LADY SUSAN

by Jane Austen




CONTENTS

 I
 II
 III
 IV
 V
 VI
 VII
 VIII
 IX
 X
 XI
 XII
 XIII
 XIV
 XV
 XVI
 XVII
 XVIII
 XIX
 XX
 XXI
 XXII
 XXIII
 XXIV
 XXV
 XXVI
 XXVII
 XXVIII
 XXIX
 XXX
 XXXI
 XXXII
 XXXIII
 XXXIV
 XXXV
 XXXVI
 XXXVII
 XXXVIII
 XXXIX
 XL
 XLI
 CONCLUSION




I


_Lady Susan Vernon to Mr. Vernon._


Langford, Dec.


MY DEAR BROTHER,—I can no longer refuse myself the pleasure of
profiting by your kind invitation when we last parted of spending some
weeks with you at Churchhill, and, therefore, if quite convenient to
you and Mrs. Vernon to receive me at present, I shall hope within a few
days to be introduced to a sister whom I have so long desired to be
acquainted with. My kind friends here are most affectionately urgent
with me to prolong my stay, but their hospitable and cheerful
dispositions lead them too much into society for my present situation
and state of mind; and I impatiently look forward to the hour when I
shall be admitted into your delightful retirement.

I long to be made known to your dear little children, in whose hearts I
shall be very eager to secure an interest. I shall soon have need for
all my fortitude, as I am on the point of separation from my own
daughter. The long illness of her dear father prevented my paying her
that attention which duty and affection equally dictated, and I have
too much reason to fear that the governess to whose care I consigned
her was unequal to the charge. I have therefore resolved on placing her
at one of the best private schools in town, where I shall have an
opportunity of leaving her myself in my way to you. I am determined,
you see, not to be denied admittance at Churchhill. It would indeed
give me most painful sensations to know that it were not in your power
to receive me.

Your most obliged and affectionate sister,
S. VERNON.




II


_Lady Susan Vernon to Mrs. Johnson._


Langford.


You were mistaken, my dear Alicia, in supposing me fixed at this place
for the rest of the winter: it grieves me to say how greatly you were
mistaken, for I have seldom spent three months more agreeably than
those which have just flown away. At present, nothing goes smoothly;
the females of the family are united against me. You foretold how it
would be when I first came to Langford, and Mainwaring is so uncommonly
pleasing that I was not without apprehensions for myself. I remember
saying to myself, as I drove to the house, “I like this man, pray
Heaven no harm come of it!” But I was determined to be discreet, to
bear in mind my being only four months a widow, and to be as quiet as
possible: and I have been so, my dear creature; I have admitted no
one’s attentions but Mainwaring’s. I have avoided all general
flirtation whatever; I have distinguished no creature besides, of all
the numbers resorting hither, except Sir James Martin, on whom I
bestowed a little notice, in order to detach him from Miss Mainwaring;
but, if the world could know my motive _there_ they would honour me. I
have been called an unkind mother, but it was the sacred impulse of
maternal affection, it was the advantage of my daughter that led me on;
and if that daughter were not the greatest simpleton on earth, I might
have been rewarded for my exertions as I ought.

Sir James did make proposals to me for Frederica; but Frederica, who
was born to be the torment of my life, chose to set herself so
violently against the match that I thought it better to lay aside the
scheme for the present. I have more than once repented that I did not
marry him myself; and were he but one degree less contemptibly weak I
certainly should: but I must own myself rather romantic in that
respect, and that riches only will not satisfy me. The event of all
this is very provoking: Sir James is gone, Maria highly incensed, and
Mrs. Mainwaring insupportably jealous; so jealous, in short, and so
enraged against me, that, in the fury of her temper, I should not be
surprized at her appealing to her guardian, if she had the liberty of
addressing him: but there your husband stands my friend; and the
kindest, most amiable action of his life was his throwing her off for
ever on her marriage. Keep up his resentment, therefore, I charge you.
We are now in a sad state; no house was ever more altered; the whole
party are at war, and Mainwaring scarcely dares speak to me. It is time
for me to be gone; I have therefore determined on leaving them, and
shall spend, I hope, a comfortable day with you in town within this
week. If I am as little in favour with Mr. Johnson as ever, you must
come to me at 10 Wigmore street; but I hope this may not be the case,
for as Mr. Johnson, with all his faults, is a man to whom that great
word “respectable” is always given, and I am known to be so intimate
with his wife, his slighting me has an awkward look.

I take London in my way to that insupportable spot, a country village;
for I am really going to Churchhill. Forgive me, my dear friend, it is
my last resource. Were there another place in England open to me I
would prefer it. Charles Vernon is my aversion; and I am afraid of his
wife. At Churchhill, however, I must remain till I have something
better in view. My young lady accompanies me to town, where I shall
deposit her under the care of Miss Summers, in Wigmore street, till she
becomes a little more reasonable. She will made good connections there,
as the girls are all of the best families. The price is immense, and
much beyond what I can ever attempt to pay.

Adieu, I will send you a line as soon as I arrive in town.

Yours ever,
S. VERNON.




III


_Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy._


Churchhill.


My dear Mother,—I am very sorry to tell you that it will not be in our
power to keep our promise of spending our Christmas with you; and we
are prevented that happiness by a circumstance which is not likely to
make us any amends. Lady Susan, in a letter to her brother-in-law, has
declared her intention of visiting us almost immediately; and as such a
visit is in all probability merely an affair of convenience, it is
impossible to conjecture its length. I was by no means prepared for
such an event, nor can I now account for her ladyship’s conduct;
Langford appeared so exactly the place for her in every respect, as
well from the elegant and expensive style of living there, as from her
particular attachment to Mr. Mainwaring, that I was very far from
expecting so speedy a distinction, though I always imagined from her
increasing friendship for us since her husband’s death that we should,
at some future period, be obliged to receive her. Mr. Vernon, I think,
was a great deal too kind to her when he was in Staffordshire; her
behaviour to him, independent of her general character, has been so
inexcusably artful and ungenerous since our marriage was first in
agitation that no one less amiable and mild than himself could have
overlooked it all; and though, as his brother’s widow, and in narrow
circumstances, it was proper to render her pecuniary assistance, I
cannot help thinking his pressing invitation to her to visit us at
Churchhill perfectly unnecessary. Disposed, however, as he always is to
think the best of everyone, her display of grief, and professions of
regret, and general resolutions of prudence, were sufficient to soften
his heart and make him really confide in her sincerity; but, as for
myself, I am still unconvinced, and plausibly as her ladyship has now
written, I cannot make up my mind till I better understand her real
meaning in coming to us. You may guess, therefore, my dear madam, with
what feelings I look forward to her arrival. She will have occasion for
all those attractive powers for which she is celebrated to gain any
share of my regard; and I shall certainly endeavour to guard myself
against their influence, if not accompanied by something more
substantial. She expresses a most eager desire of being acquainted with
me, and makes very gracious mention of my children but I am not quite
weak enough to suppose a woman who has behaved with inattention, if not
with unkindness, to her own child, should be attached to any of mine.
Miss Vernon is to be placed at a school in London before her mother
comes to us which I am glad of, for her sake and my own. It must be to
her advantage to be separated from her mother, and a girl of sixteen
who has received so wretched an education, could not be a very
desirable companion here. Reginald has long wished, I know, to see the
captivating Lady Susan, and we shall depend on his joining our party
soon. I am glad to hear that my father continues so well; and am, with
best love, &c.,

CATHERINE VERNON.




IV


_Mr. De Courcy to Mrs. Vernon._


Parklands.


My dear Sister,—I congratulate you and Mr. Vernon on being about to
receive into your family the most accomplished coquette in England. As
a very distinguished flirt I have always been taught to consider her,
but it has lately fallen in my way to hear some particulars of her
conduct at Langford: which prove that she does not confine herself to
that sort of honest flirtation which satisfies most people, but aspires
to the more delicious gratification of making a whole family miserable.
By her behaviour to Mr. Mainwaring she gave jealousy and wretchedness
to his wife, and by her attentions to a young man previously attached
to Mr. Mainwaring’s sister deprived an amiable girl of her lover.

I learnt all this from Mr. Smith, now in this neighbourhood (I have
dined with him, at Hurst and Wilford), who is just come from Langford
where he was a fortnight with her ladyship, and who is therefore well
qualified to make the communication.

What a woman she must be! I long to see her, and shall certainly accept
your kind invitation, that I may form some idea of those bewitching
powers which can do so much—engaging at the same time, and in the same
house, the affections of two men, who were neither of them at liberty
to bestow them—and all this without the charm of youth! I am glad to
find Miss Vernon does not accompany her mother to Churchhill, as she
has not even manners to recommend her; and, according to Mr. Smith’s
account, is equally dull and proud. Where pride and stupidity unite
there can be no dissimulation worthy notice, and Miss Vernon shall be
consigned to unrelenting contempt; but by all that I can gather Lady
Susan possesses a degree of captivating deceit which it must be
pleasing to witness and detect. I shall be with you very soon, and am
ever,

Your affectionate brother,
R. DE COURCY.




V


_Lady Susan Vernon to Mrs. Johnson._


Churchhill.


I received your note, my dear Alicia, just before I left town, and
rejoice to be assured that Mr. Johnson suspected nothing of your
engagement the evening before. It is undoubtedly better to deceive him
entirely, and since he will be stubborn he must be tricked. I arrived
here in safety, and have no reason to complain of my reception from Mr.
Vernon; but I confess myself not equally satisfied with the behaviour
of his lady. She is perfectly well-bred, indeed, and has the air of a
woman of fashion, but her manners are not such as can persuade me of
her being prepossessed in my favour. I wanted her to be delighted at
seeing me. I was as amiable as possible on the occasion, but all in
vain. She does not like me. To be sure, when we consider that I _did_
take some pains to prevent my brother-in-law’s marrying her, this want
of cordiality is not very surprizing, and yet it shows an illiberal and
vindictive spirit to resent a project which influenced me six years
ago, and which never succeeded at last.

I am sometimes disposed to repent that I did not let Charles buy Vernon
Castle, when we were obliged to sell it; but it was a trying
circumstance, especially as the sale took place exactly at the time of
his marriage; and everybody ought to respect the delicacy of those
feelings which could not endure that my husband’s dignity should be
lessened by his younger brother’s having possession of the family
estate. Could matters have been so arranged as to prevent the necessity
of our leaving the castle, could we have lived with Charles and kept
him single, I should have been very far from persuading my husband to
dispose of it elsewhere; but Charles was on the point of marrying Miss
De Courcy, and the event has justified me. Here are children in
abundance, and what benefit could have accrued to me from his
purchasing Vernon? My having prevented it may perhaps have given his
wife an unfavourable impression, but where there is a disposition to
dislike, a motive will never be wanting; and as to money matters it has
not withheld him from being very useful to me. I really have a regard
for him, he is so easily imposed upon! The house is a good one, the
furniture fashionable, and everything announces plenty and elegance.
Charles is very rich I am sure; when a man has once got his name in a
banking-house he rolls in money; but they do not know what to do with
it, keep very little company, and never go to London but on business.
We shall be as stupid as possible. I mean to win my sister-in-law’s
heart through the children; I know all their names already, and am
going to attach myself with the greatest sensibility to one in
particular, a young Frederic, whom I take on my lap and sigh over for
his dear uncle’s sake.

Poor Mainwaring! I need not tell you how much I miss him, how
perpetually he is in my thoughts. I found a dismal letter from him on
my arrival here, full of complaints of his wife and sister, and
lamentations on the cruelty of his fate. I passed off the letter as his
wife’s, to the Vernons, and when I write to him it must be under cover
to you.

Ever yours,
S. VERNON.




VI


_Mrs. Vernon to Mr. De Courcy._


Churchhill.


Well, my dear Reginald, I have seen this dangerous creature, and must
give you some description of her, though I hope you will soon be able
to form your own judgment. She is really excessively pretty; however
you may choose to question the allurements of a lady no longer young, I
must, for my own part, declare that I have seldom seen so lovely a
woman as Lady Susan. She is delicately fair, with fine grey eyes and
dark eyelashes; and from her appearance one would not suppose her more
than five and twenty, though she must in fact be ten years older. I was
certainly not disposed to admire her, though always hearing she was
beautiful; but I cannot help feeling that she possesses an uncommon
union of symmetry, brilliancy, and grace. Her address to me was so
gentle, frank, and even affectionate, that, if I had not known how much
she has always disliked me for marrying Mr. Vernon, and that we had
never met before, I should have imagined her an attached friend. One is
apt, I believe, to connect assurance of manner with coquetry, and to
expect that an impudent address will naturally attend an impudent mind;
at least I was myself prepared for an improper degree of confidence in
Lady Susan; but her countenance is absolutely sweet, and her voice and
manner winningly mild. I am sorry it is so, for what is this but
deceit? Unfortunately, one knows her too well. She is clever and
agreeable, has all that knowledge of the world which makes conversation
easy, and talks very well, with a happy command of language, which is
too often used, I believe, to make black appear white. She has already
almost persuaded me of her being warmly attached to her daughter,
though I have been so long convinced to the contrary. She speaks of her
with so much tenderness and anxiety, lamenting so bitterly the neglect
of her education, which she represents however as wholly unavoidable,
that I am forced to recollect how many successive springs her ladyship
spent in town, while her daughter was left in Staffordshire to the care
of servants, or a governess very little better, to prevent my believing
what she says.

If her manners have so great an influence on my resentful heart, you
may judge how much more strongly they operate on Mr. Vernon’s generous
temper. I wish I could be as well satisfied as he is, that it was
really her choice to leave Langford for Churchhill; and if she had not
stayed there for months before she discovered that her friend’s manner
of living did not suit her situation or feelings, I might have believed
that concern for the loss of such a husband as Mr. Vernon, to whom her
own behaviour was far from unexceptionable, might for a time make her
wish for retirement. But I cannot forget the length of her visit to the
Mainwarings, and when I reflect on the different mode of life which she
led with them from that to which she must now submit, I can only
suppose that the wish of establishing her reputation by following
though late the path of propriety, occasioned her removal from a family
where she must in reality have been particularly happy. Your friend Mr.
Smith’s story, however, cannot be quite correct, as she corresponds
regularly with Mrs. Mainwaring. At any rate it must be exaggerated. It
is scarcely possible that two men should be so grossly deceived by her
at once.

Yours, &c.,
CATHERINE VERNON




VII


_Lady Susan Vernon to Mrs. Johnson._


Churchhill.


My dear Alicia,—You are very good in taking notice of Frederica, and I
am grateful for it as a mark of your friendship; but as I cannot have
any doubt of the warmth of your affection, I am far from exacting so
heavy a sacrifice. She is a stupid girl, and has nothing to recommend
her. I would not, therefore, on my account, have you encumber one
moment of your precious time by sending for her to Edward Street,
especially as every visit is so much deducted from the grand affair of
education, which I really wish to have attended to while she remains at
Miss Summers’s. I want her to play and sing with some portion of taste
and a good deal of assurance, as she has my hand and arm and a
tolerable voice. I was so much indulged in my infant years that I was
never obliged to attend to anything, and consequently am without the
accomplishments which are now necessary to finish a pretty woman. Not
that I am an advocate for the prevailing fashion of acquiring a perfect
knowledge of all languages, arts, and sciences. It is throwing time
away to be mistress of French, Italian, and German: music, singing, and
drawing, &c., will gain a woman some applause, but will not add one
lover to her list—grace and manner, after all, are of the greatest
importance. I do not mean, therefore, that Frederica’s acquirements
should be more than superficial, and I flatter myself that she will not
remain long enough at school to understand anything thoroughly. I hope
to see her the wife of Sir James within a twelvemonth. You know on what
I ground my hope, and it is certainly a good foundation, for school
must be very humiliating to a girl of Frederica’s age. And, by-the-by,
you had better not invite her any more on that account, as I wish her
to find her situation as unpleasant as possible. I am sure of Sir James
at any time, and could make him renew his application by a line. I
shall trouble you meanwhile to prevent his forming any other attachment
when he comes to town. Ask him to your house occasionally, and talk to
him of Frederica, that he may not forget her. Upon the whole, I commend
my own conduct in this affair extremely, and regard it as a very happy
instance of circumspection and tenderness. Some mothers would have
insisted on their daughter’s accepting so good an offer on the first
overture; but I could not reconcile it to myself to force Frederica
into a marriage from which her heart revolted, and instead of adopting
so harsh a measure merely propose to make it her own choice, by
rendering her thoroughly uncomfortable till she does accept him—but
enough of this tiresome girl. You may well wonder how I contrive to
pass my time here, and for the first week it was insufferably dull.
Now, however, we begin to mend, our party is enlarged by Mrs. Vernon’s
brother, a handsome young man, who promises me some amusement. There is
something about him which rather interests me, a sort of sauciness and
familiarity which I shall teach him to correct. He is lively, and seems
clever, and when I have inspired him with greater respect for me than
his sister’s kind offices have implanted, he may be an agreeable flirt.
There is exquisite pleasure in subduing an insolent spirit, in making a
person predetermined to dislike acknowledge one’s superiority. I have
disconcerted him already by my calm reserve, and it shall be my
endeavour to humble the pride of these self important De Courcys still
lower, to convince Mrs. Vernon that her sisterly cautions have been
bestowed in vain, and to persuade Reginald that she has scandalously
belied me. This project will serve at least to amuse me, and prevent my
feeling so acutely this dreadful separation from you and all whom I
love.

Yours ever,
S. VERNON.




VIII


_Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy._


Churchhill.


My dear Mother,—You must not expect Reginald back again for some time.
He desires me to tell you that the present open weather induces him to
accept Mr. Vernon’s invitation to prolong his stay in Sussex, that they
may have some hunting together. He means to send for his horses
immediately, and it is impossible to say when you may see him in Kent.
I will not disguise my sentiments on this change from you, my dear
mother, though I think you had better not communicate them to my
father, whose excessive anxiety about Reginald would subject him to an
alarm which might seriously affect his health and spirits. Lady Susan
has certainly contrived, in the space of a fortnight, to make my
brother like her. In short, I am persuaded that his continuing here
beyond the time originally fixed for his return is occasioned as much
by a degree of fascination towards her, as by the wish of hunting with
Mr. Vernon, and of course I cannot receive that pleasure from the
length of his visit which my brother’s company would otherwise give me.
I am, indeed, provoked at the artifice of this unprincipled woman; what
stronger proof of her dangerous abilities can be given than this
perversion of Reginald’s judgment, which when he entered the house was
so decidedly against her! In his last letter he actually gave me some
particulars of her behaviour at Langford, such as he received from a
gentleman who knew her perfectly well, which, if true, must raise
abhorrence against her, and which Reginald himself was entirely
disposed to credit. His opinion of her, I am sure, was as low as of any
woman in England; and when he first came it was evident that he
considered her as one entitled neither to delicacy nor respect, and
that he felt she would be delighted with the attentions of any man
inclined to flirt with her. Her behaviour, I confess, has been
calculated to do away with such an idea; I have not detected the
smallest impropriety in it—nothing of vanity, of pretension, of levity;
and she is altogether so attractive that I should not wonder at his
being delighted with her, had he known nothing of her previous to this
personal acquaintance; but, against reason, against conviction, to be
so well pleased with her, as I am sure he is, does really astonish me.
His admiration was at first very strong, but no more than was natural,
and I did not wonder at his being much struck by the gentleness and
delicacy of her manners; but when he has mentioned her of late it has
been in terms of more extraordinary praise; and yesterday he actually
said that he could not be surprised at any effect produced on the heart
of man by such loveliness and such abilities; and when I lamented, in
reply, the badness of her disposition, he observed that whatever might
have been her errors they were to be imputed to her neglected education
and early marriage, and that she was altogether a wonderful woman. This
tendency to excuse her conduct or to forget it, in the warmth of
admiration, vexes me; and if I did not know that Reginald is too much
at home at Churchhill to need an invitation for lengthening his visit,
I should regret Mr. Vernon’s giving him any. Lady Susan’s intentions
are of course those of absolute coquetry, or a desire of universal
admiration; I cannot for a moment imagine that she has anything more
serious in view; but it mortifies me to see a young man of Reginald’s
sense duped by her at all.

I am, &c.,
CATHERINE VERNON.




IX


_Mrs. Johnson to Lady S. Vernon._


Edward Street.


My dearest Friend,—I congratulate you on Mr. De Courcy’s arrival, and I
advise you by all means to marry him; his father’s estate is, we know,
considerable, and I believe certainly entailed. Sir Reginald is very
infirm, and not likely to stand in your way long. I hear the young man
well spoken of; and though no one can really deserve you, my dearest
Susan, Mr. De Courcy may be worth having. Mainwaring will storm of
course, but you easily pacify him; besides, the most scrupulous point
of honour could not require you to wait for _his_ emancipation. I have
seen Sir James; he came to town for a few days last week, and called
several times in Edward Street. I talked to him about you and your
daughter, and he is so far from having forgotten you, that I am sure he
would marry either of you with pleasure. I gave him hopes of
Frederica’s relenting, and told him a great deal of her improvements. I
scolded him for making love to Maria Mainwaring; he protested that he
had been only in joke, and we both laughed heartily at her
disappointment; and, in short, were very agreeable. He is as silly as
ever.

Yours faithfully,
ALICIA.




X


_Lady Susan Vernon to Mrs. Johnson._


Churchhill.


I am much obliged to you, my dear Friend, for your advice respecting
Mr. De Courcy, which I know was given with the full conviction of its
expediency, though I am not quite determined on following it. I cannot
easily resolve on anything so serious as marriage; especially as I am
not at present in want of money, and might perhaps, till the old
gentleman’s death, be very little benefited by the match. It is true
that I am vain enough to believe it within my reach. I have made him
sensible of my power, and can now enjoy the pleasure of triumphing over
a mind prepared to dislike me, and prejudiced against all my past
actions. His sister, too, is, I hope, convinced how little the
ungenerous representations of anyone to the disadvantage of another
will avail when opposed by the immediate influence of intellect and
manner. I see plainly that she is uneasy at my progress in the good
opinion of her brother, and conclude that nothing will be wanting on
her part to counteract me; but having once made him doubt the justice
of her opinion of me, I think I may defy her. It has been delightful to
me to watch his advances towards intimacy, especially to observe his
altered manner in consequence of my repressing by the cool dignity of
my deportment his insolent approach to direct familiarity. My conduct
has been equally guarded from the first, and I never behaved less like
a coquette in the whole course of my life, though perhaps my desire of
dominion was never more decided. I have subdued him entirely by
sentiment and serious conversation, and made him, I may venture to say,
at least half in love with me, without the semblance of the most
commonplace flirtation. Mrs. Vernon’s consciousness of deserving every
sort of revenge that it can be in my power to inflict for her
ill-offices could alone enable her to perceive that I am actuated by
any design in behaviour so gentle and unpretending. Let her think and
act as she chooses, however. I have never yet found that the advice of
a sister could prevent a young man’s being in love if he chose. We are
advancing now to some kind of confidence, and in short are likely to be
engaged in a sort of platonic friendship. On my side you may be sure of
its never being more, for if I were not attached to another person as
much as I can be to anyone, I should make a point of not bestowing my
affection on a man who had dared to think so meanly of me. Reginald has
a good figure and is not unworthy the praise you have heard given him,
but is still greatly inferior to our friend at Langford. He is less
polished, less insinuating than Mainwaring, and is comparatively
deficient in the power of saying those delightful things which put one
in good humour with oneself and all the world. He is quite agreeable
enough, however, to afford me amusement, and to make many of those
hours pass very pleasantly which would otherwise be spent in
endeavouring to overcome my sister-in-law’s reserve, and listening to
the insipid talk of her husband. Your account of Sir James is most
satisfactory, and I mean to give Miss Frederica a hint of my intentions
very soon.

Yours, &c.,
S. VERNON.




XI


_Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy._


Churchhill


I really grow quite uneasy, my dearest mother, about Reginald, from
witnessing the very rapid increase of Lady Susan’s influence. They are
now on terms of the most particular friendship, frequently engaged in
long conversations together; and she has contrived by the most artful
coquetry to subdue his judgment to her own purposes. It is impossible
to see the intimacy between them so very soon established without some
alarm, though I can hardly suppose that Lady Susan’s plans extend to
marriage. I wish you could get Reginald home again on any plausible
pretence; he is not at all disposed to leave us, and I have given him
as many hints of my father’s precarious state of health as common
decency will allow me to do in my own house. Her power over him must
now be boundless, as she has entirely effaced all his former
ill-opinion, and persuaded him not merely to forget but to justify her
conduct. Mr. Smith’s account of her proceedings at Langford, where he
accused her of having made Mr. Mainwaring and a young man engaged to
Miss Mainwaring distractedly in love with her, which Reginald firmly
believed when he came here, is now, he is persuaded, only a scandalous
invention. He has told me so with a warmth of manner which spoke his
regret at having believed the contrary himself. How sincerely do I
grieve that she ever entered this house! I always looked forward to her
coming with uneasiness; but very far was it from originating in anxiety
for Reginald. I expected a most disagreeable companion for myself, but
could not imagine that my brother would be in the smallest danger of
being captivated by a woman with whose principles he was so well
acquainted, and whose character he so heartily despised. If you can get
him away it will be a good thing.

Yours, &c.,
CATHERINE VERNON.




XII


_Sir Reginald De Courcy to his Son._


Parklands.


I know that young men in general do not admit of any enquiry even from
their nearest relations into affairs of the heart, but I hope, my dear
Reginald, that you will be superior to such as allow nothing for a
father’s anxiety, and think themselves privileged to refuse him their
confidence and slight his advice. You must be sensible that as an only
son, and the representative of an ancient family, your conduct in life
is most interesting to your connections; and in the very important
concern of marriage especially, there is everything at stake—your own
happiness, that of your parents, and the credit of your name. I do not
suppose that you would deliberately form an absolute engagement of that
nature without acquainting your mother and myself, or at least, without
being convinced that we should approve of your choice; but I cannot
help fearing that you may be drawn in, by the lady who has lately
attached you, to a marriage which the whole of your family, far and
near, must highly reprobate. Lady Susan’s age is itself a material
objection, but her want of character is one so much more serious, that
the difference of even twelve years becomes in comparison of small
amount. Were you not blinded by a sort of fascination, it would be
ridiculous in me to repeat the instances of great misconduct on her
side so very generally known.

Her neglect of her husband, her encouragement of other men, her
extravagance and dissipation, were so gross and notorious that no one
could be ignorant of them at the time, nor can now have forgotten them.
To our family she has always been represented in softened colours by
the benevolence of Mr. Charles Vernon, and yet, in spite of his
generous endeavours to excuse her, we know that she did, from the most
selfish motives, take all possible pains to prevent his marriage with
Catherine.

My years and increasing infirmities make me very desirous of seeing you
settled in the world. To the fortune of a wife, the goodness of my own
will make me indifferent, but her family and character must be equally
unexceptionable. When your choice is fixed so that no objection can be
made to it, then I can promise you a ready and cheerful consent; but it
is my duty to oppose a match which deep art only could render possible,
and must in the end make wretched. It is possible her behaviour may
arise only from vanity, or the wish of gaining the admiration of a man
whom she must imagine to be particularly prejudiced against her; but it
is more likely that she should aim at something further. She is poor,
and may naturally seek an alliance which must be advantageous to
herself; you know your own rights, and that it is out of my power to
prevent your inheriting the family estate. My ability of distressing
you during my life would be a species of revenge to which I could
hardly stoop under any circumstances.

I honestly tell you my sentiments and intentions: I do not wish to work
on your fears, but on your sense and affection. It would destroy every
comfort of my life to know that you were married to Lady Susan Vernon;
it would be the death of that honest pride with which I have hitherto
considered my son; I should blush to see him, to hear of him, to think
of him. I may perhaps do no good but that of relieving my own mind by
this letter, but I felt it my duty to tell you that your partiality for
Lady Susan is no secret to your friends, and to warn you against her. I
should be glad to hear your reasons for disbelieving Mr. Smith’s
intelligence; you had no doubt of its authenticity a month ago. If you
can give me your assurance of having no design beyond enjoying the
conversation of a clever woman for a short period, and of yielding
admiration only to her beauty and abilities, without being blinded by
them to her faults, you will restore me to happiness; but, if you
cannot do this, explain to me, at least, what has occasioned so great
an alteration in your opinion of her.

I am, &c., &c,
REGINALD DE COURCY




XIII


_Lady De Courcy to Mrs. Vernon._


Parklands.


My dear Catherine,—Unluckily I was confined to my room when your last
letter came, by a cold which affected my eyes so much as to prevent my
reading it myself, so I could not refuse your father when he offered to
read it to me, by which means he became acquainted, to my great
vexation, with all your fears about your brother. I had intended to
write to Reginald myself as soon as my eyes would let me, to point out,
as well as I could, the danger of an intimate acquaintance, with so
artful a woman as Lady Susan, to a young man of his age, and high
expectations. I meant, moreover, to have reminded him of our being
quite alone now, and very much in need of him to keep up our spirits
these long winter evenings. Whether it would have done any good can
never be settled now, but I am excessively vexed that Sir Reginald
should know anything of a matter which we foresaw would make him so
uneasy. He caught all your fears the moment he had read your letter,
and I am sure he has not had the business out of his head since. He
wrote by the same post to Reginald a long letter full of it all, and
particularly asking an explanation of what he may have heard from Lady
Susan to contradict the late shocking reports. His answer came this
morning, which I shall enclose to you, as I think you will like to see
it. I wish it was more satisfactory; but it seems written with such a
determination to think well of Lady Susan, that his assurances as to
marriage, &c., do not set my heart at ease. I say all I can, however,
to satisfy your father, and he is certainly less uneasy since
Reginald’s letter. How provoking it is, my dear Catherine, that this
unwelcome guest of yours should not only prevent our meeting this
Christmas, but be the occasion of so much vexation and trouble! Kiss
the dear children for me.

Your affectionate mother,
C. DE COURCY.




XIV


_Mr. De Courcy to Sir Reginald._


Churchhill.


My dear Sir,—I have this moment received your letter, which has given
me more astonishment than I ever felt before. I am to thank my sister,
I suppose, for having represented me in such a light as to injure me in
your opinion, and give you all this alarm. I know not why she should
choose to make herself and her family uneasy by apprehending an event
which no one but herself, I can affirm, would ever have thought
possible. To impute such a design to Lady Susan would be taking from
her every claim to that excellent understanding which her bitterest
enemies have never denied her; and equally low must sink my pretensions
to common sense if I am suspected of matrimonial views in my behaviour
to her. Our difference of age must be an insuperable objection, and I
entreat you, my dear father, to quiet your mind, and no longer harbour
a suspicion which cannot be more injurious to your own peace than to
our understandings. I can have no other view in remaining with Lady
Susan, than to enjoy for a short time (as you have yourself expressed
it) the conversation of a woman of high intellectual powers. If Mrs.
Vernon would allow something to my affection for herself and her
husband in the length of my visit, she would do more justice to us all;
but my sister is unhappily prejudiced beyond the hope of conviction
against Lady Susan. From an attachment to her husband, which in itself
does honour to both, she cannot forgive the endeavours at preventing
their union, which have been attributed to selfishness in Lady Susan;
but in this case, as well as in many others, the world has most grossly
injured that lady, by supposing the worst where the motives of her
conduct have been doubtful. Lady Susan had heard something so
materially to the disadvantage of my sister as to persuade her that the
happiness of Mr. Vernon, to whom she was always much attached, would be
wholly destroyed by the marriage. And this circumstance, while it
explains the true motives of Lady Susan’s conduct, and removes all the
blame which has been so lavished on her, may also convince us how
little the general report of anyone ought to be credited; since no
character, however upright, can escape the malevolence of slander. If
my sister, in the security of retirement, with as little opportunity as
inclination to do evil, could not avoid censure, we must not rashly
condemn those who, living in the world and surrounded with temptations,
should be accused of errors which they are known to have the power of
committing.

I blame myself severely for having so easily believed the slanderous
tales invented by Charles Smith to the prejudice of Lady Susan, as I am
now convinced how greatly they have traduced her. As to Mrs.
Mainwaring’s jealousy it was totally his own invention, and his account
of her attaching Miss Mainwaring’s lover was scarcely better founded.
Sir James Martin had been drawn in by that young lady to pay her some
attention; and as he is a man of fortune, it was easy to see _her_
views extended to marriage. It is well known that Miss M. is absolutely
on the catch for a husband, and no one therefore can pity her for
losing, by the superior attractions of another woman, the chance of
being able to make a worthy man completely wretched. Lady Susan was far
from intending such a conquest, and on finding how warmly Miss
Mainwaring resented her lover’s defection, determined, in spite of Mr.
and Mrs. Mainwaring’s most urgent entreaties, to leave the family. I
have reason to imagine she did receive serious proposals from Sir
James, but her removing from Langford immediately on the discovery of
his attachment, must acquit her on that article with any mind of common
candour. You will, I am sure, my dear Sir, feel the truth of this, and
will hereby learn to do justice to the character of a very injured
woman. I know that Lady Susan in coming to Churchhill was governed only
by the most honourable and amiable intentions; her prudence and economy
are exemplary, her regard for Mr. Vernon equal even to _his_ deserts;
and her wish of obtaining my sister’s good opinion merits a better
return than it has received. As a mother she is unexceptionable; her
solid affection for her child is shown by placing her in hands where
her education will be properly attended to; but because she has not the
blind and weak partiality of most mothers, she is accused of wanting
maternal tenderness. Every person of sense, however, will know how to
value and commend her well-directed affection, and will join me in
wishing that Frederica Vernon may prove more worthy than she has yet
done of her mother’s tender care. I have now, my dear father, written
my real sentiments of Lady Susan; you will know from this letter how
highly I admire her abilities, and esteem her character; but if you are
not equally convinced by my full and solemn assurance that your fears
have been most idly created, you will deeply mortify and distress me.

I am, &c., &c.,
R. DE COURCY.




XV


_Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy._


Churchhill


My dear Mother,—I return you Reginald’s letter, and rejoice with all my
heart that my father is made easy by it: tell him so, with my
congratulations; but, between ourselves, I must own it has only
convinced _me_ of my brother’s having no _present_ intention of
marrying Lady Susan, not that he is in no danger of doing so three
months hence. He gives a very plausible account of her behaviour at
Langford; I wish it may be true, but his intelligence must come from
herself, and I am less disposed to believe it than to lament the degree
of intimacy subsisting between them, implied by the discussion of such
a subject. I am sorry to have incurred his displeasure, but can expect
nothing better while he is so very eager in Lady Susan’s justification.
He is very severe against me indeed, and yet I hope I have not been
hasty in my judgment of her. Poor woman! though I have reasons enough
for my dislike, I cannot help pitying her at present, as she is in real
distress, and with too much cause. She had this morning a letter from
the lady with whom she has placed her daughter, to request that Miss
Vernon might be immediately removed, as she had been detected in an
attempt to run away. Why, or whither she intended to go, does not
appear; but, as her situation seems to have been unexceptionable, it is
a sad thing, and of course highly distressing to Lady Susan. Frederica
must be as much as sixteen, and ought to know better; but from what her
mother insinuates, I am afraid she is a perverse girl. She has been
sadly neglected, however, and her mother ought to remember it. Mr.
Vernon set off for London as soon as she had determined what should be
done. He is, if possible, to prevail on Miss Summers to let Frederica
continue with her; and if he cannot succeed, to bring her to Churchhill
for the present, till some other situation can be found for her. Her
ladyship is comforting herself meanwhile by strolling along the
shrubbery with Reginald, calling forth all his tender feelings, I
suppose, on this distressing occasion. She has been talking a great
deal about it to me. She talks vastly well; I am afraid of being
ungenerous, or I should say, _too_ well to feel so very deeply; but I
will not look for her faults; she may be Reginald’s wife! Heaven forbid
it! but why should I be quicker-sighted than anyone else? Mr. Vernon
declares that he never saw deeper distress than hers, on the receipt of
the letter; and is his judgment inferior to mine? She was very
unwilling that Frederica should be allowed to come to Churchhill, and
justly enough, as it seems a sort of reward to behaviour deserving very
differently; but it was impossible to take her anywhere else, and she
is not to remain here long. “It will be absolutely necessary,” said
she, “as you, my dear sister, must be sensible, to treat my daughter
with some severity while she is here; a most painful necessity, but I
will _endeavour_ to submit to it. I am afraid I have often been too
indulgent, but my poor Frederica’s temper could never bear opposition
well: you must support and encourage me; you must urge the necessity of
reproof if you see me too lenient.” All this sounds very reasonable.
Reginald is so incensed against the poor silly girl! Surely it is not
to Lady Susan’s credit that he should be so bitter against her
daughter; his idea of her must be drawn from the mother’s description.
Well, whatever may be his fate, we have the comfort of knowing that we
have done our utmost to save him. We must commit the event to a higher
power.

Yours ever, &c.,
CATHERINE VERNON.




XVI


_Lady Susan to Mrs. Johnson._


Churchhill.


Never, my dearest Alicia, was I so provoked in my life as by a letter
this morning from Miss Summers. That horrid girl of mine has been
trying to run away. I had not a notion of her being such a little devil
before, she seemed to have all the Vernon milkiness; but on receiving
the letter in which I declared my intention about Sir James, she
actually attempted to elope; at least, I cannot otherwise account for
her doing it. She meant, I suppose, to go to the Clarkes in
Staffordshire, for she has no other acquaintances. But she shall be
punished, she shall have him. I have sent Charles to town to make
matters up if he can, for I do not by any means want her here. If Miss
Summers will not keep her, you must find me out another school, unless
we can get her married immediately. Miss S. writes word that she could
not get the young lady to assign any cause for her extraordinary
conduct, which confirms me in my own previous explanation of it.
Frederica is too shy, I think, and too much in awe of me to tell tales,
but if the mildness of her uncle should get anything out of her, I am
not afraid. I trust I shall be able to make my story as good as hers.
If I am vain of anything, it is of my eloquence. Consideration and
esteem as surely follow command of language as admiration waits on
beauty, and here I have opportunity enough for the exercise of my
talent, as the chief of my time is spent in conversation.

Reginald is never easy unless we are by ourselves, and when the weather
is tolerable, we pace the shrubbery for hours together. I like him on
the whole very well; he is clever and has a good deal to say, but he is
sometimes impertinent and troublesome. There is a sort of ridiculous
delicacy about him which requires the fullest explanation of whatever
he may have heard to my disadvantage, and is never satisfied till he
thinks he has ascertained the beginning and end of everything. This is
one sort of love, but I confess it does not particularly recommend
itself to me. I infinitely prefer the tender and liberal spirit of
Mainwaring, which, impressed with the deepest conviction of my merit,
is satisfied that whatever I do must be right; and look with a degree
of contempt on the inquisitive and doubtful fancies of that heart which
seems always debating on the reasonableness of its emotions. Mainwaring
is indeed, beyond all compare, superior to Reginald—superior in
everything but the power of being with me! Poor fellow! he is much
distracted by jealousy, which I am not sorry for, as I know no better
support of love. He has been teazing me to allow of his coming into
this country, and lodging somewhere near _incog_.; but I forbade
everything of the kind. Those women are inexcusable who forget what is
due to themselves, and the opinion of the world.

Yours ever,
S. VERNON.




XVII


_Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy._


Churchhill.


My dear Mother,—Mr. Vernon returned on Thursday night, bringing his
niece with him. Lady Susan had received a line from him by that day’s
post, informing her that Miss Summers had absolutely refused to allow
of Miss Vernon’s continuance in her academy; we were therefore prepared
for her arrival, and expected them impatiently the whole evening. They
came while we were at tea, and I never saw any creature look so
frightened as Frederica when she entered the room. Lady Susan, who had
been shedding tears before, and showing great agitation at the idea of
the meeting, received her with perfect self-command, and without
betraying the least tenderness of spirit. She hardly spoke to her, and
on Frederica’s bursting into tears as soon as we were seated, took her
out of the room, and did not return for some time. When she did, her
eyes looked very red and she was as much agitated as before. We saw no
more of her daughter. Poor Reginald was beyond measure concerned to see
his fair friend in such distress, and watched her with so much tender
solicitude, that I, who occasionally caught her observing his
countenance with exultation, was quite out of patience. This pathetic
representation lasted the whole evening, and so ostentatious and artful
a display has entirely convinced me that she did in fact feel nothing.
I am more angry with her than ever since I have seen her daughter; the
poor girl looks so unhappy that my heart aches for her. Lady Susan is
surely too severe, for Frederica does not seem to have the sort of
temper to make severity necessary. She looks perfectly timid, dejected,
and penitent. She is very pretty, though not so handsome as her mother,
nor at all like her. Her complexion is delicate, but neither so fair
nor so blooming as Lady Susan’s, and she has quite the Vernon cast of
countenance, the oval face and mild dark eyes, and there is peculiar
sweetness in her look when she speaks either to her uncle or me, for as
we behave kindly to her we have of course engaged her gratitude.

Her mother has insinuated that her temper is intractable, but I never
saw a face less indicative of any evil disposition than hers; and from
what I can see of the behaviour of each to the other, the invariable
severity of Lady Susan and the silent dejection of Frederica, I am led
to believe as heretofore that the former has no real love for her
daughter, and has never done her justice or treated her affectionately.
I have not been able to have any conversation with my niece; she is
shy, and I think I can see that some pains are taken to prevent her
being much with me. Nothing satisfactory transpires as to her reason
for running away. Her kind-hearted uncle, you may be sure, was too
fearful of distressing her to ask many questions as they travelled. I
wish it had been possible for me to fetch her instead of him. I think I
should have discovered the truth in the course of a thirty-mile
journey. The small pianoforte has been removed within these few days,
at Lady Susan’s request, into her dressing-room, and Frederica spends
great part of the day there, practising as it is called; but I seldom
hear any noise when I pass that way; what she does with herself there I
do not know. There are plenty of books, but it is not every girl who
has been running wild the first fifteen years of her life, that can or
will read. Poor creature! the prospect from her window is not very
instructive, for that room overlooks the lawn, you know, with the
shrubbery on one side, where she may see her mother walking for an hour
together in earnest conversation with Reginald. A girl of Frederica’s
age must be childish indeed, if such things do not strike her. Is it
not inexcusable to give such an example to a daughter? Yet Reginald
still thinks Lady Susan the best of mothers, and still condemns
Frederica as a worthless girl! He is convinced that her attempt to run
away proceeded from no justifiable cause, and had no provocation. I am
sure I cannot say that it _had_, but while Miss Summers declares that
Miss Vernon showed no signs of obstinacy or perverseness during her
whole stay in Wigmore Street, till she was detected in this scheme, I
cannot so readily credit what Lady Susan has made him, and wants to
make me believe, that it was merely an impatience of restraint and a
desire of escaping from the tuition of masters which brought on the
plan of an elopement. O Reginald, how is your judgment enslaved! He
scarcely dares even allow her to be handsome, and when I speak of her
beauty, replies only that her eyes have no brilliancy! Sometimes he is
sure she is deficient in understanding, and at others that her temper
only is in fault. In short, when a person is always to deceive, it is
impossible to be consistent. Lady Susan finds it necessary that
Frederica should be to blame, and probably has sometimes judged it
expedient to accuse her of ill-nature and sometimes to lament her want
of sense. Reginald is only repeating after her ladyship.

I remain, &c., &c.,
CATHERINE VERNON.




XVIII


_From the same to the same._


Churchhill.


My dear Mother,—I am very glad to find that my description of Frederica
Vernon has interested you, for I do believe her truly deserving of your
regard; and when I have communicated a notion which has recently struck
me, your kind impressions in her favour will, I am sure, be heightened.
I cannot help fancying that she is growing partial to my brother. I so
very often see her eyes fixed on his face with a remarkable expression
of pensive admiration. He is certainly very handsome; and yet more,
there is an openness in his manner that must be highly prepossessing,
and I am sure she feels it so. Thoughtful and pensive in general, her
countenance always brightens into a smile when Reginald says anything
amusing; and, let the subject be ever so serious that he may be
conversing on, I am much mistaken if a syllable of his uttering escapes
her. I want to make him sensible of all this, for we know the power of
gratitude on such a heart as his; and could Frederica’s artless
affection detach him from her mother, we might bless the day which
brought her to Churchhill. I think, my dear mother, you would not
disapprove of her as a daughter. She is extremely young, to be sure,
has had a wretched education, and a dreadful example of levity in her
mother; but yet I can pronounce her disposition to be excellent, and
her natural abilities very good. Though totally without
accomplishments, she is by no means so ignorant as one might expect to
find her, being fond of books and spending the chief of her time in
reading. Her mother leaves her more to herself than she did, and I have
her with me as much as possible, and have taken great pains to overcome
her timidity. We are very good friends, and though she never opens her
lips before her mother, she talks enough when alone with me to make it
clear that, if properly treated by Lady Susan, she would always appear
to much greater advantage. There cannot be a more gentle, affectionate
heart; or more obliging manners, when acting without restraint; and her
little cousins are all very fond of her.

Your affectionate daughter,
C. VERNON




XIX


_Lady Susan to Mrs. Johnson._


Churchhill.


You will be eager, I know, to hear something further of Frederica, and
perhaps may think me negligent for not writing before. She arrived with
her uncle last Thursday fortnight, when, of course, I lost no time in
demanding the cause of her behaviour; and soon found myself to have
been perfectly right in attributing it to my own letter. The prospect
of it frightened her so thoroughly, that, with a mixture of true
girlish perverseness and folly, she resolved on getting out of the
house and proceeding directly by the stage to her friends, the Clarkes;
and had really got as far as the length of two streets in her journey
when she was fortunately missed, pursued, and overtaken. Such was the
first distinguished exploit of Miss Frederica Vernon; and, if we
consider that it was achieved at the tender age of sixteen, we shall
have room for the most flattering prognostics of her future renown. I
am excessively provoked, however, at the parade of propriety which
prevented Miss Summers from keeping the girl; and it seems so
extraordinary a piece of nicety, considering my daughter’s family
connections, that I can only suppose the lady to be governed by the
fear of never getting her money. Be that as it may, however, Frederica
is returned on my hands; and, having nothing else to employ her, is
busy in pursuing the plan of romance begun at Langford. She is actually
falling in love with Reginald De Courcy! To disobey her mother by
refusing an unexceptionable offer is not enough; her affections must
also be given without her mother’s approbation. I never saw a girl of
her age bid fairer to be the sport of mankind. Her feelings are
tolerably acute, and she is so charmingly artless in their display as
to afford the most reasonable hope of her being ridiculous, and
despised by every man who sees her.

Artlessness will never do in love matters; and that girl is born a
simpleton who has it either by nature or affectation. I am not yet
certain that Reginald sees what she is about, nor is it of much
consequence. She is now an object of indifference to him, and she would
be one of contempt were he to understand her emotions. Her beauty is
much admired by the Vernons, but it has no effect on him. She is in
high favour with her aunt altogether, because she is so little like
myself, of course. She is exactly the companion for Mrs. Vernon, who
dearly loves to be firm, and to have all the sense and all the wit of
the conversation to herself: Frederica will never eclipse her. When she
first came I was at some pains to prevent her seeing much of her aunt;
but I have relaxed, as I believe I may depend on her observing the
rules I have laid down for their discourse. But do not imagine that
with all this lenity I have for a moment given up my plan of her
marriage. No; I am unalterably fixed on this point, though I have not
yet quite decided on the manner of bringing it about. I should not
chuse to have the business brought on here, and canvassed by the wise
heads of Mr. and Mrs. Vernon; and I cannot just now afford to go to
town. Miss Frederica must therefore wait a little.

Yours ever,
S. VERNON.




XX


_Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy._


Churchhill


We have a very unexpected guest with us at present, my dear Mother: he
arrived yesterday. I heard a carriage at the door, as I was sitting
with my children while they dined; and supposing I should be wanted,
left the nursery soon afterwards, and was half-way downstairs, when
Frederica, as pale as ashes, came running up, and rushed by me into her
own room. I instantly followed, and asked her what was the matter.
“Oh!” said she, “he is come—Sir James is come, and what shall I do?”
This was no explanation; I begged her to tell me what she meant. At
that moment we were interrupted by a knock at the door: it was
Reginald, who came, by Lady Susan’s direction, to call Frederica down.
“It is Mr. De Courcy!” said she, colouring violently. “Mamma has sent
for me; I must go.” We all three went down together; and I saw my
brother examining the terrified face of Frederica with surprize. In the
breakfast-room we found Lady Susan, and a young man of gentlemanlike
appearance, whom she introduced by the name of Sir James Martin—the
very person, as you may remember, whom it was said she had been at
pains to detach from Miss Mainwaring; but the conquest, it seems, was
not designed for herself, or she has since transferred it to her
daughter; for Sir James is now desperately in love with Frederica, and
with full encouragement from mamma. The poor girl, however, I am sure,
dislikes him; and though his person and address are very well, he
appears, both to Mr. Vernon and me, a very weak young man. Frederica
looked so shy, so confused, when we entered the room, that I felt for
her exceedingly. Lady Susan behaved with great attention to her
visitor; and yet I thought I could perceive that she had no particular
pleasure in seeing him. Sir James talked a great deal, and made many
civil excuses to me for the liberty he had taken in coming to
Churchhill—mixing more frequent laughter with his discourse than the
subject required—said many things over and over again, and told Lady
Susan three times that he had seen Mrs. Johnson a few evenings before.
He now and then addressed Frederica, but more frequently her mother.
The poor girl sat all this time without opening her lips—her eyes cast
down, and her colour varying every instant; while Reginald observed all
that passed in perfect silence. At length Lady Susan, weary, I believe,
of her situation, proposed walking; and we left the two gentlemen
together, to put on our pelisses. As we went upstairs Lady Susan begged
permission to attend me for a few moments in my dressing-room, as she
was anxious to speak with me in private. I led her thither accordingly,
and as soon as the door was closed, she said: “I was never more
surprized in my life than by Sir James’s arrival, and the suddenness of
it requires some apology to you, my dear sister; though to _me_, as a
mother, it is highly flattering. He is so extremely attached to my
daughter that he could not exist longer without seeing her. Sir James
is a young man of an amiable disposition and excellent character; a
little too much of the rattle, perhaps, but a year or two will rectify
_that:_ and he is in other respects so very eligible a match for
Frederica, that I have always observed his attachment with the greatest
pleasure; and am persuaded that you and my brother will give the
alliance your hearty approbation. I have never before mentioned the
likelihood of its taking place to anyone, because I thought that whilst
Frederica continued at school it had better not be known to exist; but
now, as I am convinced that Frederica is too old ever to submit to
school confinement, and have, therefore, begun to consider her union
with Sir James as not very distant, I had intended within a few days to
acquaint yourself and Mr. Vernon with the whole business. I am sure, my
dear sister, you will excuse my remaining silent so long, and agree
with me that such circumstances, while they continue from any cause in
suspense, cannot be too cautiously concealed. When you have the
happiness of bestowing your sweet little Catherine, some years hence,
on a man who in connection and character is alike unexceptionable, you
will know what I feel now; though, thank Heaven, you cannot have all my
reasons for rejoicing in such an event. Catherine will be amply
provided for, and not, like my Frederica, indebted to a fortunate
establishment for the comforts of life.” She concluded by demanding my
congratulations. I gave them somewhat awkwardly, I believe; for, in
fact, the sudden disclosure of so important a matter took from me the
power of speaking with any clearness. She thanked me, however, most
affectionately, for my kind concern in the welfare of herself and
daughter; and then said: “I am not apt to deal in professions, my dear
Mrs. Vernon, and I never had the convenient talent of affecting
sensations foreign to my heart; and therefore I trust you will believe
me when I declare, that much as I had heard in your praise before I
knew you, I had no idea that I should ever love you as I now do; and I
must further say that your friendship towards me is more particularly
gratifying because I have reason to believe that some attempts were
made to prejudice you against me. I only wish that they, whoever they
are, to whom I am indebted for such kind intentions, could see the
terms on which we now are together, and understand the real affection
we feel for each other; but I will not detain you any longer. God bless
you, for your goodness to me and my girl, and continue to you all your
present happiness.” What can one say of such a woman, my dear mother?
Such earnestness, such solemnity of expression! and yet I cannot help
suspecting the truth of everything she says. As for Reginald, I believe
he does not know what to make of the matter. When Sir James came, he
appeared all astonishment and perplexity; the folly of the young man
and the confusion of Frederica entirely engrossed him; and though a
little private discourse with Lady Susan has since had its effect, he
is still hurt, I am sure, at her allowing of such a man’s attentions to
her daughter. Sir James invited himself with great composure to remain
here a few days—hoped we would not think it odd, was aware of its being
very impertinent, but he took the liberty of a relation; and concluded
by wishing, with a laugh, that he might be really one very soon. Even
Lady Susan seemed a little disconcerted by this forwardness; in her
heart I am persuaded she sincerely wished him gone. But something must
be done for this poor girl, if her feelings are such as both I and her
uncle believe them to be. She must not be sacrificed to policy or
ambition, and she must not be left to suffer from the dread of it. The
girl whose heart can distinguish Reginald De Courcy, deserves, however
he may slight her, a better fate than to be Sir James Martin’s wife. As
soon as I can get her alone, I will discover the real truth; but she
seems to wish to avoid me. I hope this does not proceed from anything
wrong, and that I shall not find out I have thought too well of her.
Her behaviour to Sir James certainly speaks the greatest consciousness
and embarrassment, but I see nothing in it more like encouragement.
Adieu, my dear mother.

Yours, &c.,
C. VERNON.




XXI


_Miss Vernon to Mr. De Courcy._


Sir,—I hope you will excuse this liberty; I am forced upon it by the
greatest distress, or I should be ashamed to trouble you. I am very
miserable about Sir James Martin, and have no other way in the world of
helping myself but by writing to you, for I am forbidden even speaking
to my uncle and aunt on the subject; and this being the case, I am
afraid my applying to you will appear no better than equivocation, and
as if I attended to the letter and not the spirit of mamma’s commands.
But if you do not take my part and persuade her to break it off, I
shall be half distracted, for I cannot bear him. No human being but
_you_ could have any chance of prevailing with her. If you will,
therefore, have the unspeakably great kindness of taking my part with
her, and persuading her to send Sir James away, I shall be more obliged
to you than it is possible for me to express. I always disliked him
from the first: it is not a sudden fancy, I assure you, sir; I always
thought him silly and impertinent and disagreeable, and now he is grown
worse than ever. I would rather work for my bread than marry him. I do
not know how to apologize enough for this letter; I know it is taking
so great a liberty. I am aware how dreadfully angry it will make mamma,
but I remember the risk.

I am, Sir, your most humble servant,
F. S. V.




XXII


_Lady Susan to Mrs. Johnson._


Churchhill.


This is insufferable! My dearest friend, I was never so enraged before,
and must relieve myself by writing to you, who I know will enter into
all my feelings. Who should come on Tuesday but Sir James Martin! Guess
my astonishment, and vexation—for, as you well know, I never wished him
to be seen at Churchhill. What a pity that you should not have known
his intentions! Not content with coming, he actually invited himself to
remain here a few days. I could have poisoned him! I made the best of
it, however, and told my story with great success to Mrs. Vernon, who,
whatever might be her real sentiments, said nothing in opposition to
mine. I made a point also of Frederica’s behaving civilly to Sir James,
and gave her to understand that I was absolutely determined on her
marrying him. She said something of her misery, but that was all. I
have for some time been more particularly resolved on the match from
seeing the rapid increase of her affection for Reginald, and from not
feeling secure that a knowledge of such affection might not in the end
awaken a return. Contemptible as a regard founded only on compassion
must make them both in my eyes, I felt by no means assured that such
might not be the consequence. It is true that Reginald had not in any
degree grown cool towards me; but yet he has lately mentioned Frederica
spontaneously and unnecessarily, and once said something in praise of
her person. _He_ was all astonishment at the appearance of my visitor,
and at first observed Sir James with an attention which I was pleased
to see not unmixed with jealousy; but unluckily it was impossible for
me really to torment him, as Sir James, though extremely gallant to me,
very soon made the whole party understand that his heart was devoted to
my daughter. I had no great difficulty in convincing De Courcy, when we
were alone, that I was perfectly justified, all things considered, in
desiring the match; and the whole business seemed most comfortably
arranged. They could none of them help perceiving that Sir James was no
Solomon; but I had positively forbidden Frederica complaining to
Charles Vernon or his wife, and they had therefore no pretence for
interference; though my impertinent sister, I believe, wanted only
opportunity for doing so. Everything, however, was going on calmly and
quietly; and, though I counted the hours of Sir James’s stay, my mind
was entirely satisfied with the posture of affairs. Guess, then, what I
must feel at the sudden disturbance of all my schemes; and that, too,
from a quarter where I had least reason to expect it. Reginald came
this morning into my dressing-room with a very unusual solemnity of
countenance, and after some preface informed me in so many words that
he wished to reason with me on the impropriety and unkindness of
allowing Sir James Martin to address my daughter contrary to her
inclinations. I was all amazement. When I found that he was not to be
laughed out of his design, I calmly begged an explanation, and desired
to know by what he was impelled, and by whom commissioned, to reprimand
me. He then told me, mixing in his speech a few insolent compliments
and ill-timed expressions of tenderness, to which I listened with
perfect indifference, that my daughter had acquainted him with some
circumstances concerning herself, Sir James, and me which had given him
great uneasiness. In short, I found that she had in the first place
actually written to him to request his interference, and that, on
receiving her letter, he had conversed with her on the subject of it,
in order to understand the particulars, and to assure himself of her
real wishes. I have not a doubt but that the girl took this opportunity
of making downright love to him. I am convinced of it by the manner in
which he spoke of her. Much good may such love do him! I shall ever
despise the man who can be gratified by the passion which he never
wished to inspire, nor solicited the avowal of. I shall always detest
them both. He can have no true regard for me, or he would not have
listened to her; and _she_, with her little rebellious heart and
indelicate feelings, to throw herself into the protection of a young
man with whom she has scarcely ever exchanged two words before! I am
equally confounded at _her_ impudence and _his_ credulity. How dared he
believe what she told him in my disfavour! Ought he not to have felt
assured that I must have unanswerable motives for all that I had done?
Where was his reliance on my sense and goodness then? Where the
resentment which true love would have dictated against the person
defaming me—that person, too, a chit, a child, without talent or
education, whom he had been always taught to despise? I was calm for
some time; but the greatest degree of forbearance may be overcome, and
I hope I was afterwards sufficiently keen. He endeavoured, long
endeavoured, to soften my resentment; but that woman is a fool indeed
who, while insulted by accusation, can be worked on by compliments. At
length he left me, as deeply provoked as myself; and he showed his
anger more. I was quite cool, but he gave way to the most violent
indignation; I may therefore expect it will the sooner subside, and
perhaps his may be vanished for ever, while mine will be found still
fresh and implacable. He is now shut up in his apartment, whither I
heard him go on leaving mine. How unpleasant, one would think, must be
his reflections! but some people’s feelings are incomprehensible. I
have not yet tranquillised myself enough to see Frederica. _She_ shall
not soon forget the occurrences of this day; she shall find that she
has poured forth her tender tale of love in vain, and exposed herself
for ever to the contempt of the whole world, and the severest
resentment of her injured mother.

Your affectionate
S. VERNON.




XXIII


_Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy._


Churchhill.


Let me congratulate you, my dearest Mother! The affair which has given
us so much anxiety is drawing to a happy conclusion. Our prospect is
most delightful, and since matters have now taken so favourable a turn,
I am quite sorry that I ever imparted my apprehensions to you; for the
pleasure of learning that the danger is over is perhaps dearly
purchased by all that you have previously suffered. I am so much
agitated by delight that I can scarcely hold a pen; but am determined
to send you a few short lines by James, that you may have some
explanation of what must so greatly astonish you, as that Reginald
should be returning to Parklands. I was sitting about half an hour ago
with Sir James in the breakfast parlour, when my brother called me out
of the room. I instantly saw that something was the matter; his
complexion was raised, and he spoke with great emotion; you know his
eager manner, my dear mother, when his mind is interested. “Catherine,”
said he, “I am going home to-day; I am sorry to leave you, but I must
go: it is a great while since I have seen my father and mother. I am
going to send James forward with my hunters immediately; if you have
any letter, therefore, he can take it. I shall not be at home myself
till Wednesday or Thursday, as I shall go through London, where I have
business; but before I leave you,” he continued, speaking in a lower
tone, and with still greater energy, “I must warn you of one thing—do
not let Frederica Vernon be made unhappy by that Martin. He wants to
marry her; her mother promotes the match, but she cannot endure the
idea of it. Be assured that I speak from the fullest conviction of the
truth of what I say; I know that Frederica is made wretched by Sir
James’s continuing here. She is a sweet girl, and deserves a better
fate. Send him away immediately; he is only a fool: but what her mother
can mean, Heaven only knows! Good bye,” he added, shaking my hand with
earnestness; “I do not know when you will see me again; but remember
what I tell you of Frederica; you _must_ make it your business to see
justice done her. She is an amiable girl, and has a very superior mind
to what we have given her credit for.” He then left me, and ran
upstairs. I would not try to stop him, for I knew what his feelings
must be. The nature of mine, as I listened to him, I need not attempt
to describe; for a minute or two I remained in the same spot,
overpowered by wonder of a most agreeable sort indeed; yet it required
some consideration to be tranquilly happy. In about ten minutes after
my return to the parlour Lady Susan entered the room. I concluded, of
course, that she and Reginald had been quarrelling; and looked with
anxious curiosity for a confirmation of my belief in her face. Mistress
of deceit, however, she appeared perfectly unconcerned, and after
chatting on indifferent subjects for a short time, said to me, “I find
from Wilson that we are going to lose Mr. De Courcy—is it true that he
leaves Churchhill this morning?” I replied that it was. “He told us
nothing of all this last night,” said she, laughing, “or even this
morning at breakfast; but perhaps he did not know it himself. Young men
are often hasty in their resolutions, and not more sudden in forming
than unsteady in keeping them. I should not be surprised if he were to
change his mind at last, and not go.” She soon afterwards left the
room. I trust, however, my dear mother, that we have no reason to fear
an alteration of his present plan; things have gone too far. They must
have quarrelled, and about Frederica, too. Her calmness astonishes me.
What delight will be yours in seeing him again; in seeing him still
worthy your esteem, still capable of forming your happiness! When I
next write I shall be able to tell you that Sir James is gone, Lady
Susan vanquished, and Frederica at peace. We have much to do, but it
shall be done. I am all impatience to hear how this astonishing change
was effected. I finish as I began, with the warmest congratulations.

Yours ever, &c.,
CATH. VERNON.




XXIV


_From the same to the same._


Churchhill.


Little did I imagine, my dear Mother, when I sent off my last letter,
that the delightful perturbation of spirits I was then in would undergo
so speedy, so melancholy a reverse. I never can sufficiently regret
that I wrote to you at all. Yet who could have foreseen what has
happened? My dear mother, every hope which made me so happy only two
hours ago has vanished. The quarrel between Lady Susan and Reginald is
made up, and we are all as we were before. One point only is gained.
Sir James Martin is dismissed. What are we now to look forward to? I am
indeed disappointed; Reginald was all but gone, his horse was ordered
and all but brought to the door; who would not have felt safe? For half
an hour I was in momentary expectation of his departure. After I had
sent off my letter to you, I went to Mr. Vernon, and sat with him in
his room talking over the whole matter, and then determined to look for
Frederica, whom I had not seen since breakfast. I met her on the
stairs, and saw that she was crying. “My dear aunt,” said she, “he is
going—Mr. De Courcy is going, and it is all my fault. I am afraid you
will be very angry with me, but indeed I had no idea it would end so.”
“My love,” I replied, “do not think it necessary to apologize to me on
that account. I shall feel myself under an obligation to anyone who is
the means of sending my brother home, because,” recollecting myself, “I
know my father wants very much to see him. But what is it you have done
to occasion all this?” She blushed deeply as she answered: “I was so
unhappy about Sir James that I could not help—I have done something
very wrong, I know; but you have not an idea of the misery I have been
in: and mamma had ordered me never to speak to you or my uncle about
it, and—” “You therefore spoke to my brother to engage his
interference,” said I, to save her the explanation. “No, but I wrote to
him—I did indeed, I got up this morning before it was light, and was
two hours about it; and when my letter was done I thought I never
should have courage to give it. After breakfast however, as I was going
to my room, I met him in the passage, and then, as I knew that
everything must depend on that moment, I forced myself to give it. He
was so good as to take it immediately. I dared not look at him, and ran
away directly. I was in such a fright I could hardly breathe. My dear
aunt, you do not know how miserable I have been.” “Frederica” said I,
“you ought to have told me all your distresses. You would have found in
me a friend always ready to assist you. Do you think that your uncle or
I should not have espoused your cause as warmly as my brother?”
“Indeed, I did not doubt your kindness,” said she, colouring again,
“but I thought Mr. De Courcy could do anything with my mother; but I
was mistaken: they have had a dreadful quarrel about it, and he is
going away. Mamma will never forgive me, and I shall be worse off than
ever.” “No, you shall not,” I replied; “in such a point as this your
mother’s prohibition ought not to have prevented your speaking to me on
the subject. She has no right to make you unhappy, and she shall _not_
do it. Your applying, however, to Reginald can be productive only of
good to all parties. I believe it is best as it is. Depend upon it that
you shall not be made unhappy any longer.” At that moment how great was
my astonishment at seeing Reginald come out of Lady Susan’s
dressing-room. My heart misgave me instantly. His confusion at seeing
me was very evident. Frederica immediately disappeared. “Are you
going?” I said; “you will find Mr. Vernon in his own room.” “No,
Catherine,” he replied, “I am not going. Will you let me speak to you a
moment?” We went into my room. “I find,” he continued, his confusion
increasing as he spoke, “that I have been acting with my usual foolish
impetuosity. I have entirely misunderstood Lady Susan, and was on the
point of leaving the house under a false impression of her conduct.
There has been some very great mistake; we have been all mistaken, I
fancy. Frederica does not know her mother. Lady Susan means nothing but
her good, but she will not make a friend of her. Lady Susan does not
always know, therefore, what will make her daughter happy. Besides, I
could have no right to interfere. Miss Vernon was mistaken in applying
to me. In short, Catherine, everything has gone wrong, but it is now
all happily settled. Lady Susan, I believe, wishes to speak to you
about it, if you are at leisure.” “Certainly,” I replied, deeply
sighing at the recital of so lame a story. I made no comments, however,
for words would have been vain.

Reginald was glad to get away, and I went to Lady Susan, curious,
indeed, to hear her account of it. “Did I not tell you,” said she with
a smile, “that your brother would not leave us after all?” “You did,
indeed,” replied I very gravely; “but I flattered myself you would be
mistaken.” “I should not have hazarded such an opinion,” returned she,
“if it had not at that moment occurred to me that his resolution of
going might be occasioned by a conversation in which we had been this
morning engaged, and which had ended very much to his dissatisfaction,
from our not rightly understanding each other’s meaning. This idea
struck me at the moment, and I instantly determined that an accidental
dispute, in which I might probably be as much to blame as himself,
should not deprive you of your brother. If you remember, I left the
room almost immediately. I was resolved to lose no time in clearing up
those mistakes as far as I could. The case was this—Frederica had set
herself violently against marrying Sir James.” “And can your ladyship
wonder that she should?” cried I with some warmth; “Frederica has an
excellent understanding, and Sir James has none.” “I am at least very
far from regretting it, my dear sister,” said she; “on the contrary, I
am grateful for so favourable a sign of my daughter’s sense. Sir James
is certainly below par (his boyish manners make him appear worse); and
had Frederica possessed the penetration and the abilities which I could
have wished in my daughter, or had I even known her to possess as much
as she does, I should not have been anxious for the match.” “It is odd
that you should alone be ignorant of your daughter’s sense!” “Frederica
never does justice to herself; her manners are shy and childish, and
besides she is afraid of me. During her poor father’s life she was a
spoilt child; the severity which it has since been necessary for me to
show has alienated her affection; neither has she any of that
brilliancy of intellect, that genius or vigour of mind which will force
itself forward.” “Say rather that she has been unfortunate in her
education!” “Heaven knows, my dearest Mrs. Vernon, how fully I am aware
of that; but I would wish to forget every circumstance that might throw
blame on the memory of one whose name is sacred with me.” Here she
pretended to cry; I was out of patience with her. “But what,” said I,
“was your ladyship going to tell me about your disagreement with my
brother?” “It originated in an action of my daughter’s, which equally
marks her want of judgment and the unfortunate dread of me I have been
mentioning—she wrote to Mr. De Courcy.” “I know she did; you had
forbidden her speaking to Mr. Vernon or to me on the cause of her
distress; what could she do, therefore, but apply to my brother?” “Good
God!” she exclaimed, “what an opinion you must have of me! Can you
possibly suppose that I was aware of her unhappiness! that it was my
object to make my own child miserable, and that I had forbidden her
speaking to you on the subject from a fear of your interrupting the
diabolical scheme? Do you think me destitute of every honest, every
natural feeling? Am I capable of consigning _her_ to everlasting misery
whose welfare it is my first earthly duty to promote? The idea is
horrible!” “What, then, was your intention when you insisted on her
silence?” “Of what use, my dear sister, could be any application to
you, however the affair might stand? Why should I subject you to
entreaties which I refused to attend to myself? Neither for your sake
nor for hers, nor for my own, could such a thing be desirable. When my
own resolution was taken I could not wish for the interference, however
friendly, of another person. I was mistaken, it is true, but I believed
myself right.” “But what was this mistake to which your ladyship so
often alludes? from whence arose so astonishing a misconception of your
daughter’s feelings? Did you not know that she disliked Sir James?” “I
knew that he was not absolutely the man she would have chosen, but I
was persuaded that her objections to him did not arise from any
perception of his deficiency. You must not question me, however, my
dear sister, too minutely on this point,” continued she, taking me
affectionately by the hand; “I honestly own that there is something to
conceal. Frederica makes me very unhappy! Her applying to Mr. De Courcy
hurt me particularly.” “What is it you mean to infer,” said I, “by this
appearance of mystery? If you think your daughter at all attached to
Reginald, her objecting to Sir James could not less deserve to be
attended to than if the cause of her objecting had been a consciousness
of his folly; and why should your ladyship, at any rate, quarrel with
my brother for an interference which, you must know, it is not in his
nature to refuse when urged in such a manner?”

“His disposition, you know, is warm, and he came to expostulate with
me; his compassion all alive for this ill-used girl, this heroine in
distress! We misunderstood each other: he believed me more to blame
than I really was; I considered his interference less excusable than I
now find it. I have a real regard for him, and was beyond expression
mortified to find it, as I thought, so ill bestowed. We were both warm,
and of course both to blame. His resolution of leaving Churchhill is
consistent with his general eagerness. When I understood his intention,
however, and at the same time began to think that we had been perhaps
equally mistaken in each other’s meaning, I resolved to have an
explanation before it was too late. For any member of your family I
must always feel a degree of affection, and I own it would have
sensibly hurt me if my acquaintance with Mr. De Courcy had ended so
gloomily. I have now only to say further, that as I am convinced of
Frederica’s having a reasonable dislike to Sir James, I shall instantly
inform him that he must give up all hope of her. I reproach myself for
having, even though innocently, made her unhappy on that score. She
shall have all the retribution in my power to make; if she value her
own happiness as much as I do, if she judge wisely, and command herself
as she ought, she may now be easy. Excuse me, my dearest sister, for
thus trespassing on your time, but I owe it to my own character; and
after this explanation I trust I am in no danger of sinking in your
opinion.” I could have said, “Not much, indeed!” but I left her almost
in silence. It was the greatest stretch of forbearance I could
practise. I could not have stopped myself had I begun. Her assurance!
her deceit! but I will not allow myself to dwell on them; they will
strike you sufficiently. My heart sickens within me. As soon as I was
tolerably composed I returned to the parlour. Sir James’s carriage was
at the door, and he, merry as usual, soon afterwards took his leave.
How easily does her ladyship encourage or dismiss a lover! In spite of
this release, Frederica still looks unhappy: still fearful, perhaps, of
her mother’s anger; and though dreading my brother’s departure,
jealous, it may be, of his staying. I see how closely she observes him
and Lady Susan, poor girl! I have now no hope for her. There is not a
chance of her affection being returned. He thinks very differently of
her from what he used to do; he does her some justice, but his
reconciliation with her mother precludes every dearer hope. Prepare, my
dear mother, for the worst! The probability of their marrying is surely
heightened! He is more securely hers than ever. When that wretched
event takes place, Frederica must belong wholly to us. I am thankful
that my last letter will precede this by so little, as every moment
that you can be saved from feeling a joy which leads only to
disappointment is of consequence.

Yours ever, &c.,
CATHERINE VERNON.




XXV


_Lady Susan to Mrs. Johnson._


Churchhill.


I call on you, dear Alicia, for congratulations: I am my own self, gay
and triumphant! When I wrote to you the other day I was, in truth, in
high irritation, and with ample cause. Nay, I know not whether I ought
to be quite tranquil now, for I have had more trouble in restoring
peace than I ever intended to submit to—a spirit, too, resulting from a
fancied sense of superior integrity, which is peculiarly insolent! I
shall not easily forgive him, I assure you. He was actually on the
point of leaving Churchhill! I had scarcely concluded my last, when
Wilson brought me word of it. I found, therefore, that something must
be done; for I did not choose to leave my character at the mercy of a
man whose passions are so violent and so revengeful. It would have been
trifling with my reputation to allow of his departing with such an
impression in my disfavour; in this light, condescension was necessary.
I sent Wilson to say that I desired to speak with him before he went;
he came immediately. The angry emotions which had marked every feature
when we last parted were partially subdued. He seemed astonished at the
summons, and looked as if half wishing and half fearing to be softened
by what I might say. If my countenance expressed what I aimed at, it
was composed and dignified; and yet, with a degree of pensiveness which
might convince him that I was not quite happy. “I beg your pardon, sir,
for the liberty I have taken in sending for you,” said I; “but as I
have just learnt your intention of leaving this place to-day, I feel it
my duty to entreat that you will not on my account shorten your visit
here even an hour. I am perfectly aware that after what has passed
between us it would ill suit the feelings of either to remain longer in
the same house: so very great, so total a change from the intimacy of
friendship must render any future intercourse the severest punishment;
and your resolution of quitting Churchhill is undoubtedly in unison
with our situation, and with those lively feelings which I know you to
possess. But, at the same time, it is not for me to suffer such a
sacrifice as it must be to leave relations to whom you are so much
attached, and are so dear. My remaining here cannot give that pleasure
to Mr. and Mrs. Vernon which your society must; and my visit has
already perhaps been too long. My removal, therefore, which must, at
any rate, take place soon, may, with perfect convenience, be hastened;
and I make it my particular request that I may not in any way be
instrumental in separating a family so affectionately attached to each
other. Where I go is of no consequence to anyone; of very little to
myself; but you are of importance to all your connections.” Here I
concluded, and I hope you will be satisfied with my speech. Its effect
on Reginald justifies some portion of vanity, for it was no less
favourable than instantaneous. Oh, how delightful it was to watch the
variations of his countenance while I spoke! to see the struggle
between returning tenderness and the remains of displeasure. There is
something agreeable in feelings so easily worked on; not that I envy
him their possession, nor would, for the world, have such myself; but
they are very convenient when one wishes to influence the passions of
another. And yet this Reginald, whom a very few words from me softened
at once into the utmost submission, and rendered more tractable, more
attached, more devoted than ever, would have left me in the first angry
swelling of his proud heart without deigning to seek an explanation.
Humbled as he now is, I cannot forgive him such an instance of pride,
and am doubtful whether I ought not to punish him by dismissing him at
once after this reconciliation, or by marrying and teazing him for
ever. But these measures are each too violent to be adopted without
some deliberation; at present my thoughts are fluctuating between
various schemes. I have many things to compass: I must punish
Frederica, and pretty severely too, for her application to Reginald; I
must punish him for receiving it so favourably, and for the rest of his
conduct. I must torment my sister-in-law for the insolent triumph of
her look and manner since Sir James has been dismissed; for, in
reconciling Reginald to me, I was not able to save that ill-fated young
man; and I must make myself amends for the humiliation to which I have
stooped within these few days. To effect all this I have various plans.
I have also an idea of being soon in town; and whatever may be my
determination as to the rest, I shall probably put _that_ project in
execution; for London will be always the fairest field of action,
however my views may be directed; and at any rate I shall there be
rewarded by your society, and a little dissipation, for a ten weeks’
penance at Churchhill. I believe I owe it to my character to complete
the match between my daughter and Sir James after having so long
intended it. Let me know your opinion on this point. Flexibility of
mind, a disposition easily biassed by others, is an attribute which you
know I am not very desirous of obtaining; nor has Frederica any claim
to the indulgence of her notions at the expense of her mother’s
inclinations. Her idle love for Reginald, too! It is surely my duty to
discourage such romantic nonsense. All things considered, therefore, it
seems incumbent on me to take her to town and marry her immediately to
Sir James. When my own will is effected contrary to his, I shall have
some credit in being on good terms with Reginald, which at present, in
fact, I have not; for though he is still in my power, I have given up
the very article by which our quarrel was produced, and at best the
honour of victory is doubtful. Send me your opinion on all these
matters, my dear Alicia, and let me know whether you can get lodgings
to suit me within a short distance of you.

Your most attached
S. VERNON.




XXVI


_Mrs. Johnson to Lady Susan._


Edward Street.


I am gratified by your reference, and this is my advice: that you come
to town yourself, without loss of time, but that you leave Frederica
behind. It would surely be much more to the purpose to get yourself
well established by marrying Mr. De Courcy, than to irritate him and
the rest of his family by making her marry Sir James. You should think
more of yourself and less of your daughter. She is not of a disposition
to do you credit in the world, and seems precisely in her proper place
at Churchhill, with the Vernons. But you are fitted for society, and it
is shameful to have you exiled from it. Leave Frederica, therefore, to
punish herself for the plague she has given you, by indulging that
romantic tender-heartedness which will always ensure her misery enough,
and come to London as soon as you can. I have another reason for urging
this: Mainwaring came to town last week, and has contrived, in spite of
Mr. Johnson, to make opportunities of seeing me. He is absolutely
miserable about you, and jealous to such a degree of De Courcy that it
would be highly unadvisable for them to meet at present. And yet, if
you do not allow him to see you here, I cannot answer for his not
committing some great imprudence—such as going to Churchhill, for
instance, which would be dreadful! Besides, if you take my advice, and
resolve to marry De Courcy, it will be indispensably necessary to you
to get Mainwaring out of the way; and you only can have influence
enough to send him back to his wife. I have still another motive for
your coming: Mr. Johnson leaves London next Tuesday; he is going for
his health to Bath, where, if the waters are favourable to his
constitution and my wishes, he will be laid up with the gout many
weeks. During his absence we shall be able to chuse our own society,
and to have true enjoyment. I would ask you to Edward Street, but that
once he forced from me a kind of promise never to invite you to my
house; nothing but my being in the utmost distress for money should
have extorted it from me. I can get you, however, a nice drawing-room
apartment in Upper Seymour Street, and we may be always together there
or here; for I consider my promise to Mr. Johnson as comprehending only
(at least in his absence) your not sleeping in the house. Poor
Mainwaring gives me such histories of his wife’s jealousy. Silly woman
to expect constancy from so charming a man! but she always was
silly—intolerably so in marrying him at all, she the heiress of a large
fortune and he without a shilling: one title, I know, she might have
had, besides baronets. Her folly in forming the connection was so great
that, though Mr. Johnson was her guardian, and I do not in general
share _his_ feelings, I never can forgive her.

Adieu. Yours ever,
ALICIA.




XXVII


_Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy._


Churchhill.


This letter, my dear Mother, will be brought you by Reginald. His long
visit is about to be concluded at last, but I fear the separation takes
place too late to do us any good. She is going to London to see her
particular friend, Mrs. Johnson. It was at first her intention that
Frederica should accompany her, for the benefit of masters, but we
overruled her there. Frederica was wretched in the idea of going, and I
could not bear to have her at the mercy of her mother; not all the
masters in London could compensate for the ruin of her comfort. I
should have feared, too, for her health, and for everything but her
principles—there I believe she is not to be injured by her mother, or
her mother’s friends; but with those friends she must have mixed (a
very bad set, I doubt not), or have been left in total solitude, and I
can hardly tell which would have been worse for her. If she is with her
mother, moreover, she must, alas! in all probability be with Reginald,
and that would be the greatest evil of all. Here we shall in time be in
peace, and our regular employments, our books and conversations, with
exercise, the children, and every domestic pleasure in my power to
procure her, will, I trust, gradually overcome this youthful
attachment. I should not have a doubt of it were she slighted for any
other woman in the world than her own mother. How long Lady Susan will
be in town, or whether she returns here again, I know not. I could not
be cordial in my invitation, but if she chuses to come no want of
cordiality on my part will keep her away. I could not help asking
Reginald if he intended being in London this winter, as soon as I found
her ladyship’s steps would be bent thither; and though he professed
himself quite undetermined, there was something in his look and voice
as he spoke which contradicted his words. I have done with lamentation;
I look upon the event as so far decided that I resign myself to it in
despair. If he leaves you soon for London everything will be concluded.

Your affectionate, &c.,
C. VERNON.




XXVIII


_Mrs. Johnson to Lady Susan._


Edward Street.


My dearest Friend,—I write in the greatest distress; the most
unfortunate event has just taken place. Mr. Johnson has hit on the most
effectual manner of plaguing us all. He had heard, I imagine, by some
means or other, that you were soon to be in London, and immediately
contrived to have such an attack of the gout as must at least delay his
journey to Bath, if not wholly prevent it. I am persuaded the gout is
brought on or kept off at pleasure; it was the same when I wanted to
join the Hamiltons to the Lakes; and three years ago, when _I_ had a
fancy for Bath, nothing could induce him to have a gouty symptom.

I am pleased to find that my letter had so much effect on you, and that
De Courcy is certainly your own. Let me hear from you as soon as you
arrive, and in particular tell me what you mean to do with Mainwaring.
It is impossible to say when I shall be able to come to you; my
confinement must be great. It is such an abominable trick to be ill
here instead of at Bath that I can scarcely command myself at all. At
Bath his old aunts would have nursed him, but here it all falls upon
me; and he bears pain with such patience that I have not the common
excuse for losing my temper.

Yours ever,
ALICIA.




XXIX


_Lady Susan Vernon to Mrs. Johnson._


Upper Seymour Street.


My dear Alicia,—There needed not this last fit of the gout to make me
detest Mr. Johnson, but now the extent of my aversion is not to be
estimated. To have you confined as nurse in his apartment! My dear
Alicia, of what a mistake were you guilty in marrying a man of his age!
just old enough to be formal, ungovernable, and to have the gout; too
old to be agreeable, too young to die. I arrived last night about five,
had scarcely swallowed my dinner when Mainwaring made his appearance. I
will not dissemble what real pleasure his sight afforded me, nor how
strongly I felt the contrast between his person and manners and those
of Reginald, to the infinite disadvantage of the latter. For an hour or
two I was even staggered in my resolution of marrying him, and though
this was too idle and nonsensical an idea to remain long on my mind, I
do not feel very eager for the conclusion of my marriage, nor look
forward with much impatience to the time when Reginald, according to
our agreement, is to be in town. I shall probably put off his arrival
under some pretence or other. He must not come till Mainwaring is gone.
I am still doubtful at times as to marrying; if the old man would die I
might not hesitate, but a state of dependance on the caprice of Sir
Reginald will not suit the freedom of my spirit; and if I resolve to
wait for that event, I shall have excuse enough at present in having
been scarcely ten months a widow. I have not given Mainwaring any hint
of my intention, or allowed him to consider my acquaintance with
Reginald as more than the commonest flirtation, and he is tolerably
appeased. Adieu, till we meet; I am enchanted with my lodgings.

Yours ever,
S. VERNON.




XXX


_Lady Susan Vernon to Mr. De Courcy._


Upper Seymour Street.


I have received your letter, and though I do not attempt to conceal
that I am gratified by your impatience for the hour of meeting, I yet
feel myself under the necessity of delaying that hour beyond the time
originally fixed. Do not think me unkind for such an exercise of my
power, nor accuse me of instability without first hearing my reasons.
In the course of my journey from Churchhill I had ample leisure for
reflection on the present state of our affairs, and every review has
served to convince me that they require a delicacy and cautiousness of
conduct to which we have hitherto been too little attentive. We have
been hurried on by our feelings to a degree of precipitation which ill
accords with the claims of our friends or the opinion of the world. We
have been unguarded in forming this hasty engagement, but we must not
complete the imprudence by ratifying it while there is so much reason
to fear the connection would be opposed by those friends on whom you
depend. It is not for us to blame any expectations on your father’s
side of your marrying to advantage; where possessions are so extensive
as those of your family, the wish of increasing them, if not strictly
reasonable, is too common to excite surprize or resentment. He has a
right to require a woman of fortune in his daughter-in-law, and I am
sometimes quarrelling with myself for suffering you to form a
connection so imprudent; but the influence of reason is often
acknowledged too late by those who feel like me. I have now been but a
few months a widow, and, however little indebted to my husband’s memory
for any happiness derived from him during a union of some years, I
cannot forget that the indelicacy of so early a second marriage must
subject me to the censure of the world, and incur, what would be still
more insupportable, the displeasure of Mr. Vernon. I might perhaps
harden myself in time against the injustice of general reproach, but
the loss of _his_ valued esteem I am, as you well know, ill-fitted to
endure; and when to this may be added the consciousness of having
injured you with your family, how am I to support myself? With feelings
so poignant as mine, the conviction of having divided the son from his
parents would make me, even with you, the most miserable of beings. It
will surely, therefore, be advisable to delay our union—to delay it
till appearances are more promising—till affairs have taken a more
favourable turn. To assist us in such a resolution I feel that absence
will be necessary. We must not meet. Cruel as this sentence may appear,
the necessity of pronouncing it, which can alone reconcile it to
myself, will be evident to you when you have considered our situation
in the light in which I have found myself imperiously obliged to place
it. You may be—you must be—well assured that nothing but the strongest
conviction of duty could induce me to wound my own feelings by urging a
lengthened separation, and of insensibility to yours you will hardly
suspect me. Again, therefore, I say that we ought not, we must not, yet
meet. By a removal for some months from each other we shall
tranquillise the sisterly fears of Mrs. Vernon, who, accustomed herself
to the enjoyment of riches, considers fortune as necessary everywhere,
and whose sensibilities are not of a nature to comprehend ours. Let me
hear from you soon—very soon. Tell me that you submit to my arguments,
and do not reproach me for using such. I cannot bear reproaches: my
spirits are not so high as to need being repressed. I must endeavour to
seek amusement, and fortunately many of my friends are in town; amongst
them the Mainwarings; you know how sincerely I regard both husband and
wife.

I am, very faithfully yours,
S. VERNON




XXXI


_Lady Susan to Mrs. Johnson._


Upper Seymour Street.


My dear Friend,—That tormenting creature, Reginald, is here. My letter,
which was intended to keep him longer in the country, has hastened him
to town. Much as I wish him away, however, I cannot help being pleased
with such a proof of attachment. He is devoted to me, heart and soul.
He will carry this note himself, which is to serve as an introduction
to you, with whom he longs to be acquainted. Allow him to spend the
evening with you, that I may be in no danger of his returning here. I
have told him that I am not quite well, and must be alone; and should
he call again there might be confusion, for it is impossible to be sure
of servants. Keep him, therefore, I entreat you, in Edward Street. You
will not find him a heavy companion, and I allow you to flirt with him
as much as you like. At the same time, do not forget my real interest;
say all that you can to convince him that I shall be quite wretched if
he remains here; you know my reasons—propriety, and so forth. I would
urge them more myself, but that I am impatient to be rid of him, as
Mainwaring comes within half an hour. Adieu!

S. VERNON.




XXXII


_Mrs. Johnson to Lady Susan._


Edward Street.


My dear Creature,—I am in agonies, and know not what to do. Mr. De
Courcy arrived just when he should not. Mrs. Mainwaring had that
instant entered the house, and forced herself into her guardian’s
presence, though I did not know a syllable of it till afterwards, for I
was out when both she and Reginald came, or I should have sent him away
at all events; but she was shut up with Mr. Johnson, while he waited in
the drawing-room for me. She arrived yesterday in pursuit of her
husband, but perhaps you know this already from himself. She came to
this house to entreat my husband’s interference, and before I could be
aware of it, everything that you could wish to be concealed was known
to him, and unluckily she had wormed out of Mainwaring’s servant that
he had visited you every day since your being in town, and had just
watched him to your door herself! What could I do! Facts are such
horrid things! All is by this time known to De Courcy, who is now alone
with Mr. Johnson. Do not accuse me; indeed, it was impossible to
prevent it. Mr. Johnson has for some time suspected De Courcy of
intending to marry you, and would speak with him alone as soon as he
knew him to be in the house. That detestable Mrs. Mainwaring, who, for
your comfort, has fretted herself thinner and uglier than ever, is
still here, and they have been all closeted together. What can be done?
At any rate, I hope he will plague his wife more than ever. With
anxious wishes,

Yours faithfully,
ALICIA.




XXXIII


_Lady Susan to Mrs. Johnson._


Upper Seymour Street.


This _éclaircissement_ is rather provoking. How unlucky that you should
have been from home! I thought myself sure of you at seven! I am
undismayed however. Do not torment yourself with fears on my account;
depend on it, I can make my story good with Reginald. Mainwaring is
just gone; he brought me the news of his wife’s arrival. Silly woman,
what does she expect by such manoeuvres? Yet I wish she had stayed
quietly at Langford. Reginald will be a little enraged at first, but by
to-morrow’s dinner, everything will be well again.

Adieu!
S. V.




XXXIV


_Mr. De Courcy to Lady Susan._


—— Hotel.


I write only to bid you farewell, the spell is removed; I see you as
you are. Since we parted yesterday, I have received from indisputable
authority such a history of you as must bring the most mortifying
conviction of the imposition I have been under, and the absolute
necessity of an immediate and eternal separation from you. You cannot
doubt to what I allude. Langford! Langford! that word will be
sufficient. I received my information in Mr. Johnson’s house, from Mrs.
Mainwaring herself. You know how I have loved you; you can intimately
judge of my present feelings, but I am not so weak as to find
indulgence in describing them to a woman who will glory in having
excited their anguish, but whose affection they have never been able to
gain.

R. DE COURCY.




XXXV


_Lady Susan to Mr. De Courcy._


Upper Seymour Street.


I will not attempt to describe my astonishment in reading the note this
moment received from you. I am bewildered in my endeavours to form some
rational conjecture of what Mrs. Mainwaring can have told you to
occasion so extraordinary a change in your sentiments. Have I not
explained everything to you with respect to myself which could bear a
doubtful meaning, and which the ill-nature of the world had interpreted
to my discredit? What can you now have heard to stagger your esteem for
me? Have I ever had a concealment from you? Reginald, you agitate me
beyond expression, I cannot suppose that the old story of Mrs.
Mainwaring’s jealousy can be revived again, or at least be _listened_
to again. Come to me immediately, and explain what is at present
absolutely incomprehensible. Believe me, the single word of _Langford_
is not of such potent intelligence as to supersede the necessity of
more. If we _are_ to part, it will at least be handsome to take your
personal leave—but I have little heart to jest; in truth, I am serious
enough; for to be sunk, though but for an hour, in your esteem is a
humiliation to which I know not how to submit. I shall count every
minute till your arrival.

S. V.




XXXVI


_Mr. De Courcy to Lady Susan._


—— Hotel.


Why would you write to me? Why do you require particulars? But, since
it must be so, I am obliged to declare that all the accounts of your
misconduct during the life, and since the death of Mr. Vernon, which
had reached me, in common with the world in general, and gained my
entire belief before I saw you, but which you, by the exertion of your
perverted abilities, had made me resolved to disallow, have been
unanswerably proved to me; nay more, I am assured that a connection, of
which I had never before entertained a thought, has for some time
existed, and still continues to exist, between you and the man whose
family you robbed of its peace in return for the hospitality with which
you were received into it; that you have corresponded with him ever
since your leaving Langford; not with his wife, but with him, and that
he now visits you every day. Can you, dare you deny it? and all this at
the time when I was an encouraged, an accepted lover! From what have I
not escaped! I have only to be grateful. Far from me be all complaint,
every sigh of regret. My own folly had endangered me, my preservation I
owe to the kindness, the integrity of another; but the unfortunate Mrs.
Mainwaring, whose agonies while she related the past seemed to threaten
her reason, how is _she_ to be consoled! After such a discovery as
this, you will scarcely affect further wonder at my meaning in bidding
you adieu. My understanding is at length restored, and teaches no less
to abhor the artifices which had subdued me than to despise myself for
the weakness on which their strength was founded.

R. DE COURCY.




XXXVII


_Lady Susan to Mr. De Courcy._


Upper Seymour Street.


I am satisfied, and will trouble you no more when these few lines are
dismissed. The engagement which you were eager to form a fortnight ago
is no longer compatible with your views, and I rejoice to find that the
prudent advice of your parents has not been given in vain. Your
restoration to peace will, I doubt not, speedily follow this act of
filial obedience, and I flatter myself with the hope of surviving my
share in this disappointment.

S. V.




XXXVIII


_Mrs. Johnson to Lady Susan Vernon._


Edward Street


I am grieved, though I cannot be astonished at your rupture with Mr. De
Courcy; he has just informed Mr. Johnson of it by letter. He leaves
London, he says, to-day. Be assured that I partake in all your
feelings, and do not be angry if I say that our intercourse, even by
letter, must soon be given up. It makes me miserable; but Mr. Johnson
vows that if I persist in the connection, he will settle in the country
for the rest of his life, and you know it is impossible to submit to
such an extremity while any other alternative remains. You have heard
of course that the Mainwarings are to part, and I am afraid Mrs. M.
will come home to us again; but she is still so fond of her husband,
and frets so much about him, that perhaps she may not live long. Miss
Mainwaring is just come to town to be with her aunt, and they say that
she declares she will have Sir James Martin before she leaves London
again. If I were you, I would certainly get him myself. I had almost
forgot to give you my opinion of Mr. De Courcy; I am really delighted
with him; he is full as handsome, I think, as Mainwaring, and with such
an open, good-humoured countenance, that one cannot help loving him at
first sight. Mr. Johnson and he are the greatest friends in the world.
Adieu, my dearest Susan, I wish matters did not go so perversely. That
unlucky visit to Langford! but I dare say you did all for the best, and
there is no defying destiny.

Your sincerely attached,
ALICIA.




XXXIX


_Lady Susan to Mrs. Johnson._


Upper Seymour Street.


My dear Alicia,—I yield to the necessity which parts us. Under such
circumstances you could not act otherwise. Our friendship cannot be
impaired by it, and in happier times, when your situation is as
independent as mine, it will unite us again in the same intimacy as
ever. For this I shall impatiently wait, and meanwhile can safely
assure you that I never was more at ease, or better satisfied with
myself and everything about me than at the present hour. Your husband I
abhor, Reginald I despise, and I am secure of never seeing either
again. Have I not reason to rejoice? Mainwaring is more devoted to me
than ever; and were we at liberty, I doubt if I could resist even
matrimony offered by _him_. This event, if his wife live with you, it
may be in your power to hasten. The violence of her feelings, which
must wear her out, may be easily kept in irritation. I rely on your
friendship for this. I am now satisfied that I never could have brought
myself to marry Reginald, and am equally determined that Frederica
never _shall_. To-morrow, I shall fetch her from Churchhill, and let
Maria Mainwaring tremble for the consequence. Frederica shall be Sir
James’s wife before she quits my house, and _she_ may whimper, and the
Vernons may storm, I regard them not. I am tired of submitting my will
to the caprices of others; of resigning my own judgment in deference to
those to whom I owe no duty, and for whom I feel no respect. I have
given up too much, have been too easily worked on, but Frederica shall
now feel the difference. Adieu, dearest of friends; may the next gouty
attack be more favourable! and may you always regard me as unalterably
yours,

S. VERNON




XL


_Lady De Courcy to Mrs. Vernon._


My dear Catherine,—I have charming news for you, and if I had not sent
off my letter this morning you might have been spared the vexation of
knowing of Reginald’s being gone to London, for he is returned.
Reginald is returned, not to ask our consent to his marrying Lady
Susan, but to tell us they are parted for ever. He has been only an
hour in the house, and I have not been able to learn particulars, for
he is so very low that I have not the heart to ask questions, but I
hope we shall soon know all. This is the most joyful hour he has ever
given us since the day of his birth. Nothing is wanting but to have you
here, and it is our particular wish and entreaty that you would come to
us as soon as you can. You have owed us a visit many long weeks; I hope
nothing will make it inconvenient to Mr. Vernon; and pray bring all my
grand-children; and your dear niece is included, of course; I long to
see her. It has been a sad, heavy winter hitherto, without Reginald,
and seeing nobody from Churchhill. I never found the season so dreary
before; but this happy meeting will make us young again. Frederica runs
much in my thoughts, and when Reginald has recovered his usual good
spirits (as I trust he soon will) we will try to rob him of his heart
once more, and I am full of hopes of seeing their hands joined at no
great distance.

Your affectionate mother,
C. DE COURCY.




XLI


_Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy._


Churchhill.


My dear Mother,—Your letter has surprized me beyond measure! Can it be
true that they are really separated—and for ever? I should be overjoyed
if I dared depend on it, but after all that I have seen how can one be
secure? And Reginald really with you! My surprize is the greater
because on Wednesday, the very day of his coming to Parklands, we had a
most unexpected and unwelcome visit from Lady Susan, looking all
cheerfulness and good-humour, and seeming more as if she were to marry
him when she got to London than as if parted from him for ever. She
stayed nearly two hours, was as affectionate and agreeable as ever, and
not a syllable, not a hint was dropped, of any disagreement or coolness
between them. I asked her whether she had seen my brother since his
arrival in town; not, as you may suppose, with any doubt of the fact,
but merely to see how she looked. She immediately answered, without any
embarrassment, that he had been kind enough to call on her on Monday;
but she believed he had already returned home, which I was very far
from crediting. Your kind invitation is accepted by us with pleasure,
and on Thursday next we and our little ones will be with you. Pray
heaven, Reginald may not be in town again by that time! I wish we could
bring dear Frederica too, but I am sorry to say that her mother’s
errand hither was to fetch her away; and, miserable as it made the poor
girl, it was impossible to detain her. I was thoroughly unwilling to
let her go, and so was her uncle; and all that could be urged we did
urge; but Lady Susan declared that as she was now about to fix herself
in London for several months, she could not be easy if her daughter
were not with her for masters, &c. Her manner, to be sure, was very
kind and proper, and Mr. Vernon believes that Frederica will now be
treated with affection. I wish I could think so too. The poor girl’s
heart was almost broke at taking leave of us. I charged her to write to
me very often, and to remember that if she were in any distress we
should be always her friends. I took care to see her alone, that I
might say all this, and I hope made her a little more comfortable; but
I shall not be easy till I can go to town and judge of her situation
myself. I wish there were a better prospect than now appears of the
match which the conclusion of your letter declares your expectations
of. At present, it is not very likely,

Yours ever, &c.,
C. VERNON.




CONCLUSION


This correspondence, by a meeting between some of the parties, and a
separation between the others, could not, to the great detriment of the
Post Office revenue, be continued any longer. Very little assistance to
the State could be derived from the epistolary intercourse of Mrs.
Vernon and her niece; for the former soon perceived, by the style of
Frederica’s letters, that they were written under her mother’s
inspection! and therefore, deferring all particular enquiry till she
could make it personally in London, ceased writing minutely or often.
Having learnt enough, in the meanwhile, from her open-hearted brother,
of what had passed between him and Lady Susan to sink the latter lower
than ever in her opinion, she was proportionably more anxious to get
Frederica removed from such a mother, and placed under her own care;
and, though with little hope of success, was resolved to leave nothing
unattempted that might offer a chance of obtaining her sister-in-law’s
consent to it. Her anxiety on the subject made her press for an early
visit to London; and Mr. Vernon, who, as it must already have appeared,
lived only to do whatever he was desired, soon found some accommodating
business to call him thither. With a heart full of the matter, Mrs.
Vernon waited on Lady Susan shortly after her arrival in town, and was
met with such an easy and cheerful affection, as made her almost turn
from her with horror. No remembrance of Reginald, no consciousness of
guilt, gave one look of embarrassment; she was in excellent spirits,
and seemed eager to show at once by every possible attention to her
brother and sister her sense of their kindness, and her pleasure in
their society. Frederica was no more altered than Lady Susan; the same
restrained manners, the same timid look in the presence of her mother
as heretofore, assured her aunt of her situation being uncomfortable,
and confirmed her in the plan of altering it. No unkindness, however,
on the part of Lady Susan appeared. Persecution on the subject of Sir
James was entirely at an end; his name merely mentioned to say that he
was not in London; and indeed, in all her conversation, she was
solicitous only for the welfare and improvement of her daughter,
acknowledging, in terms of grateful delight, that Frederica was now
growing every day more and more what a parent could desire. Mrs.
Vernon, surprized and incredulous, knew not what to suspect, and,
without any change in her own views, only feared greater difficulty in
accomplishing them. The first hope of anything better was derived from
Lady Susan’s asking her whether she thought Frederica looked quite as
well as she had done at Churchhill, as she must confess herself to have
sometimes an anxious doubt of London’s perfectly agreeing with her.
Mrs. Vernon, encouraging the doubt, directly proposed her niece’s
returning with them into the country. Lady Susan was unable to express
her sense of such kindness, yet knew not, from a variety of reasons,
how to part with her daughter; and as, though her own plans were not
yet wholly fixed, she trusted it would ere long be in her power to take
Frederica into the country herself, concluded by declining entirely to
profit by such unexampled attention. Mrs. Vernon persevered, however,
in the offer of it, and though Lady Susan continued to resist, her
resistance in the course of a few days seemed somewhat less formidable.
The lucky alarm of an influenza decided what might not have been
decided quite so soon. Lady Susan’s maternal fears were then too much
awakened for her to think of anything but Frederica’s removal from the
risk of infection; above all disorders in the world she most dreaded
the influenza for her daughter’s constitution!

Frederica returned to Churchhill with her uncle and aunt; and three
weeks afterwards, Lady Susan announced her being married to Sir James
Martin. Mrs. Vernon was then convinced of what she had only suspected
before, that she might have spared herself all the trouble of urging a
removal which Lady Susan had doubtless resolved on from the first.
Frederica’s visit was nominally for six weeks, but her mother, though
inviting her to return in one or two affectionate letters, was very
ready to oblige the whole party by consenting to a prolongation of her
stay, and in the course of two months ceased to write of her absence,
and in the course of two more to write to her at all. Frederica was
therefore fixed in the family of her uncle and aunt till such time as
Reginald De Courcy could be talked, flattered, and finessed into an
affection for her which, allowing leisure for the conquest of his
attachment to her mother, for his abjuring all future attachments, and
detesting the sex, might be reasonably looked for in the course of a
twelvemonth. Three months might have done it in general, but Reginald’s
feelings were no less lasting than lively. Whether Lady Susan was or
was not happy in her second choice, I do not see how it can ever be
ascertained; for who would take her assurance of it on either side of
the question? The world must judge from probabilities; she had nothing
against her but her husband, and her conscience. Sir James may seem to
have drawn a harder lot than mere folly merited; I leave him,
therefore, to all the pity that anybody can give him. For myself, I
confess that _I_ can pity only Miss Mainwaring; who, coming to town,
and putting herself to an expense in clothes which impoverished her for
two years, on purpose to secure him, was defrauded of her due by a
woman ten years older than herself.