CHAPTER VII.

Call ye the city gay? its revels joyous?—They may be so to you; for ye are young(Belike) and happy. She is young in years,But often in mid-spring will blighting windsDo Autumn’s work: and there is pain of heartThat doth the work of time; can cloud the brow,And pale the cheek, and sober down the spirit.This gewgaw scene hath fewer charms for her,Than for the crone, who, numbering sixty winters,Pronounceth it all folly.—Wonder not’Tis left thus willingly.Old Play.

Call ye the city gay? its revels joyous?

—They may be so to you; for ye are young

(Belike) and happy. She is young in years,

But often in mid-spring will blighting winds

Do Autumn’s work: and there is pain of heart

That doth the work of time; can cloud the brow,

And pale the cheek, and sober down the spirit.

This gewgaw scene hath fewer charms for her,

Than for the crone, who, numbering sixty winters,

Pronounceth it all folly.—Wonder not

’Tis left thus willingly.

Old Play.

Parliamentmet early this year, and Lord Fitzhenry signified his intentionof being in town at its opening. The party at Arlingford, therefore, before long, dispersed different ways; and, with a heavy heart, Emmeline went to settle herself in Grosvenor-street. Young as she was, and disposed for gaiety as she had been but a few months past, she could, in her circumstances, only look to the world and to the routine of fashionable life in London with dismay. She would be thrown into a totally new society, where she had not a friend, scarcely an acquaintance. Had Fitzhenry been to her what he ought, how proudly would she, at her lover’s side, have shown herself to an admiring world, as the being he had chosen. But this was not the situation of Emmeline, and she shrunk with afeeling of apprehension from the tumult in which she would be left deserted and solitary.

She foresaw, too, that a London life would necessarily throw her and her husband more apart; for, little as she saw of him in the country, yet still in the course of the day she was certain of being in his society and of hearing his voice, although seldom now addressed in conversation to herself. In town, it would be easier for him to avoid her, and she much feared he would take advantage of the opportunities offered.

And Emmeline was right in her conjectures. Under pretence of business, and attendance at the House of Commons, he was so constantly from home, thatthey rarely met. Their hours, too, were different; breakfast was no longer a certain moment for meeting; for, as it would now have obliged them to a dailytête-à-tête, it was brought to them in their separate apartments. During the morning, therefore, it was only by accident that they were ever together. Fitzhenry rarely dined at home, except when there was company; and, of course, living so much apart, Emmeline did not even know what his evening engagements were; and often they met by chance, for the first time, during forty-eight hours, in some distant place of amusement. If then he chanced to give her a look of kind recognition, poor Emmeline went home with her spirits raised, resolving to improve the advantageshe fancied she had gained; but again, forty-eight hours passed in the same manner, and, perhaps, if then again they accidentally met, he would scarcely notice her.

Thus deserted, she saw she must submit to endeavour to make to herself an independent existence; but it was a vain attempt when every thought, every feeling was with him. Lady Saville had offered herself as Emmeline’schaperon, on her first entry into the world of London society, and she could not have had a better companion; for Lady Saville had just feeling enough to enable her to perform all her social duties without a shadow of blame, and even in her own set to obtain the character of being remarkablygoodnatured;—but she had none of those refined sentiments, which could lead her to read and detect the emotions of Emmeline’s heart. Pre-occupation of mind, variation of spirits and complexion, on a look or word; all such symptoms of a stricken heart she attributed to mere physical causes; sometimes rallying Emmeline on hervapeurs, but generally too much amused and occupied herself to doubt her companion being equally so. Had that companion’s heart been gay and free as it was but a few months back, what attractions the world, into which she was now, for the first time, introduced, might have had for her!

Emmeline’s beauty had much improvedsince her marriage, and even by her loss of happiness; for, in the place of the mere expression of youthful joy and good-humour, was a look ofsentiment, almost of languor, over her whole countenance and person, that added inexpressibly to its charm, and gave additional effect to her own peculiarly bright smile, when it was sometimes for a moment recalled.

As Fitzhenry’s wife, she first attracted attention; and, with pleasing manners, rank, riches, youth, and beauty at once to recommend her, she was soon sought for, admired, and courted; and had she been willing to take advantage of the universal cry in her favour, Emmeline might, with little or no trouble on her part, have beenraised to that envied distinction, obtained no one knows how, or why, of being thefashion. For the world is so capricious and wayward in its preferences, that it often greets beings like Lady Fitzhenry (from circumstances regardless of its favour) with those winning, gracious smiles, which it perversely withholds from others most indefatigable in their efforts to obtain them. Witness the anxious and fatiguing labours of so many candidates for its patronage, their eternal struggles to grasp at what constantly escapes them, if for a moment they pause to take breath, or relax the little hold they have secured.

When individuals are blamed for either too much or too little love of the world, the different welcome it bestows seemslittle considered. How little does the situation of a courted, fashionable girl, surrounded by partners and admirers, and thus at liberty to give herself every impertinent air, which a vain mind, and a selfish, unfeeling heart dictate, resemble that of the unobserved, disregarded being, who, night after night, follows some elderly, undistinguishedchaperonthrough the regular round of London amusements, and, seated by her hour after hour in dull neglect, seems at last to become a part of the bench she rests on, till reduced, perhaps, to be even envious of its insensibility; yet the same enlivening music plays to both; the same bright lights are cast on both, and the same glittering, buzzing crowd surrounds them; but questionthem, after their night’s dissipation, as to the entertainment at which they were both present, and how different will be their accounts of the same scene—of what is called the gay world! of all worlds the most melancholy to those who are not gay.

And Emmeline, in spite of her general popularity, was among that number: how far she might equally have resisted its snares, and despised its pleasures, had there been corresponding joy within, we cannot pretend to say; but, as it was, the first transient amusement produced by novelty, very soon went off, leaving her mind wearied and depressed, and, at any time, in the gayest scene, the sight of Fitzhenry at a distance, in the crowd of aball-room, or at the opera, had power instantly to dispel every feeling of enjoyment; and then, totally regardless of what passed around her, or of the flattering compliments addressed to her, her eyes were rivetted to the spot where he was, busied in the eager examination of those near him, in search of that form, those features, which had captivated him; and often when she had observed him engrossed in conversation with any woman, or even when merely paying the common attentions of civility, breathless with agitation, she has enquired who the favoured being was, as if in strange eagerness “most to seek what she would most avoid;” but still Lady Florence neverappeared; her dreaded name was never mentioned.

Although now, to all appearance, totally deserted by her husband, still he kept strictly to his engagement with her. Every possible indulgence and pleasure which money could give, were hers; and in such outward attentions he even seemed occupied about her. The horse she rode at Arlingford, although formerly his favourite hunter, was now considered as entirely hers, and without her even expressing a wish on the subject, had been brought to town for her exclusive use; he had himself secured a box at the opera for her, after having ascertained in what part of the house she would prefer it; and,on their first arrival in town, he had again repeated his desire, that she should ask any and every one she liked to the house. In short, she was again and again enjoined to consult only her own happiness and enjoyment in every thing: kind words in the mouth of any other husband; but, producing the painful conviction of her loneliness, they brought but tears into Emmeline’s eyes, when hastily pronounced by Fitzhenry, with his hand on the lock of the door, in order that he might leave her the instant they were uttered, and so escape the possibility of thanks or comment.

Wishing, however, to show that she was sensible of his intended kindness, in the liberty he gave, and with a last fainthope, that by making his home agreeable, she might entice him to be more with her, Emmeline determined to endeavour to collect society at her house. She took a favourable moment to inform Fitzhenry of her intention, and of the nights for which she had made the invitations. He seemed much to approve of the plan, but said nothing as to his own attendance.

On the day appointed for the first party, Emmeline, as was generally now the case, dined alone. During her solitary repast, she made firm resolutions that she would act upon the advice Pelham had given her at Arlingford—put that mask on her feelings which he recommended, and adopt those manners of the world that he said Fitzhenry admired.Emmeline had a sort of naturaltacton all such subjects; and, had she been in the habit of doing the honours of her own house, during her whole life, she could not have acquitted herself better. All were delighted with her, and with the evening’s amusement. It was not till towards the close of it, that Fitzhenry appeared. Long had poor Emmeline’s eyes anxiously wandered toward the door, watching for his entrance; and when at last he came, it was not without difficulty that she continued to perform her gay part with spirit; but a momentary break in what she was saying—a rapid beating of her heart, and the deepened colour in her cheek, alone betrayed her agitation at his presence.

He came up to her; remarked how well the rooms were lighted; complimented her on the disposal of the furniture—on her arrangement of the flowers: and, in return, the poor hypocrite played her part well. She carelessly asked his opinion as to the placing of the lamps and the pianoforte. Even attempted at rallying him on his absence; and to all appearance no two people could be on an easier footing.

The company were by this time beginning to clear away. As they dispersed, Emmeline eagerly looked around for Fitzhenry. She thought he had noticed her more than usual, and she determined to follow up this little fancied success, by assuming a careless gaiety, which she certainly did not feel, butwhich she sometimes believed she would do well to adopt. When, therefore, she had performed her last act of civility to her last guest, she hurried back to the spot where she had left him. But he too had disappeared. Alone she paced the now silent, empty rooms, lost in thought, and totally forgetful of the lateness of the hour, until at length, the entrance of Reynolds rousing her from her trance, she hastily retired into her own room—but not to sleep.—Various thoughts agitated her mind: sometimes even hope, (albeit of late not a usual visitor,) forced itself in: Fitzhenry had certainly smiled on her; he had appeared pleased; had even seemed to take interest in her attempt, and she determined to persevere.

Emmeline counted the days to her next party, as a school-girl does those to her first ball; for, on its success she again built flattering expectations for the future—expectations which perhaps to herself were hardly to be defined. “But at all events, I shall certainly see him,” she thought, as with most excuseable care and anxiety she endeavoured to improve, to the best advantage, those personal attractions which nature had bestowed upon her. But in vain she decked her hair with the freshest flowers; in vain she listened for, and anxiously watched the result of, each loud knock at her door. Every one she had asked, flew to her invitation, (such is the power of novelty in London,) all buthimfor whom the whole had been prepared.

Disheartened and dispirited, poor Emmeline almost resolved on seeking some pretext for putting off altogether her third entertainment; but a good humoured word of recognition from her husband, as they met in the lobby of the opera-house, the Tuesday before, again made her yield to the natural buoyancy of her disposition; and Fitzhenry, having asked Pelham and the Savilles to dine with him on the day appointed for her party, his presence seemed thus secured. All now, therefore, appeared propitious to Emmeline. Fitzhenry himself was, on that day, evidently more disposed for cheerfulness than he had been of late; and the smallness of their party at dinner, obliging them to more intercourse than they had had for long,Emmeline gave way to the exhilaration of spirits belonging to youth and hope, and, her cheeks again bright with the flush of enjoyment, she bore her part in the conversation with unusual liveliness. Emmeline was aware of this herself, and could not, moreover, help indulging in the flattering idea, that even Fitzhenry had (at least for that once) thought her agreeable. With a step made still more light than usual by the innocent exultation of the moment, she gaily bounded up to the drawing-room with Lady Saville, to make the necessary preparations for the expected company. Knowing how much Fitzhenry liked music, she had collected all the best Italian singers; and, with her companion, Emmeline was still occupied in arranging the lights andinstruments, when Pelham and Sir George Saville joined them, but not Fitzhenry. Coffee came; still he did not appear. Half fearful of what she might learn, but not able to bear the suspense any longer, she at length, with an anxious look, enquired whether he was gone out.

“Oh no!” replied Pelham; “he is only answering a letter which he has just received; he will be here directly.”

A flash of her own bright smile instantly re-illumined her features; and afterwards, in the middle of one of Camporese’s beautiful songs, it glanced again over her countenance, for she saw Fitzhenry enter the room, and, for an instant, caught his eyes fixed upon her. But the song over, and after the generalstir and bustle that usually follows, she looked for him in vain. The crowd was now every minute thickening, and with difficulty Emmeline forced herself to address to each those common-place remarks which always equally weary those who make them, and those to whom they are made. She restlessly went from room to room on some excuse to herself as well as others, but her search was vain—he was gone!

At once the bright scene totally changed! although the music was beautiful, and the buzz of gaiety and happiness went round. Poor Emmeline, alone in the scene of enjoyment which she had herself created, was wretched. Gladly she at length saw her visitors depart, and the rooms gradually becomeempty; for her spirits, which had been so unusually excited, were totally exhausted, and her only object now was, the conclusion of that evening to which she had looked with such bright expectation. Lady Saville and Pelham remained the last.

“Well, my dear Lady Fitzhenry,” said the former, “I staid to the end purposely to congratulate you on the full success of yoursoirées; nothing could have gone off better than they have done; every one declares that nobody understands the matter so well as Lady Fitzhenry. I wonder where you learnt the art,” said she, as she looked, with a complimentary smile, into Emmeline’s face. On that face, tears were slowly, and almost unconsciously stealingdown. “Good heavens! Lady Fitzhenry!” exclaimed Lady Saville, “what is the matter?”

“Nothing,” said Emmeline, provoked at her weakness: “but however well I may do the honours of my house, it is a fatigue to which I am new, and perfectly unequal. I have had a bad headache all day; and I find the trouble of being agreeable so much greater than the reward, that however delightful my parties may be, I shall attempt them no more.”

Poor Emmeline spoke in the impatient tone of vexation and disappointment—a tone so unusually heard from her lips, that Lady Saville looked at her astonished.

“How very foolish!” she exclaimed,“when nothing of the sort, I am sure, could succeed better, and when you ought to be so pleased and flattered by the general pleasure you have produced. In your place, I should be quite delighted; and then to give it all up merely because you happen at this minute to feel a little tired and exhausted, particularly when you seemed to enjoy it all so much yourself, as I am sure you did only an hour ago. What is it that has gone wrong to make you change your mind so suddenly?”

Emmeline only shook her head in reply; but encountering Pelham’s grave look, it recalled to her mind his counsels, and brushing away her tears with her hand, and forcing a smile, she said, as gaily as she could—

“Well, we need not discuss the matter at present. I will think about it; but really, now, I must drive you away, and go to bed; for I am quite knocked up; and you see fatigue has already made a fool of me, as I dare say, if the truth was told, I cried like a child to think I had eaten my cake, and that these delightful parties were over.”

Lady Saville, taking her hint, was preparing to depart, when Fitzhenry, who, on returning home, had still seen some carriages in the street, and therefore thought he could venture up stairs, entered the room. Lady Saville immediately went up to him. “Oh, Lord Fitzhenry! do second me; for I am trying to persuade your capricious, perverse wife, to give some more parties;for she says they don’t repay her for the trouble; that they exhaust her, and that she will have no more. Now have they not been particularly agreeable? and does she not play the part of lady of the revels to perfection?”

Emmeline, who, on her husband’s entrance, had walked to the further end of the room, now began busying herself with a basket of flowers, forgetting that she could no longer have any excuse for the employment. As for Fitzhenry, he too seemed rather embarrassed by Lady Saville’s direct questions; but soon recollecting himself—”I certainly think Lady Fitzhenry would do very wrong to give up what seemed to give herself, as well as every one else, so much pleasure.”

Emmeline bent over the flowers to hide her face, which was crimsoned with pique and impatience, as she repeated to herself—”What givesmeso muchpleasure!and that is all I have gained by my last attempt, still more to deceive him as to my real character, and real feelings. He thinks I am to be satisfied with all this noise and empty show of enjoyment; and that it will make up to the worldly fool, the insensible child, for the want of happiness!”

Lady Saville returned to her charge, begging Emmeline would at once name a day, and that she would again endeavour to secure Camporese for her.

Forced to answer, and no longer able even to pretend occupation with the flowers, she hastily composed herself;and, quietly saying she was too tired then to think of the matter, held out her hand to Lady Saville, wishing her good night.

The altered tone of Emmeline’s voice, since he had last heard it, probably struck Fitzhenry, for he hastily raised his eyes towards her. Her countenance, her manner, all was changed; the bright colour in her cheeks was gone; the smile that had played round her mouth had vanished: Pelham’s eyes too were fixed upon her, and Fitzhenry observed it. Again he glanced at them both, and then for some minutes seemed totally lost in thought, till Lady Saville, moving towards the door to go, and wishing him good night, he was roused from his reverie; he offered her his arm, andboth he and Pelham went down stairs with her.

For a few minutes, Emmeline listened for Fitzhenry’s return—she almost hoped he would enquire into the cause of what he might deem her ill humour: in short, at that moment, she felt she should be glad of any opening from him that could possibly bring matters to a crisis, however painful that crisis might be; for she felt as if it was impossible to go on enduring her present existence. But, after pacing the room for some time in nervous anxiety, which increased on hearing a footstep on the stairs, she was at length obliged to give up even that hope, as Reynolds alone entered the room, and immediately after, she heard the door of Fitzhenry’s apartment close.

Convinced that she had now done all she could; that she had battled with her fate as much as possible; and, seeing that every exertion and endeavour to please and win him, only seemed to cast her further from him, she resolved to give over the vain struggle, and for her own sake, at least, endeavour in reality to be the frivolous, heartless being he thought her. And thus, in a sort of desperation, flying from herself, and from a cheerless home, which only reminded her of her blighted youth and hopes, she followed Lady Saville to every dissipation that was proposed. The last, and apparently the gayest, at every amusement; bright with false smiles and false colours; poor Emmeline endeavoured to conceal, beneath excited spirits, an aching heart:but the labour was such, that it allowed of no respite. One day left to herself, her own sad reflections again rushed back, and with increased acuteness—all her disappointed, withered feelings, the suffering present, and the cheerless future, pressed upon her soul. To pause in the mad career of dissipation was therefore impossible. She danced, she laughed, she talked. All shyness, all feeling even, seemed to have vanished, and her eyes sparkled with that feverish dazzle, so unlike the bright sunshine of happiness, but so often mistaken for it by a thoughtless, uninterested observer. How falsely do those of the world mutually pass sentence on each other! Meeting, perhaps, merely in the gay resorts of fashion, each individual attributes to the other thatworldliness and frivolity which belongs to the scene, but which they apply to the character—and how false such judgments are, those may declare, who by peculiar circumstances, or duty of some sort, are drawn into such amusements, when from natural disposition and taste they may be particularly little suited to enjoy them.

Emmeline’s looks, health, even temper, all seemed to suffer from the life she now led. Often, after an evening of apparent gaiety, on her return home, she was so agitated, and so ill, that many a night it was only by laudanum that she obtained rest. Jenkins repeatedly observed how “My Lady” was changed; that she never now seemed to know her own mind; that she wouldoften dress for an evening’s amusement, and then, when the time came, dismiss her carriage, and flinging herself, in all her finery, on her bed, would cry bitterly; till, like a child, she fell asleep from mere fatigue; and then, next morning, she would laugh at what she called her nervous folly, and begin again her life of hurry and laborious amusement.

But poor Emmeline, made for better things, felt humbled at herself. Was this the life that a rational, accountable, immortal being should lead? Alas! was this the end of all those dreams of happiness which illume the mind, and warm the heart of youth? Worn out in body and spirits, Emmeline longed for Arlingford and quiet; and looked forward withsomething like pleasure to Easter, when she concluded Fitzhenry would propose going there.

Amid all those who now buzzed and fluttered around her, one friend always followed her steps with interest, one friend she always met with real pleasure. That friend was Pelham. Although he never, since the conversation at Arlingford, had in the most distant manner alluded to the estrangement between her and her husband, yet she could plainly perceive, that he was well aware of their real situation; and she could not help also observing, that, of late, Pelham and Fitzhenry were less cordial together than formerly, although both seemed still anxious, when they met, to carry on the farce of friendship. But Pelham camemuch less often to their house than he used to do, and generally at those hours when Fitzhenry was most likely to be from home. This Emmeline every way regretted, she always had felt as if he was a link between them, and she had even vaguely imagined that he might some day have been the means of uniting them; and, besides the dispiriting conviction that thus, one by one, every hope to which she clung gave way, she could not help feeling painfully aware that it was Pelham’s partiality to her, which had estranged her husband from him.

One evening at Almacks, Lady Saville, with whom she had gone, being engaged dancing, Emmeline had sought a refuge from the heat and crowd in the tea-room, and Pelham had followed her.Half serious, half jesting, he was attacking her upon the life she now led, and upon the impossibility of ever seeing her quietly, and the eternal hurry of pleasure and spirits in which he always found her.

“Why I only do like others,” said Emmeline, with forced gaiety.

“Perhaps so,” replied Pelham. “But you are not like those others whom you imitate and follow. I am sure that all this dissipation cannot satisfyyourmind, cannot makeyouhappy.”

“Perhapsnot,” said Emmeline, her forced smile fading from her lips; forhappinesswas a word which always grated on her heart, and sounded harsh in her ears.

“But what can I do?—il faut hurleravec les loups,” added she, again endeavouring to resume her gaiety.

“This assumed levity cannot take me in,” continued Pelham. “I am certain it is impossible but that all this frivolity and fatigue must wear out both your mind and body. How different you were at Arlingford! how little you then seemed to anticipate pleasure from what you now enter into so warmly!”

These were all home truths, which Emmeline could not answer, and she merely stammered out, that she had now no choice.

“Indeed!” replied Pelham, warmly. “You wrong your friends when you say that.”

“My friends?” repeated Emmeline, sadly, “I have no friends to——” andshe stopped short, her own words, rousing from the bottom of her heart painful feelings, which she in vain endeavoured to smother by dissipation; and which, by hiding them from others, she hoped to forget herself. She averted her head from Pelham, and fixed her tearful eyes on the ground.

Apparently fearful of going too far, Pelham was also silent; he looked at her with melancholy interest; he could not help observing how greatly she was altered, how much she had lost of the graceful roundness of her form, and how evidently

“Concealment, like a worm in the bud,Fed on her damask cheek.”

“Concealment, like a worm in the bud,

Fed on her damask cheek.”

At that minute, Fitzhenry suddenly entered the room, and, hastily coming upto Pelham, “I have been looking for you this half hour,” said he; “I want to speak to you for a minute.”

Fitzhenry had spoken these words so quick that it was not till he ended, that the preoccupied look of his auditor seemed to strike him; his eyes glanced from him to Emmeline, and there remained fixed. His sudden entrance had brought the blood into her face, but could not dispel from it the traces of emotion which were very evident; and there was a contrast between the expression of her countenance, the listless neglect of her whole person, and the glittering trappings in which she was attired, that must have struck and interested any one; and which arrested her husband’s attention so forcibly, that Emmeline blushed still deeper beneath his gaze.

This seemed to rouse him from the sort of dream in which he appeared to be lost; and suddenly turning to Pelham, “I stopped at your house, and there learnt you were here; I had no idea you ever honoured such places with your presence when you could possibly help it.”

“Sometimes, when the spirit moves me,” answered Pelham, carelessly. “But what is it you have to say to me?”

“I have a message to you from the Speaker, with whom I have been dining,” said Fitzhenry, as if suddenly recollecting his errand, and he drew Pelham aside for a minute. Emmeline then ventured to raise her eyes upon her husband, and could not help, with a sort of melancholy pride, comparing him to those around him, and exulting in his superiority oflook, air, and manner. When his conversation with Pelham was over, he again turned towards Emmeline, and again his eyes were rivetted on her.

“You have left off dancing, I think, Lady Fitzhenry,” said he, as if he thought it necessary to say something, and hardly knew what; “I thought you had liked it. Pelham, do you ever dance now?”

“It is some time since I was guilty of any thing so frisky,” he replied. “I should be afraid I might be thought not behaving myself with proper diplomatic gravity; but as for Lady Fitzhenry, I must say that, in her, it is pure laziness, and therefore most reprehensible, for I have myself heard many a humble application made to her during this last half hour.”

“We take to ourselves the right to befanciful and capricious, you know,” said Emmeline, trying to smile.

“Yes, and caprice is sometimes the only thing women are steady to,” replied Fitzhenry; while an expression of satirical displeasure seemed to curl his handsome lip.

Emmeline felt she no way deserved that severe remark, and indeed hardly thought he ever noticed her enough even to observe the faults she might have. But in his manner, just then, he was altogether so unlike himself, and had so much the appearance of offended ill humour, that she would have thought something particularly disagreeable had just passed between the two friends, except that she saw Pelham was, as indeed he was always, perfectly mild and composed.

At that moment a very pretty woman, dressed in the height of Parisian fashion, came into the room; and, after acknowledging Mr. Pelham with a familiar bow, addressed Fitzhenry.

“How basely you have deserted me, and forgotten our engagement. I have been looking for you every where. The waltz is nearly over.”

“Ten thousand pardons,” said Fitzhenry rather embarrassed: “I am quite ashamed, but really I had entirely forgotten.”

“That does not mend the matter much,” answered she, laughing, and glancing at Emmeline. “You have, I think, already forgotten your foreign gallantry;” and, taking the arm he offered, they both went into the dancing-room.

“Who is that?” said Emmelineeagerly, as she followed them with her eyes.

“It is Mrs. Osterley,” replied Pelham. “She is a Vienna acquaintance of ours, and just returned from abroad.”

Emmeline again breathed; but, complaining of the heat of the tea-room, got up and went towards the door. Mr. Pelham smiled on her in compassion as he drew her arm within his, and suffered her to lead him which way she chose, and they soon found themselves among the crowd of waltzers. Fitzhenry was then dancing with Mrs. Osterley, and when they stopped, it was close by Emmeline; though an intervening waltzing pair, also pausing in their giddy labours, hid her entirely from their view.

“Who was that you were talking toin the tea-room when I went to claim you so inconsiderately?” said Mrs. Osterley to her partner.

“Don’t you know?” answered he, rather embarrassed by the question, or rather by the manner in which it was put; “it was Lady Fitzhenry.”

“Lady Fitzhenry! your wife! you surprise me! what a very pretty woman she is! I had heard her so differently described; she is an uncommonly interesting looking person,vraiment je vous en fais mon compliment.”

Fitzhenry bowed; and Emmeline could see that the mantling blood had tinged even his forehead.

“And from what I further heard,” continued his gay companion, looking archly in his face, “I should have thought you were the last man to havebeen detected in a flirtation with your wife; though really, now I have seen her, I do not wonder she should have made you a littlevolage.”

“I had gone in search of Pelham,” said Fitzhenry, coldly, apparently much disconcerted by her remark.

“Oh! is that the way of it?” retorted Mrs. Osterley laughing: “well, I really cannot pity you; it is but fair play, for you richly deserve it. But is Pelham really at last caught? Well, I shall be truly curious to become acquainted with the piece of perfection who has had power to overcome his impenetrable insensibility—pray do introduce me toyour wife.” And she again laughed more heartily than before.

Fitzhenry did not, as she seemed to have expected, join in the laugh; and,with a smile of contempt, she added, “Surelyyoudon’t think it incumbent upon you to play the English husband and be angry, for that would be taking a very unnecessary degree of trouble, I should think.”

Luckily, Pelham’s attention had, during this conversation, been attracted another way, so that Emmeline had gently withdrawn her arm, and the crowd had soon divided them. Disgusted with Mrs. Osterley’s levity, and fearful that Fitzhenry might perceive her, she drew back, although she would have given much to have heard his answer. She soon again saw them in the giddy round, and went to a seat which she observed to be un-occupied.

She had not been there long, before Miss Selina Danvers flew up to her, withecstasy in her looks, and a perfect parterre of flowers in her head, and seizing her hand vehemently, “Well, my dear Lady Fitzhenry, here I am! actually at Almacks! and all owing to you, I am sure, I am more obliged to you than I can express. What an enchanting place it is! But only think how abominably those odious lady patronesses have behaved! After all, mamma has no ticket! Did you ever hear any thing like it? It is quite atrocious. I really thought I should have died with anxiety when we came to Willis’s room this morning to hear our fate; and my heart sank within me when I saw how full the street was of carriages, for we got into a regular string just like a ball—so delightful! We were there full an hour and a half waiting, but I am sureit was well worth while, and I really believe I screamed with joy when I saw my ticket; but, as I said before, there was none for mamma; so then we had to drive all over the town to find achaperonfor me to go with; at last we went to Lady Coddrington, and only think! she had got one for herself, and none for her daughter! Did you ever hear any thing so shocking! And she was so cross and sulky about it at first, that she said she would not go; but by abusing the lady patronesses, we got her into good-humour, and she agreed to take me; but, between ourselves, she is a very disagreeablechaperon; for out of spite, I suppose, because her ugly daughter could not get a ticket, she won’t try and get me a partner; and, odious woman, shecame so late that the evening is already more than half over. I suppose you know all the men here, Lady Fitzhenry, don’t you?”

“Very few dancers,” said Emmeline, not feeling at all inclined to press Selina on any of her acquaintance.

“Dear! there is Mr. Moore!” exclaimed the young lady, already in a flutter of expectation; “and I do believe he is coming this way; and we danced constantly together at Arlingford, you know.”

That was true; but dancing and diverting himself with the simple Selina at Arlingford, and selecting her as his partner at Almacks, were two very different things; and after making her a distant, chilling bow, Mr. Moore sat down on the other side of Emmeline. Poor Selina’scountenance fell. Moore went on talking,sotto-voce, to Emmeline, till Selina could bear it no longer.

“Dear, Mr. Moore! how come you not to be dancing? I thought you liked it of all things!”

“I may ask you the same question,” returned he.

“Oh no, perhaps nobody has asked me,” answered Selina, pettishly.

“That is quite impossible; I will not suppose any thing so disgraceful to the taste and judgment of all the smart young gentlemen I see here,” added he, carelessly, and then returned to his affectedly interesting conversation with Emmeline, who listened apparently quite unworthy of the honour conferred on her. Selina saw with mortification that nothing was to be hoped from Mr. Moore.But just then, a foppishly dressed young man, coming up and speaking to Emmeline, Selina’s spirits revived: she touched her arm, whispering, “Who is that? could you introduce me to him?” At first Emmeline paid no attention, but Selina’s pinches became so urgent, that she at last was obliged to say: “Lord William Vernon, will you allow me to introduce my friend, Miss Danvers, to you?”

For a minute, an expression of displeasure animated Lord William’s unmeaning countenance: he made Selina a slight bow with his head, as he took a hasty survey of her person; and after saying something very uninteresting about the heat of the room, to Emmeline, and enlarging on the merits of a newly purchased cabriolet-horse, to Moore, he walked away.

Poor Selina bit her lip in vexation, and finding she did not thrive at all in her present situation, jumped up to see what could be done with her crosschaperon, whom she had spied in conversation with a gentleman at the opposite side of the room.

“How in the name of wonder came Miss Danvers here?” exclaimed Moore, as soon as she had left them—”what could possess the lady patronesses to give her a ticket?”

“I applied for one for her,” answered Emmeline.

“I think that was rather a work of supererogation on your part,” continued Moore. “You surely are not going to hamper yourself with that girl: you soon frightened away Vernon, trembling for his newly acquired dignity in the hierarchyof fashion; and I must give you notice, if you take to introducing Miss Selina Danvers about, even you, even Lady Fitzhenry, charming as she is, will be voted a bore. What business has that sort of girl here? and how can she be so unreasonable as to expect to be asked to dance? it is perfect nonsense—she had much better stick to her Hampshire county ball; there she may playun grand rôle. Misses are really sad nuisances in society, unless they sit quiet, and don’t trouble one; so take my advice Lady Fitzhenry. Good-nature is quitemauvais tonin London—it is a bad style to take up, and will never do. But it is impossible to sit still and moralize when Collinet is playing that waltz so delightfully; will you take a turn or two with me?”

“I will resign the honour to MissDanvers,” said Emmeline, laughing—”and luckily she is just coming this way; so do the thing handsomely, and ask the poor girl, for she knows nobody here, and is dying to dance.”

“Oh, if you are really serious, I am off,” said Moore, and hastily seizing his hat, which he had hid under the seat in preparation for his waltz with Lady Fitzhenry, he hurried away.

Although little inclined to merriment, Emmeline could not help laughing—the smile on her countenance caught Pelham’s eye, and he came up to her to enquire what had amused her. Emmeline told Selina’s sad tale.

“Poor thing!” said Pelham. “But this is a new character Moore has taken up, I think, for he set out much more wisely, with the determination to enjoy everyamusement that came in his way, professing openly a love for dancing and gaiety of every kind: but fashion, or what is called, in its slang,being fine, is so catching a disease that none can escape. It has taken the place of the small-pox; and I think it would be a good plan if we could be inoculated for it, so as to secure having it mildly, and of the best sort. I don’t know howyoumanage to bewhatandwhereyou are in the world without it; but pray don’t follow Moore’s advice on the subject—let us haveonespecimen of a good-natured London fine lady. By the bye, I too have some advice to give you, which is, not to make up to that Mrs. Osterley: she was reckoned at Viennaa tres mauvaise langue, and was always makingtracasseries.She has a gay, and apparently an artless manner, which at first takes one in. Fitzhenry never liked her, so you need not be acquainted with her; and I should really counsel you to avoid her.”

There was little necessity to give Emmeline that caution: what she had already heard, had not prepossessed her in Mrs. Osterley’s favour in any way; but at that minute, the two people of whom they were talking came up.

“Mrs. Osterley begs to be introduced to you, Lady Fitzhenry,” said her husband, with an evident painful embarrassment of manner. Emmeline got up, and returned the salutation, though with a coldness which she could not overcome, but which did not seem at all todiscompose the person to whom it was addressed.

“As an old friend of Lord Fitzhenry’s,” continued Mrs. Osterley, “I feel I have a right to claim acquaintance with you, and I trust you will allow me to endeavour to improve it.” And she seated herself by Emmeline, who again bowed in silence; for never before had she felt so totally at a loss for some of those usual phrases which mean nothing, but which fill up the awkward pause, apt to take place after a first introduction; and Fitzhenry no way helped her. He appeared to be completely discomposed; and, under pretence of seeing an acquaintance, removed to a distance. Mrs. Osterley finding Emmeline did not speak, continued:—

“It is so long since I have been in England, that I hardly know any one: quite a new set and generation have started up; and myEnglishacquaintances are merely those whom I have known abroad—by the bye, Mr. Pelham, are the Mostyns in town?”

“I believe they have left it,” said he, coldly.

“Of course you know them,” continued Mrs. Osterley to Emmeline—”Mr. Mostyn is so particular a friend of Lord Fitzhenry’s.”

“No, I have never met them,” answered Emmeline, commanding her voice as well as she could, though she felt her face was to a great degree betraying her feelings.

“You surprise me,” continued hertormenter. “But I suppose you and my friend Lord Fitzhenry have been ruralizing, and sentimentalizing alone in the country,à la mode Anglaise, since your marriage, and I cannot wonder at either of you preferring that to the most agreeable society,” added she, with a complimentary smile. “After Easter, I suppose every body will be in town; and I trust Lady Florence will then return among the number, for I really feel quite in a strange country. I am now so little used to the forms, and cold, stiff proprieties of English ways, that, to tell the truth, I find London very dull and stupid, and was really delighted to-night, when I saw Lord Fitzhenry, to talk over delightful foreign days with him. Mr. Pelham, don’t you find English societymuch changed for the worse? I think my country folks are pleasanter any where than in their own land; for, here they directly put on their native buckram again, and are so prodigiously good and proper, that there is no living with them.”

“I can’t agree with you,” replied Pelham. “I am so stupid, as to like them better at home: abroad, they are too apt to cast off some of the restraints which the opinions of their own country oblige them to submit to, without adopting those of the nations they visit. In short, the case is the same with manners as with religion;—they cease to be protestants without becoming catholics; and they take advantage of the usual laxity of morals and principles of other countries,without acquiring that outward decorum of manner, which at least prevents such conduct from offending the innocent; without, in short, adopting that excusable hypocrisy, which a French author so justly callsl’hommage que le vice rend à la vertu, an English woman rarely ceases to be virtuous, without becoming coarse; a foreigner may understandle metierbetter, but my own opinion is—that there are few of my countrywomen much the better for a long residence on the continent.”

“The present company always excepted, of course,” said Mrs. Osterley, bowing to him. “Mr. Pelham is no complimenter, as I dare say you find, Lady Fitzhenry; for I believe you have the pleasure of being intimately acquainted with him.”

Fortunately for Emmeline, a new waltz just then began; and Fitzhenry, to make up for his former negligence, came again to claim Mrs. Osterley as his partner, although seemingly against his will. As they went away together, Emmeline heard her say to Fitzhenry—

“I am not sure I admire your Lady Fitzhenry so much on nearer view as I did at first sight. She is terriblyEnglish; so cold and distant—and I see already she dislikes me for being the reverse;et que je n’ai pas l’honneur de lui plaire.”

What Fitzhenry replied, Emmeline did not hear; and, as it was now late, and that she was wearied both in body and mind, she begged of Pelham to ask for her carriage, desiring him to tell Lady Saville she would send it back for her, if she had not ordered her own.

They crossed the room in silence: poor Emmeline taking one last look of Fitzhenry, as he was still waltzing with Mrs. Osterley.

“That is a spiteful little devil,” said Pelham, who well knew whither Emmeline’s eyes had wandered; “and I again advise you to keep clear of her; she hates both Fitzhenry and me; for, the truth is, she tried to turn both our heads alternately, and succeeded with neither: Fitzhenry had too much good taste to be taken in by any thing so glaring.”

Emmeline made no comment, but sighed deeply. Her sigh was echoed by one close to her; and, turning round, she saw poor Selina, cloaked up to her ears, following her hard-heartedchaperondown the stairs which she had solately mounted in such glee; the evening to which she had looked forward so long, with so much ecstasy, already over—and having to her been productive of nothing but mortification and disappointment.

“Good night, Lady Fitzhenry,” said she, sadly:—”for you see I am going: but I am sure I don’t care; there is nobody here one knows, and though it is a ball, nobodywilldance: it is the oddest thing I ever saw. However, it is very well to come once, just to be able to say one has been at Almacks, for that sounds well; but I declare I think it the stupidest place I ever was at, and I wonder how people can make such a fuss about it.”

The loud welcome cry of “Lady Fitzhenry’scarriage stops the way,” prevented any more of Selina’s peevishness being heard, and Emmeline returned to her solitary home. But harmless, unpresuming, and innocent as she was, in absenting herself, she had left her character behind her; and from that evening, (thanks to Mrs. Osterley,) all London talked of and laughed at the decidedaffairbetween Lady Fitzhenry and Mr. Pelham; each narrator telling his own story, and inventing such facts as each found wanting to render it plausible. Emmeline, however, lost nothing in the good opinion of the fashionable world by this report, which was treated, by some, as an excellent joke; by others, as a thing of course; and many of those who thus carelessly discussed the matter,and at once deprived poor Emmeline of her good name, might have ended their remarks, if they had had honest consciences, with Lady Saville’s first words of praise to Emmeline: “She is really quite on a par with ourselves.”

Back to Index Next