CHAPTER XXII.From that day, Lady Avondale grew more calm; a degree of offended pride supported her; and she resolved, cost what it might, to continue firm. She saw, that private communications were taking place between Lady Margaret, her Father, and even her Aunt and Glenarvon. He had already contrived to interest every individual in the castle in his affairs.—Lord Avondale often spoke of him with praise; Sir Richard, though he said he was a comical personage, admired him, and the female part of the society were all eager and enthusiastic about him.Lady Avondale experienced every feeling that can be imagined during this short period; and received the half concealed taunts of her acquaintance Withbecoming fortitude—even their commiseration for his having left her. She heard their boasts too of what he had written to them, without once repining; but envy, rancour, malice, hatred, rage and regret—all, more or less, arose and subsided in her breast, till she heard one morning, with a sort of trepidation, that Lord Glenarvon was in the adjoining room. Mrs. Seymour immediately came to her. “Tell me truly,” she said, “have you any objection to his dining here?” “Quite the contrary”, said Calantha, with indifference; and she waited till she heard the sound of the horses galloping from the outer court; she then looked from the window, and her heart told her too well that she was not yet entirely recovered from her infatuation.At dinner they were to expect him; and ’till dinner Lady Avondale could think of nothing else. Mrs. Seymour watched her with anxiety.—She affected all things, to disguise what she felt, andshe did it better than before, for habit now rendered the effort less painful. But Lady Margaret, laughing at her, whispered maliciously in her ear, that every thought and feeling, was more strongly exhibited by her, with all her attempts to hide them than by most others, when they wished them to be seen. “And I know,” she added, unkindly enough, “you would give any thing on earth to be friends with him again.” “With who?” “See he appears,” she said, “shall I name him?”Lady Avondale had resolved to be firm. There is a degree of dignity, which every proud mind can assume. To have forgiven so much treachery and cruelty, had been contemptible. She felt it, and prepared for the encounter. “He will do every thing to regain you,” said Mrs. Seymour, “but I have confidence in your present feelings. Shew him, that you are not what he imagines; and prove to me, that I may still be proud of mychild.” Lady Avondale had taken Glenarvon’s ring from her finger, she had placed upon her neck a row of pearls her husband had given her, upon the eve of her marriage, and thus decorated, she thought her heart had likewise returned to its ancient allegiance.Lady Avondale entered the dining-room. Lord Glenarvon passed her at the moment; he was in earnest conversation with Lady Margaret, and slightly bowed to her. She was surprised, she had expected kindness and contrition. She was, however, resolved to act up to the very strictest bounds which decorum prescribed. With some haughtiness, some appearance at least of dignity, she seated herself as far from him as he could desire, and by addressing herself calmly but entirely to others, she sought to attain that look of unconcern, which he had so readily assumed.Dinner was no sooner over than unable any longer to conceal her vexation,Lady Avondale retired to her room to compose herself. Upon returning, the large society were employed either with billiards, cards, or work—except a few of the men, amongst whom she perceived Lord Glenarvon. Had he refrained from speaking to her, she could have borne it,—had he even looked as grave, as ill as usual; but an unusual flow of spirits—a peculiar appearance of health, had taken place of that customary languor, to which he was at times subject.The evening and the supper passed without his saying one word in apology for his unkindness, or in the least attending to her increasing irritation. Lady Avondale affected unconcern as well as she could, but it looked like any thing else; and in the morning she awoke but to suffer new humiliations. She saw him smile as he named her in a whisper to Lady Trelawney. She heard him talk to others upon subjects he had once spoken of only to herself. Immediatelyupon this apparent rupture, new hopes arose; new claims were considered; and that competition for his favour, which had ceased, began again. Lady Trelawney laughed and talked with him; at times turning her eye triumphantly towards Calantha. Sophia confided her opinions to his breast; affected to praise him for his present conduct, and the tear of agony, which fell from Calantha’s eye, excited the indignation it deserved.“I have sacrificed too much for one who is heartless,” she said; “but, thank God it is yet time for amendment.” Alas! Lady Avondale knew not, as she uttered these words, that there is no moment in which it is so difficult to act with becoming dignity and firmness, as that in which we are piqued and trampled upon by the object of our devotion. Glenarvon well knew this, and smiled at the pang he inflicted, as it proved his power, and exhibited its effects to all. LadyAvondale summoned to her aid even her faults—the spirit, the pride of her character, her very vanity; and rested her hopes of firmness upon her contempt for weakness, her abhorrence of vice. She looked upon him, and saw his attempts to wound, to humiliate, to grieve; and she despised the man who could have recourse to every petty art to torture one for whom he had professed so much. If he wished to expose her weakness to every eye, too well he had succeeded.
From that day, Lady Avondale grew more calm; a degree of offended pride supported her; and she resolved, cost what it might, to continue firm. She saw, that private communications were taking place between Lady Margaret, her Father, and even her Aunt and Glenarvon. He had already contrived to interest every individual in the castle in his affairs.—Lord Avondale often spoke of him with praise; Sir Richard, though he said he was a comical personage, admired him, and the female part of the society were all eager and enthusiastic about him.
Lady Avondale experienced every feeling that can be imagined during this short period; and received the half concealed taunts of her acquaintance Withbecoming fortitude—even their commiseration for his having left her. She heard their boasts too of what he had written to them, without once repining; but envy, rancour, malice, hatred, rage and regret—all, more or less, arose and subsided in her breast, till she heard one morning, with a sort of trepidation, that Lord Glenarvon was in the adjoining room. Mrs. Seymour immediately came to her. “Tell me truly,” she said, “have you any objection to his dining here?” “Quite the contrary”, said Calantha, with indifference; and she waited till she heard the sound of the horses galloping from the outer court; she then looked from the window, and her heart told her too well that she was not yet entirely recovered from her infatuation.
At dinner they were to expect him; and ’till dinner Lady Avondale could think of nothing else. Mrs. Seymour watched her with anxiety.—She affected all things, to disguise what she felt, andshe did it better than before, for habit now rendered the effort less painful. But Lady Margaret, laughing at her, whispered maliciously in her ear, that every thought and feeling, was more strongly exhibited by her, with all her attempts to hide them than by most others, when they wished them to be seen. “And I know,” she added, unkindly enough, “you would give any thing on earth to be friends with him again.” “With who?” “See he appears,” she said, “shall I name him?”
Lady Avondale had resolved to be firm. There is a degree of dignity, which every proud mind can assume. To have forgiven so much treachery and cruelty, had been contemptible. She felt it, and prepared for the encounter. “He will do every thing to regain you,” said Mrs. Seymour, “but I have confidence in your present feelings. Shew him, that you are not what he imagines; and prove to me, that I may still be proud of mychild.” Lady Avondale had taken Glenarvon’s ring from her finger, she had placed upon her neck a row of pearls her husband had given her, upon the eve of her marriage, and thus decorated, she thought her heart had likewise returned to its ancient allegiance.
Lady Avondale entered the dining-room. Lord Glenarvon passed her at the moment; he was in earnest conversation with Lady Margaret, and slightly bowed to her. She was surprised, she had expected kindness and contrition. She was, however, resolved to act up to the very strictest bounds which decorum prescribed. With some haughtiness, some appearance at least of dignity, she seated herself as far from him as he could desire, and by addressing herself calmly but entirely to others, she sought to attain that look of unconcern, which he had so readily assumed.
Dinner was no sooner over than unable any longer to conceal her vexation,Lady Avondale retired to her room to compose herself. Upon returning, the large society were employed either with billiards, cards, or work—except a few of the men, amongst whom she perceived Lord Glenarvon. Had he refrained from speaking to her, she could have borne it,—had he even looked as grave, as ill as usual; but an unusual flow of spirits—a peculiar appearance of health, had taken place of that customary languor, to which he was at times subject.
The evening and the supper passed without his saying one word in apology for his unkindness, or in the least attending to her increasing irritation. Lady Avondale affected unconcern as well as she could, but it looked like any thing else; and in the morning she awoke but to suffer new humiliations. She saw him smile as he named her in a whisper to Lady Trelawney. She heard him talk to others upon subjects he had once spoken of only to herself. Immediatelyupon this apparent rupture, new hopes arose; new claims were considered; and that competition for his favour, which had ceased, began again. Lady Trelawney laughed and talked with him; at times turning her eye triumphantly towards Calantha. Sophia confided her opinions to his breast; affected to praise him for his present conduct, and the tear of agony, which fell from Calantha’s eye, excited the indignation it deserved.
“I have sacrificed too much for one who is heartless,” she said; “but, thank God it is yet time for amendment.” Alas! Lady Avondale knew not, as she uttered these words, that there is no moment in which it is so difficult to act with becoming dignity and firmness, as that in which we are piqued and trampled upon by the object of our devotion. Glenarvon well knew this, and smiled at the pang he inflicted, as it proved his power, and exhibited its effects to all. LadyAvondale summoned to her aid even her faults—the spirit, the pride of her character, her very vanity; and rested her hopes of firmness upon her contempt for weakness, her abhorrence of vice. She looked upon him, and saw his attempts to wound, to humiliate, to grieve; and she despised the man who could have recourse to every petty art to torture one for whom he had professed so much. If he wished to expose her weakness to every eye, too well he had succeeded.