“He saw--and but that admiration
Had been too active, too like passion,
Or had he been to _ton_ less true,
Cupid had shot him through and through.”
I have not thought it necessary to record every visit that I received
from all my country neighbours; but I must now mention one, which led
to important consequences; a visit from Sir Harry Ormsby, a very young
dashing man of fortune, who, in expectation of the happy moment when he
should be of age, resided with his mother, the dowager Lady Ormsby. Her
ladyship had heard that there had been some disagreement between her
agent, Mr. Hardcastle, and _my people_; but she took the earliest
opportunity of expressing her wishes, that our families should be on an
amicable footing.
Lady Ormsby was just come to the country, with a large party of her
fashionable friends--some Irish, some English: Lord and Lady Kilrush; my
Lady Kildangan, and her daughter the Lady Geraldine ------; the knowing
widow O’Connor; the English _dasher_, Lady Hauton; the interesting Mrs.
Norton, _separated_ but not _parted_ from her husband; the pleasant
Miss Bland; the three Miss Ormsbys, better known by the name of the
Swanlinbar Graces; two English aides-de-camp from the Castle, and a
brace of brigadiers; besides other men of inferior note.
I perceived that Sir Harry Ormsby took it for granted that I must be
acquainted with the pretensions of all these persons to celebrity; his
talkativeness and my taciturnity favoured me so fortunately, that he
never discovered the extent of my ignorance. He was obligingly impatient
to make me personally acquainted “with those of whom I must have heard
so much in England.” Observing that Ormsby Villa was too far from
Glenthorn Castle for a morning visit, he pressed me to waive ceremony,
and to do Lady Ormsby and him the honour of spending a week with them,
as soon as I could make it convenient. I accepted this invitation,
partly from a slight emotion of curiosity, and partly from my habitual
inability to resist any reiterated importunity.
Arrived at Ormsby Villa, and introduced to this crowd of people, I was
at first disappointed by seeing nothing extraordinary. I expected that
their manners would have been as strange to me as some of their
names appeared: but whether it was from my want of the powers of
discrimination, or from the real sameness of the objects, I could
scarcely, in this fashionable flock, discern any individual marks of
distinction. At first view, the married ladies appeared much the same as
those of a similar class in England, whom I had been accustomed to see.
The young ladies I thought, as usual, “best distinguished by black,
brown, and fair:” but I had not yet seen Lady Geraldine ------; and a
great part Of the conversation, the first day I was at Ormsby Villa, was
filled with lamentations on the unfortunate tooth-ache, which prevented
her ladyship from appearing. She was talked of so much, and as a person
of such importance, and so essential to the amusement of society, that
I could not help feeling a slight wish to see her. The next day at
breakfast she did not appear; but, five minutes before dinner, her
ladyship’s humble companion whispered, “Now Lady Geraldine is coming, my
lord.” I was always rather displeased to be called upon to attend to any
thing or any body, yet as Lady Geraldine entered, I gave one involuntary
glance of curiosity. I saw a tall, finely-shaped woman, with the
commanding air of a woman of rank; she moved well; not with feminine
timidity, but with ease, promptitude, and decision. She had fine eyes
and a fine complexion, yet no regularity of feature. The only thing
that struck me as really extraordinary was her indifference when I
was introduced to her. Every body had seemed extremely desirous that I
should see her ladyship, and that her ladyship should see me; and I was
rather surprised by her unconcerned air. This piqued me, and fixed my
attention. She turned from me, and began to converse with others. Her
voice was agreeable: she did not speak with the Irish accent; but,
when I listened maliciously, I detected certain Hibernian inflections;
nothing of the vulgar Irish idiom, but something that was more
interrogative, more exclamatory, and perhaps more rhetorical, than the
common language of English ladies, accompanied with much animation of
countenance and demonstrative gesture. This appeared to me peculiar and
unusual, but not affected. She was uncommonly eloquent, and yet, without
action, her words were not sufficiently rapid to express her ideas.
Her manner appeared foreign, yet it was not quite French. If I had been
obliged to decide, I should, however, have pronounced it rather more
French than English. To determine what it was, or whether I had ever
seen any thing similar, I stood considering her ladyship with more
attention than I had ever bestowed on any other woman. The words
_striking--fascinating--bewitching_, occurred to me as I looked at her
and heard her speak. I resolved to turn my eyes away, and shut my ears;
for I was positively determined not to like her, I dreaded so much the
idea of a second Hymen. I retreated to the farthest window, and looked
out very soberly upon a dirty fish-pond. Dinner was announced. I
observed Lady Kildangan manoeuvring to place me beside her daughter
Geraldine, but Lady Geraldine counteracted this movement. I was again
surprised and piqued. After yielding the envied position to one of the
Swanlinbar Graces, I heard Lady Geraldine whisper to her next neighbour,
“Baffled, mamma!”
It was strange to me to feel piqued by a young lady’s not choosing to
sit beside me. After dinner, I left the gentlemen as soon as possible,
because the conversation wearied me. Lord Kilrush, the chief orator,
was a courtier, and could talk of nothing but Dublin Castle, and my lord
lieutenant’s levees. The moment that I went to the ladies, I was seized
upon by the officious Miss Bland: she could not speak of any thing but
Lady Geraldine, who sat at so great a distance, and who was conversing
with such animation herself, that she could not hear her _prôneuse_,
Miss Bland, inform me, that “her friend, Lady Geraldine, was extremely
clever; so clever, that many people were at first a little afraid of
her; but that there was not the least occasion; for that, where she
liked, nobody could be more affable and engaging.” This judicious
friend, a minute afterwards, told me, as a very great secret, that
Lady Geraldine was an admirable mimic; that she could draw or speak
caricatures; that she was also wonderfully happy in the invention of
agnomens and cognomens, so applicable to the persons, that they could
scarcely be forgotten or forgiven. I was a little anxious to know
whether her ladyship would honour me with an agnomen. I could not learn
this from Miss Bland, and I was too prudent to betray my curiosity: I
afterwards heard it, however. Pairing me and Mr. M’Leod, whom she had
seen together, her ladyship observed, that _Sawney_ and _Yawney_ were
made for each other; and she sketched, in strong caricature, my relaxed
elongation of limb, and his rigid rectangularity. A slight degree of
fear of Lady Geraldine’s powers kept my attention alert. In the course
of the evening, Lady Kildangan summoned her daughter to the music-room,
and asked me to come and hear an Irish song. I exerted myself so far as
to follow immediately; but though summoned, Lady Geraldine did not obey.
Miss Bland tuned the harp, and opened the music-books on the piano; but
no Lady Geraldine appeared. Miss Bland was sent backwards and forwards
with messages; but Lady Geraldine’s ultimatum was, that she could not
possibly sing, because she was afraid of the tooth-ache. God knows,
her mouth had never been shut all the evening. “Well, but,” said Lady
Kildangan, “she can play for us, cannot she?” No; her ladyship was
afraid of the cold in the music-room. “Do, my Lord Glenthorn, go and
tell the dear capricious creature, that we are very warm here.”
Very reluctantly I obeyed. The Lady Geraldine, with her circle round
her, heard and answered me with the air of a princess.
“Do you the honour to play for you, my lord! Excuse me: I am no
professor--I play so ill, that I make it a rule never to play but for
my own amusement. If you wish for music, there is Miss Bland; she plays
incomparably, and I dare say will think herself happy to oblige your
lordship.” I never felt so silly, or so much abashed, as at this
instant. “This comes,” thought I, “of acting out of character. What
possessed me to exert myself to ask a lady to play? I, that have been
tired to death of music! Why did I let myself be sent ambassador, when I
had no interest in the embassy?”
To convince myself and others of my apathy, I threw myself on a sofa,
and never stirred or spoke the remainder of the night. I presume I
appeared fast asleep, else Lady Geraldine would not have said, within
my hearing, “Mamma wants me to catch somebody, and to be caught by
somebody; but that will not be; for, do you know, I think somebody is
nobody.”
I was offended as much as it was in my nature to be offended, and I
began to meditate apologies for shortening my visit at Ormsby Villa:
but, though I was shocked by the haughtiness of Lady Geraldine, and
accused her, in my own mind, of want of delicacy and politeness, yet I
could not now suspect her of being an accomplice with her mother in any
matrimonial designs upon me. From the moment I was convinced of this, my
conviction was, I suppose, visible to her ladyship’s penetrating
eyes, and from that instant she showed me that she could be polite and
agreeable. Now, soothed to a state of ease and complacency, I might have
sunk to indifference and ennui, but fresh singularities in this lady
struck me, and kept my attention awake and fixed upon her character. If
she had treated me with tolerable civility at first, I never should have
thought about her. High-born and high-bred, she seemed to consider
more what she thought of others than what others thought of her. Frank,
candid, and affable, yet opinionated, insolent, and an egotist, her
candour and affability appeared the effect of a naturally good temper,
her insolence and egotism only those of a spoiled child. She seemed
to talk of herself purely to oblige others, as the most interesting
possible topic of conversation; for such it had always been to her
fond mother, who idolized her ladyship as an only daughter, and the
representative of an ancient house. Confident of her talents, conscious
of her charms, and secure of her station, Lady Geraldine gave free scope
to her high spirits, her fancy, and her turn for ridicule. She looked,
spoke, and acted, like a person privileged to think, say, and do, what
she pleased. Her raillery, like the raillery of princes, was without
fear of retort. She was not ill-natured, yet careless to whom she gave
offence, provided she produced amusement; and in this she seldom failed;
for, in her conversation, there was much of the raciness of Irish wit,
and the oddity of Irish humour. The singularity that struck me most
about her ladyship was her indifference to flattery. She certainly
preferred frolic. Miss Bland was her humble companion; Miss Tracey her
_butt_. Her ladyship appeared to consider Miss Bland as a necessary
appendage to her rank and person, like her dress or her shadow; and she
seemed to think no more of the one than of the other. She suffered Miss
Bland to follow her; but she would go in quest of n Miss Tracey. Miss
Bland was allowed to speak; but her ladyship listened to Miss Tracey.
Miss Bland seldom obtained an answer; but Miss Tracey never opened her
lips without a repartee.
In describing Miss Tracey, Lady Geraldine said, “Poor simpleton! she
cannot help imitating all she sees us do; yet, would you believe it, she
really has starts of common sense, and some tolerable ideas of her own.
Spoiled by bad company! In the language of the bird-fanciers, she has a
few notes nightingale, and all the rest rubbish.”
It was one of Lady Geraldine’s delights to humour Miss Tracey’s rage for
imitating the fashions of fine people.
“Now you shall see Miss Tracey appear at the ball to-morrow, in every
thing that I have sworn to her is fashionable. Nor have I cheated her
in a single article: but the _tout ensemble_ I leave to her better
judgment; and you shall see her, I trust, a perfect monster, formed of
every creature’s best: Lady Kilrush’s feathers, Mrs. Moore’s wig, Mrs.
O’Connor’s gown, Mrs. Lighton’s sleeves, and all the necklaces of all
the Miss Ormsbys. She has no taste, no judgment; none at all, poor
thing! but she can imitate as well as those Chinese painters, who, in
their drawings, give you the flower of one plant stuck on the stalk of
another, and garnished with the leaves of a third.”
Miss Tracey’s appearance the ensuing night justified all Lady
Geraldine’s predictions, and surpassed her ladyship’s most sanguine
hopes. Even I, albeit unused to the laughing mood, could not forbear
smiling at the humour and ease with which her ladyship played off this
girl’s credulous vanity.
At breakfast the next morning, Lord Kilrush, in his grave manner (always
too solemn by half for the occasion), declared, “that no man was more
willing than himself to enter into a jest in proper time, and season,
and measure, and so forth; but that it was really, positively, morally
unjustifiable, in _his_ apprehension, _the making_ this poor girl so
publicly ridiculous.”
“My good lord,” replied Lady Geraldine, “all the world are ridiculous
some way or other: some in public, some in private. Now,” continued she,
with an appealing look to the whole company, “now, after all, what is
there more extravagant in my Miss Tracey’s delighting, at sixteen, in
six yards of pink riband, than in your courtier sighing, at sixty, for
three yards of blue riband? or what is there more ridiculous in her
coming simpering into a ball-room, fancying herself the mirror of
fashion, when she is a figure for a print-shop, than in the courtier
rising solemnly in the House of Lords, believing himself an orator, and
expecting to make a vast reputation, by picking up, in every debate, the
very worst arguments that every body else let fall? There would be no
living in this world, if we were all to see and expose one another’s
_ridicules_. My plan is much the best--to help my friends to expose
themselves, and then they are infinitely obliged to me.”
Satisfied with silencing all opposition, and seeing that the majority
was with her, Lady Geraldine persisted in her course; and I was glad
she was incorrigible, because her faults entertained me. As to love, I
thought I was perfectly safe; because, though I admired her quickness
and cleverness, yet I still, at times, perceived, or fancied I
perceived, some want of polish, and elegance, and _tact_. She was not
exactly cut out according to my English pattern of a woman of fashion;
so I thought I might amuse myself without danger, as it was partly at
her ladyship’s expense. But about this time I was alarmed for myself by
a slight twinge of jealousy. As I was standing lounging upon the steps
at the hall-door, almost as ennuyé as usual, I saw a carriage at a
distance, between the trees, driving up the _approach_; and, at the same
instant, I heard Lady Geraldine’s eager voice in the hall, “Oh! they are
coming; he is coming; they are come. Run, Miss Bland, run, and give Lord
Craiglethorpe my message before he gets out of the carriage--before any
body sees him.”
Afraid of hearing what I should not hear, I walked down the steps
deliberately, and turned into a shrubbery-walk, to leave the coast
clear. Out ran Miss Bland: and then it was that I felt the twinge--very
slight, however. “Who is this Lord Craiglethorpe, with whom Lady
Geraldine is on such favourable terms? I wonder what kind of looking man
he is; and what could _the message_ mean?--but, at all events, it cannot
concern me; yet I am curious to see this Lord Craiglethorpe. I wonder
any woman can like a man with so strange a name: but does she like him,
after all?--Why do I plague myself about it?”
As I returned from my saunter, I was met by Miss Bland.
“A charming day, ma’am,” said I, endeavouring to pass on.
“A charming day, my lord! But I must stop your lordship a moment. Oh, I
am so out of breath--I went the wrong way----”
“The wrong way! Indeed! I am sorry. I am concerned you should have had
so much trouble.”
“No trouble in the world. Only I want to beg you’ll keep our secret--my
Lady Geraldine’s secret.”
“Undoubtedly, madam--a man of honour--Lady Geraldine cannot doubt--her
ladyship’s secret is perfectly safe.”
“But do you know it? You don’t know it yet, my lord.”
“Pardon me; I was on the steps just now. I thought you saw me.”
“I did, my lord--but I don’t understand----”
“Nor I, neither,” interrupted I, half laughing; for I began to think
I was mistaken in my suspicions; “pray explain yourself, my dear Miss
Bland: I was very rude to be so quick in interrupting you.”
Miss Bland then made me the confidant of a charming scheme of Lady
Geraldine’s for quizzing Miss Tracey.
“She has never in her life seen Lord Craiglethorpe, who is an English
lord travelling through Ireland,” continued Miss Bland. “Now, you must
know, that Miss Tracey is passionately fond of lords, let them be what
they may. Now, Lord Craiglethorpe, this very morning, sent his groom
with a note and excuse to Lady Ormsby, for not coming to us to-day;
because, he said, he was bringing down in the chaise with him a
surveyor, to survey his estate _near here_; and he could not possibly
think of bringing the surveyor, who is a low man, to Ormsby Villa. But
Lady Ormsby would take no apology, and wrote by the groom to beg that
Lord Craiglethorpe would make no scruple of bringing the surveyor; for
you know she is so polite and accommodating, and all that. Well, the
note was scarcely gone, before Lady Geraldine thought of her charming
scheme, and regretted, _of all things_, she had not put _it_ into it.”
“_It into it!_” repeated I to myself. “Ma’am,” said I, looking a little
bewildered.
“But,” continued my clear narrator, “I promised to remedy _all that_, by
running to meet the carriage, which was what I ran for when you saw me,
my lord, in such a hurry.”
I bowed--and was as wise as ever.
“So, my lord, you comprehend, that the surveyor, whose name, whose
odious name, is Gabbitt, is to be my Lord Craiglethorpe, and my Lord
Craiglethorpe is to be passed for Mr. Gabbitt upon Miss Tracey; and, you
will see, Miss Tracey will admire Mr. Gabbitt prodigiously, and call him
vastly genteel, when she thinks him a lord. Your lordship will keep our
secret; and she is sure Lord Craiglethorpe will do any thing to oblige
her, because he is a near connexion of hers. But, I assure you, it is
not every body could get Lord Craiglethorpe to join in a joke; for he is
very stiff, and cold, and high. Of course your lordship will know which
is the real lord at first sight. He is a full head taller than Gabbitt.”
Never was explanation finally more satisfactory: and whether the jest
was really well contrived and executed, or whether I was put into a
humour to think so, I cannot exactly determine; but, I confess, I was
amused with the scenes that followed, though I felt that they were not
quite justifiable even in jest.
The admiration of Miss Tracey for _the false Craiglethorpe_, as Lady
Geraldine called Mr. Gabbitt; the awkwardness of Mr. Gabbitt with his
title, and the awkwardness of Lord Craiglethorpe without it, were fine
subjects of her ladyship’s satirical humour.
In another point of view, Lord Craiglethorpe afforded her ladyship
amusement; as an English traveller, full of English prejudices against
Ireland and every thing Irish. Whenever Miss Tracey was out of the room,
Lady Geraldine allowed Lord Craiglethorpe to be himself again; but
he did not fare the better for this restoration to his honours. Lady
Geraldine contrived to make him as ridiculous in his real as in his
assumed character. Lord Craiglethorpe was, as Miss Bland had described
him, very stiff, cold, and _high_. His manners were in the extreme of
English reserve, and his ill-bred show of contempt for the Irish was
sufficient provocation and justification of Lady Geraldine’s ridicule.
He was much in awe of his fair and witty cousin: she could easily put
him out of countenance, for he was extremely bashful.
His lordship had that sort of bashfulness which makes a man surly and
obstinate in his taciturnity; which makes him turn upon all who approach
him, as if they were going to assault him; which makes him answer a
question as if it were an injury, and repel a compliment as if it were
an insult. Once, when he was out of the room, Lady Geraldine exclaimed,
“That cousin Craiglethorpe of mine is scarcely an agreeable man: the
awkwardness of _mauvaise honte_ might be pitied and pardoned, even in
a nobleman,” continued her ladyship, “if it really proceeded from
humility; but here, when I know it is connected with secret and
inordinate arrogance, ‘tis past all endurance. Even his ways of sitting
and standing provoke me, they are so self-sufficient. Have you
observed how he stands at the fire? Oh, the caricature of ‘_the English
fire-side_’ outdone! Then, if he sits, we hope that change of posture
may afford our eyes transient relief: but worse again; bolstered up,
with his back against his chair, his hands in his pockets, and his legs
thrown out, in defiance of all passengers and all decorum, there he
sits, in magisterial silence, throwing a gloom upon all conversation. As
the Frenchman said of the Englishman, for whom even his politeness could
not find another compliment, ‘Il faut avouer que ce monsieur a un grand
talent pour le silence;’ he holds his tongue, till the people actually
believe that he has something to say; a mistake they could never fall
into if he would but speak.”
Some of the company attempted to interpose a word or two in favour of
Lord Craiglethorpe’s timidity, but the vivacious and merciless lady went
on.
“I tell you, my good friends, it is not timidity--it is all pride. I
would pardon his dulness, and even his ignorance; for one, as you say,
might be the fault of his nature, and the other of his education: but
his self-sufficiency is his own fault, and that I will not, and cannot
pardon. Somebody says, that nature may make a fool, but a coxcomb is
always of his own making. Now, my cousin--(as he is my cousin, I may say
what I please of him)--my cousin Craiglethorpe is a solemn coxcomb, who
thinks, because his vanity is not talkative and sociable, that it’s
not vanity. What a mistake! his silent superciliousness is to me more
intolerable than the most garrulous egotism that ever laid itself open
to my ridicule.”
Miss Bland and Miss Ormsby both confessed that Lord Craiglethorpe was
vastly too silent.
“For the honour of my country,” continued Lady Geraldine, “I am
determined to make this man talk, and he shall say all that I know he
thinks of us poor Irish savages. If he would but speak, one could answer
him: if he would find fault, one might defend: if he would laugh, one
might perhaps laugh again: but here he comes to hospitable, open-hearted
Ireland; eats as well as he can in his own country; drinks better than
he can in his own country; sleeps as well as he can in his own country;
accepts all our kindness without a word or a look of thanks, and seems
the whole time to think, that, ‘Born for his use, we live but to oblige
him.’ There he is at this instant: look at him, walking in the park,
with his note-book in his hand, setting down our faults, and conning
them by rote. We are even with him. I understand, Lady Kilrush, that my
bright cousin Craiglethorpe means to write a book, a great book, upon
Ireland.”
Lady Kilrush replied, that she understood Lord Craiglethorpe had it in
contemplation to publish a Tour through Ireland, or a View of Ireland,
or something of that nature.
“He! with his means of acquiring information!” exclaimed Lady Geraldine.
“Posting from one great man’s house to another, what can he see or know
of the manners of any rank of people but of the class of gentry, which
in England and Ireland is much the same? As to the lower classes, I
don’t think he ever speaks to them; or, if he does, what good can it do
him? for he can’t understand their modes of expression, nor they his:
if he inquire about a matter of fact, I defy him to get the truth out of
them, if they don’t wish to tell it; and, for some reason or other, they
will, nine times in ten, not wish to tell it to an Englishman. There is
not a man, woman, or child, in any cabin in Ireland, who would not have
wit and _‘cuteness_ enough to make _my lard_ believe just what they
please. So, after posting from Dublin to Cork, and from the Giants’
Causeway to Killarney; after travelling east, west, north, and south, my
wise cousin Craiglethorpe will know just as much of the lower Irish as
the cockney who has never been out of London, and who has never, _in
all his born days_, seen an Irishman but on the English stage; where
the representations are usually as like the originals, as the Chinese
pictures of lions, drawn from description, are to the real animal.”
“Now! now! look at his lordship!” cried Miss Bland; “he has his
note-book out again.”
“Mercy on us!” said Miss Callwell, “how he is writing!”
“Yes, yes, write on, my good cousin Craiglethorpe,” pursued Lady
Geraldine, “and nil the little note-book, which will soon turn to a
ponderous quarto. I shall have a copy, bound in morocco, no doubt,
_from the author_, if I behave myself prettily; and I will earn it,
by supplying valuable information. You shall see, my friends, how I’ll
deserve well of my country, if you’ll only keep my counsel and your own
countenances.”
Presently Lord Craiglethorpe entered the room, walking very pompously,
and putting his note-book up as he advanced.
“Oh, my dear lord, open the book again; I have a bull for you.”
Lady Geraldine, after putting his lordship in good humour by this
propitiatory offering of a bull, continued to supply him, either
directly or indirectly, by some of her confederates, with the most
absurd anecdotes, incredible _facts_, stale jests, and blunders, such as
were never made by true-born Irishmen; all which my Lord Craiglethorpe
took down with an industrious sobriety, at which the spectators could
scarcely refrain from laughing. Sometimes he would pause, and exclaim,
“A capital anecdote! a curious fact! May I give my authority? may I
quote your ladyship?”
“Yes, if you’ll pay me a compliment in the preface,” whispered Lady
Geraldine: “and now, dear cousin, do go up stairs _and put it all in
ink._”
When she had despatched the noble author, her ladyship indulged her
laughter. “But now,” cried she, “only imagine a set of sober English
readers studying my cousin Craiglethorpe’s New View of Ireland, and
swallowing all the nonsense it will contain!”
When Lord Kilrush remonstrated against the cruelty of letting the man
publish such stuff, and represented it as a fraud upon the public, Lady
Geraldine laughed still more, and exclaimed, “Surely you don’t think I
would use the public and my poor cousin so ill. No, I am doing him and
the public the greatest possible service. Just when he is going to leave
us, when the writing-box is packed, I will step up to him, and tell him
the truth. I will show him what a farrago of nonsense he has collected
as materials for his quarto; and convince him at once how utterly unfit
he is to write a book, at least a book on Irish affairs. Won’t this be
deserving well of my country and of my cousin?”
Neither on this occasion, nor on any other, were the remonstrances of my
Lord Kilrush of power to stop the course of this lady’s flow of spirits
and raillery.
Whilst she was going on in this manner with the real Lord Craiglethorpe,
Miss Tracey was taking charming walks in the park with Mr. Gabbitt, and
the young lady began to be seriously charmed with her false lord. This
was carrying the jest farther, than Lady Geraldine had intended
or foreseen; and her good-nature would probably have disposed her
immediately to dissolve the enchantment, had she not been provoked by
the interference of Lord Kilrush, and the affected sensibility of Miss
Clementina Ormsby, who, to give me an exalted opinion of her delicacy,
expostulated incessantly in favour of the deluded fair one. “But, my
dear Lady Geraldine, I do assure you, it really hurts my feelings. This
is going too far--when it comes to the heart. I can’t laugh, I own--the
poor girl’s affections will be engaged--she is really falling in love
with this odious surveyor.”
“But now, my dear Clementina, I do assure you, it really hurts my
feelings to hear you talk so childishly. ‘When it comes to the heart!’
‘affections engaged!’ You talk of falling in love as if it were a
terrible fall: for my part, I should pity a person much more for falling
down stairs. Why, my dear, where is the mighty height from which Miss
Tracey could fall? She does not live in the clouds, Clementina, as you
do. No ladies live there now; for the best of all possible reasons,
because there are no men there. So, my love, make haste and come down,
before you are out of your teens, or you may chance to be left there
till you are an angel or an old maid. Trust me, my dear, I, who have
tried, tell you, there is no such thing as falling in love, now-a-days:
you may slip, slide, or stumble; but to fall in love, I defy you.”
I saw Lady Kildangan’s eyes fix upon me as her daughter pronounced the
last sentence.
“Geraldine, my dear, you do not know what you are talking about,” said
her ladyship. “Your time may come, Geraldine. Nobody should be too
courageous. Cupid does not like to be defied.”
Lady Kildangan walked away as she spoke, with a very well-satisfied
air, leaving a party of us young people together. Lady Geraldine looked
haughtily vexed. When in this mood, her wit gave no quarter; spared
neither sex nor age.
“Every body says,” whispered she, “that mamma is the most artful woman
in the world; and I should believe it, only that every body says it:
now, if it were true, nobody would know it.”
Lady Geraldine’s air of disdain towards me was resumed. I did not quite
understand. Was it pride? was it coquetry? She certainly blushed deeply,
and for the first time that I ever saw her blush, when her mother said,
“Your time may come, Geraldine.”
My week being now at an end, I resolved to take my leave. When I
announced this resolution, I was assailed with the most pressing
entreaties to stay a few days longer--one day longer. Lady Ormsby and
Sir Harry said every thing that could be said upon the occasion: indeed,
it seemed a matter of general interest to all, except to Lady Geraldine.
She appeared wholly indifferent, and I was not even gratified by any
apparent affectation of desiring my departure. Curiosity to see whether
this would be sustained by her ladyship to the last, gave me resolution
sufficient to resist the importunities of Sir Harry; and I departed,
rejoicing that my indifference was equal to her ladyship’s. As Tasso
said of some fair one, whom he met at the carnival of Mantua, _I ran
some risk of falling in love._ I had been so far roused from my habitual
apathy that I actually made some reflections. As I returned home, I
began to perceive that there was some difference between woman and
woman, besides the distinctions of rank, fortune, and figure. I think I
owe to Lady Geraldine my first relish for wit, and my first idea that a
woman might be, if not a reasonable, at least a companionable animal. I
compared her ladyship with the mere puppets and parrots of fashion, of
whom I had been wearied; and I began to suspect that one might find,
in a lady’s “lively nonsense,” a relief from ennui. These reflections,
however, did not prevent me from sleeping the greatest part of the
morning on my way home; nor did I dream of any thing that I can
remember.
At the porter’s lodge I saw Ellinor sitting at her spinning-wheel; and
my thoughts took up my domestic affairs just where I had left them the
preceding week.