decide; I mean that system of gentle
acquiescence in all the minor motives of
life, which can alone render the domestic
circle a circle of harmony."

Lady Glenmore assured her father she had
not forgotten, and never should forget his excellent
lessons; and that every thing which he
had recommended her to do, she invariably
called to mind every night and morning. Lord
Melcomb had, during a very busy life, acquitted
himself under all circumstances with
credit both abroad and at home, and if he had
leant to the despotic side of governing in his
own house, he had done it with so much gentleness
as well as firmness, that no one felt
inclined to consider the yoke heavy. His
daughter had never even felt it could be so,
for she was by nature and inclination a docile
gentle being, leaning upon those she loved with
implicit confidence for guidance and support.
It was at this particular moment more than
usually sweet to her to be in the society of her
parents, and she promised that if Lord Glenmore
were engaged in the evening, she would
bring her work, and instead of passing the _then_
dull hours at home, find a sweet solace with
them; they were a happy family, united in
the bond of the strictest union, and even at
a temporary parting felt pain, in proportion as
being together gave them pleasure; but it
was time for Lady Glenmore, she said, to go
home, and they separated.

The interview between Lord Glenmore and
Lord D'Esterre that morning had passed to
their mutual satisfaction; their general opinion
of public affairs, and their views of domestic
happiness were too similar for them not to
draw together; and yet there were points of
difference in their character, which tended to
keep alive an awakening interest, and render
the one more necessary to the other; but in
regard to the great question then agitating the
public mind, Lady Tilney was quite mistaken
in her ideas of his principles, which were at
variance in many respects with what she
called _liberalism_.

The fact was, the minister of the day, having
discovered that those whom he had allowed to
continue in office, on agreed and well-defined
principles as to the line they were to pursue
in their political conduct, were acting out of
the pale of their engagements, and forfeiting
the pledges given to himself; consequently,
with that decision of character, and straightforwardness
of conduct, which formed the leading
feature of his life, he availed himself of the
first favourable opportunity of breaking off a
connexion with men, whose moral complexions
were so very unlike his own. Well
knowing how vast were his resources, he
sought among the rising nobility of England
(who, take them altogether, form perhaps, a
body more talented, and more patriotic than
any other nation in the world) for that support
and coadjutancy which the emergency of
the times demanded, in order to maintain
the constitutional rights of the nation. Lord
Glenmore was one of these, and amongst the
parties whom he, in his turn, named as being
those he wished should co-operate with him
in his individual department, Lord D'Esterre
stood pre-eminent. This happy nomination
met at once with the entire approbation of
the minister, whose discernment was as penetrating,
as it was prompt and decisive.

Lord Albert, it may be, in his acceptance of
office, was not influenced alone by political
views. He felt that, in the uncertain and agitated
state of his mind, some great and commanding
power for exertion was necessary to
him; some influential weight of sufficient magnitude
to poise the fluctuations of a mind,
whose energies he was conscious were wasting
themselves in a diseased state of excitement.
He thought that by engaging in a political
career, where the duties imposed were of an
imperious and absorbing nature, he should
best find that refuge against himself which he
deemed it wise to seek. Men in such cases
have most indubitably great advantages over
women; many a noble career lies open to them.
When they are oppressed by any woe of a private
nature, they may in the exercise of their
powers find arms against a sea of troubles;
but women have only one great lesson to
learn, greater still perhaps if duly entertained--to
suffer resignedly.

Lord Glenmore and Lord Albert prolonged
their discussion to a late hour--so late that
Lord Glenmore pressed him to remain and
dine. "We have no company to-day," he said,
"and Lady Glenmore will excuse your toilette."
The invitation was too acceptable to be
refused, and they passed into the drawing-room,
where they found Lady Glenmore all
smiles and beauty; for the idea of enjoying her
husband's company had again restored her to
her wonted placid happiness.

The conversation took that happy course
which it ever does when similarity of tastes
directs the subjects; and as the minds of these
young men were not only of a superior cast,
but their manners too formed on that refined
model which, when it is accompanied by
intellectual power, gives grace to force, their
social intercourse was truly such, as one likes
to think is the sample of a high-born, high-bred
British nobleman.

Lady Glenmore listened with no insipid
mawkish indifference, even to matters beyond
her ken, and the remark she ventured now
and then to slide in was one that bespoke a
diffident, but not deficient understanding. A
delighted glance of approbation occasionally
escaped from Lord Glenmore, in homage to
his wife, and as Lord Albert beheld this married
happiness, he could not help sighing, as
he thought "such might have been mine;" and
he almost unconsciously drew a parallel between
Lady Glenmore and Adeline, in which
he did not deceive himself in giving the decided
palm to the latter.

When he was preparing to depart, he found
it was so late that he drove home; but when
there, the same incapacity to settle himself
to any occupation which he had before experienced,
returned, and he fancied that he
might yet be in time for an hour of the ballet.
So he ordered his carriage, made a brief toilette,
and drove to the Opera-house. "It is too
late," he thought, "to go to South Audley
Street; I shall disturb Lady Dunmelraise;"
but yet the idea that he had not called upon
her that day haunted him painfully.

Arrived at the Opera, he walked in, and
hearing, as he passed the pit-door, a favourite
air sung by Pasta, he made his way through
the crowd, obtained a tolerable place, and was
listening intently to the music, when he was accosted
by Mr. George Foley. The recollection
of what he had suffered the previous evening
came freshly to his feelings, like a dark dense
cloud, obscuring every other idea. Mr. Foley,
either not seeing, or not choosing to see,
the coldness of his reception, pertinaciously
kept up a conversation with him on various
subjects, precisely in that quiet and self-satisfied
manner, which is so insufferable to a person
under feelings of irritation. Nor did Mr.
Foley cease talking till he suddenly turned
round, and saw some one in the boxes, to
whom he nodded with much apparent familiarity
of interest. Lord Albert mechanically
turned his head also, and beheld Lady Hamlet
Vernon--who kissed her hand to him; and
both of them, as if by mutual consent, proceeded
to join her. She was but just arrived, having
been at a dinner at the Leinsengens, she
said, and her face was lit up with more than ordinary
animation as she greeted them on their
entering; then noticing to Lord Albert to
take the seat next her in front of the box, she
bent towards him, so as to whisper in his
ear, "I heartily congratulate you; I have just
heard of the arrangements at the Leinsengens
where I dined, as I have already told you, and
where I heard all the finest things in the world
said of you, as I have not yet told you; but I
assure you the generality of the persons there
were, I really believe, for once sincere in what
they said. But you do not express any satisfaction
at this event yourself: why are you so
exceedingly indifferent?" and her eyes spoke a
language which was any thing but that of indifference.

"Because," he said, "I do not avow that
the news you have heard is true. We must
wait and see the event publicly announced,
before one can have any feeling about it, one
way or the other." Lady Hamlet Vernon continued
to banter him on his cautious reserve
for some time; but did not press the matter
further, as she saw his dislike to being probed
on the subject.

"Only remember," she whispered, "you
have one friend, who enters into all your joys
and sorrows, and feels every thing that betides
you with a keen perception of interest." After
some vain attempts on her part to unite Mr.
Foley in a conversation with them, which she
resumed aloud, he being perfectly aware
that Lord Albert in fact engrossed her completely,
took an early opportunity of withdrawing.
Lord Albert remained till near the close
of the ballet in earnest conversation with Lady
Hamlet Vernon, interrupted only occasionally
by chance visitors, who seeing the preoccupied
air, and observing the thoughtful expression
of Lord Albert, did not long obtrude themselves.
He would probably have remained
where he was till the entire end of the performance,
had not a sudden movement in the
box opposite, attended with bustle, and some
lady apparently fainting, caught his attention.
He looked eagerly again, and in another minute
recognized Lady Delamere, and thought in the
reclining figure that he could trace a likeness
to Lady Adeline Seymour. Hastily rising, he
rushed out of the box, without making any
apology to Lady Hamlet Vernon, or mentioning
the cause of his very abrupt departure.

When he arrived at the opposite side of the
house, he found his fears and conjectures true;
and his heart smote him in an instant, as he
figured to himself what Lady Adeline's feelings
must have been, in seeing him occupied so long
a time, and his attention so intensely fixed
upon another, as he was conscious his had been
on Lady Hamlet Vernon. Although Lady Adeline
might not know who she was, yet the circumstance
of his not having been near her all
day, the reason of which she could not know,
together with the fact which she saw, namely,
that he preferred the society of another to her's,
were all circumstances that struck him with
self-condemnation, and his look, and manner,
implied the full expression of tender penitence.
But Lady Adeline was still insensible;
she could not see, or observe, _what_ his feelings
then were at beholding her thus; but with
Lady Delamere the case was different; he
thought he read in her cold reception of his
offered services, and the penetrating glance
which she cast upon him, her complete
knowledge of all that had passed in his mind
relative to Lady Hamlet Vernon, and he shrunk
confused from her gaze.

This, however, was neither a time nor place
adapted for explanations; and, indeed, to whom
was he to make them? To no one did he feel
responsible but to Adeline; to no one he felt
would they be satisfactory, save to Adeline. He
knew her mind was truth itself, and so utterly
incapable of deception, that she could not believe
that any one would deceive her; he determined
therefore to unbosom himself to her, and be forgiven.
With these feelings, which were rapid
and almost simultaneous in their effect, though
language is slow in expressing them, he
caught the sinking Adeline in his arms, and
lifted her inanimate form into the corridor,
where a seat being hastily taken from the box,
he supported her, kneeling by her side. At
this moment Mr. Foley appeared, breathless
with haste, bearing some water and a smelling-bottle,
which he proceeded to apply, whilst
Lady Delamere aided him in his efforts to restore
Adeline, and was assisted by several
of their acquaintance who were passing by.

Lord Albert could only partially be of use,
as one arm supported her; but with the other
he tenderly pressed her hand as he bathed it
in the water. Animation, after a few minutes,
returned; she opened her eyes, and gazed vacantly;
but in another moment her senses were
fully restored; and on recognizing Lord Albert,
she quickly closed her eyes again, and a sort
of convulsive throb seemed about to make her
relapse; but struggling to disengage her hand,
which he let drop with an expression of sorrow
and dismay, Lady Adeline made an effort
to recover herself; and half rising, she turned
to Lady Delamere, and said inarticulately,
"I should like, dear aunt, to be taken home."

"Stop, for heaven's sake," cried Lord Albert
D'Esterre, stepping forward, as if to catch her
tottering frame; "wait till you are more recovered."

"No," she said; but speaking still as if to
Lady Delamere, "I shall be better when I
am at home; dear aunt, let me go." Lady
Delamere, judging of Adeline's feelings by
her own observations of the circumstances
which she thought had caused her sudden
indisposition, said coolly, addressing Lord
Albert, "Thank you, Lord Albert, but Adeline
is the best judge of her own feelings."
Then turning to Mr. Foley, she asked him
if he had seen her servants. He answered
in the affirmative; and added, "the carriage
will be up by this time certainly."

"Then," rejoined Lady Delamere, "have
the goodness, Mr. Foley, to give your arm to
my niece;" and she continued, with marked
emphasis, "Adeline dear, I will support you
on the other side." It was impossible for
Lord Albert to mistake what this arrangement
implied; his whole frame was convulsed,
though he betrayed no gesture of suffering,
but stood rooted to the spot, as his eyes gazed
on her, walking away feebly between her two
supporters, without thinking of following her;
and then, by a sudden impulse, he rushed
after her, and arrived at the door just in time
to see Mr. Foley get into the carriage, after
having placed the ladies in safety, and to hear
the word "home" pronounced by the footman
as they drove from the door of the Opera-house.

He mechanically turned round, and with an
agitation of mind that allowed not of reflection,
returned to Lady Hamlet Vernon's box. He
sat down without speaking; and, gazing in
vacancy, remained for some time like one in a
deep reverie. Fortunately there was no one in
the box but themselves; and though Lady Hamlet
Vernon was quite aware of his situation, and
partly guessed the cause, she was too deeply
interested herself in the issue of the event to
press indiscreetly into his feelings at that moment,
but simply asked him "if he were not
well?" "Oh, quite well," he replied; "only
rather astonished.--It was,"--he stopped--seemed
to muse again, and then he added to
himself, "they went away together." Lady
Hamlet Vernon's eyes filled with tears--(tears
will come sometimes to some people when they
are called)--she said, in a low voice, "I must
always grieve for what gives you pain; but
I have thought"--she paused.--Lord Albert
fixed his eyes on her for an instant, as if he
would inquire, "what have you thought?" but
the latter, without appearing to deny that she
_had_ thought, at the same time added, in a
hurried tone,

"Yet, my dear Lord Albert, let not my
thoughts weigh with you; let not a momentary
appearance alone decide on any measure
which may influence your whole life; look
dispassionately on appearances; sound them,
sift them thoroughly, ere you allow yourself
to act upon them." There was a gentle reason
in these words, an expression of heart-felt
interest in the speaker, which at the
present instant was doubly efficacious in turning
the current of his thoughts and feelings in
favour of her who uttered them; and he gave
way to a warmth of expression in his reply which
was joy to her heart. Still she repressed the
triumph she felt at this impassioned answer;
and it was only when he handed her to her
carriage, that the pressure of her hand spoke
a tenderer language, which vibrated through
his frame.


END OF VOL. II.


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TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:

Obvious printer errors have been corrected. Otherwise, the author's
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