NEW HOPES BEGET A NEW STYLE OF EXISTENCE--A PARTY.--AGNES HAS SOME
SUCCESS, WHICH MRS. BARNABY DOES NOT QUITE APPROVE.--LORD MUCKLEBURY
ENTERS INTO EPISTOLARY CORRESPONDENCE WITH THE WIDOW, BY WHICH HER HOPES
ARE RAISED TO THE HIGHEST PITCH.--BUT LORD MUCKLEBURY LEAVES CHELTENHAM.
Lord Mucklebury was a gay man in every sense of the word. He loved a
jest almost as well as a dinner, and would rather have been quoted as
the sayer of a good thing than as the doer of a great one. He had
enjoyed life with fewer drawbacks from misfortune than most men; and
having reached the age of forty, had made up his mind, as soberly as he
could do on any subject, that the only privilege of the aristocracy
worth valuing was the leisure they enjoyed, or might enjoy if they chose
it, for amusing themselves. Nature intended him for a good-tempered
man, but fun had spoiled him; having laughed with everybody for the
first twenty years of his life, he learned during the second that it was
a better joke still to laugh at them; and accordingly the principal
material for the wit on which his reputation rested was derived, at the
time Mrs. Barnaby made his acquaintance, from an aptitude to perceive
the absurdities of his fellow creatures, and a most unshrinking audacity
in exposing them.
Having pointed out Mrs. Barnaby to a set of his clever friends as the
joke in which he meant to indulge during the three or four weeks of
Cheltenham discipline to which he annually submitted, it became
necessary to his honour that he should prove her to be ridiculous enough
to merit the distinction; and he knew well enough that all she required
to make her perfect in this line was as much nonsense from himself as
would keep her vanity afloat. The occupation suited him exactly; it
threatened little fatigue, and promised much amusement; so that by the
time Mrs. Barnaby had made up her mind to win and wear his lordship's
coronet, he had decided with equal sincerity of purpose to render her
the jest of the season to his Cheltenham acquaintance.
An hour's close examination of Miss Morrison concerning the _maniere
d'etre_ of the _beau monde_ during the season, sufficed to convince the
widow that, expensive as the boarding-house had appeared to her, it was
far from being all that was necessary for her present purpose. She must
have a carriage, she must have a tall footman, she must have a smart
lady's-maid; and great was the credit due to the zeal and activity of
this invaluable friend for the promptitude and dispatch with which these
indispensable articles were supplied. Some idea of this may be gathered
from the fact, that the carriage which conveyed them to the house of
Lady Elizabeth Norris, was one hired, horses, coachman, and all, for the
season; while the first applicant of six feet high who appeared, in
consequence of the earnest requisition for such an individual made at
half a dozen different shops, followed the widow in a full suit of
livery the following Sunday to church.
Agnes looked on at first with wonder, which a little reflection
converted into great misery. She knew absolutely nothing as to the
amount of her aunt's fortune; but there was a wild heedlessness of
expense in her present manner of proceeding that, despite her ignorance,
made her tremble for the result. The idea that she might by persevering
industry render herself fit to become a governess, was that which most
tended to console her; but Agnes's estimate of what was required for
this was a very high one; and greatly did she rejoice to find that her
aunt permitted her to be wholly mistress of her time, seldom inviting
her to go out, and receiving her apologies for declining to do so with a
degree of complacency which plainly enough shewed they were not
unwelcome.
Lady Elizabeth Norris's party was five days after the ball; and before
it arrived Mrs. Barnaby had persuaded herself into the firmest possible
conviction of Lord Mucklebury's devoted attachment and honourable
intentions. Had his lordship not been one of the invited guests, Mrs.
Barnaby would unquestionably have given up the engagement, though but a
few short days before it had appeared to her very like a permission to
enter the gates of paradise; but her estimate of all things was changed;
she was already a viscountess in all her reasonings, and perhaps the
only person who held an unchanged value was the poor Agnes, whose
helpless dependance could not place her in a position of less
consideration than it had done before.
"Pray, Miss Agnes, is it your pleasure to go to Lady Elizabeth Norris's
this evening?" said Mrs. Barnaby, while watching her new maid's
assiduous preparations for her own toilet.
"Oh! yes, aunt, if you have no objection.... I should like to go very
much indeed."
"Nay, child, you may go if you wish it.... I imagine it will prove but a
humdrum sort of thing.... Wear the same dress that you did at the
ball.... My maid shall arrange your hair for you."
Yet notwithstanding all this increase of dignity, Agnes never for a
moment guessed what was going on; she had never seen Lord Mucklebury
excepting at the ball, and her imagination had not suggested to her the
possibility that so casual an acquaintance could be the cause of all
she saw and heard.
Had Agnes been as light-hearted as when she used to sit upon her
travelling trunk in her closet at Clifton, listening to the lively
gossip of her friend Mary, the party at Lady Elizabeth's would have been
pregnant with amusement. But as it was, she sat very sadly alone in a
corner; for during the first portion of the evening Sir Edward
Stephenson and his lady were not present, having dined out, where they
were detained much beyond the hour at which the majority of Lady
Elizabeth's guests assembled.
But the lively old woman wanted no one to assist her in the task of
entertaining her company, for in truth she was not particularly anxious
about their entertainment, her sole object in bringing them all together
being to amuse herself, and this she achieved in a way less agreeable,
perhaps, to one who, like Agnes, was a mere passive spectator, than to
those who were expected to take a more active part. During the early
part of the evening, few persons appeared excepting such as she had
expressly desired to come early, and there was not one of these
undistinguished by some peculiarity from which the whimsical old lady
derived amusement.
It was her custom to place herself immoveably in a huge arm-chair, with
a small table before her, on which was placed her tea, coffee, ice,
biscuits, or anything else she might choose, with quite as little
ceremony as if alone. A book or two also, with a pair of wax-lights
having a green shade over them, never failed to make part of the
preparation for her evening's amusement, and to these she never scrupled
to address herself, if "her people" proved less entertaining than she
expected.
Every one as they entered approached this throne to pay their
compliments, and then seated themselves at some distance, one single
chair alone being permitted to stand near her. To this place all those
whom she wished to listen to, were called in succession, and dismissed
when she had had enough of them, with the same absence of all ordinary
civility as she was sure to display to all those who were so
ill-advised as to appear at her unceremonious bidding.
Both her nephew and niece had often remonstrated with her on the subject
of these strange _reunions_; but she defended herself from the charge of
behaving rudely to those who, in accepting her invitations, had a right
to expect civility, by saying, "I am as civil as they deserve. My title
is the '_Duc ad me_' that calls fools into my circle, and till I cease
to be Lady Elizabeth, they get what they come for."
For the most part, the company were rather odd-looking than elegant, and
the newly-awakened grandeur of Mrs. Barnaby was a little wounded by
observing how few persons there were present whose dress entitled them
to the honour of meeting her and her dress. Lady Elizabeth, moreover,
received her very coldly, though to Agnes she said, "How d'ye do, my
dear? Lady Stephenson will be here presently."
"What vulgar ignorance!" thought the widow, as she retreated to a sofa
commanding a perfect view of the door by which the company entered....
"Notwithstanding her title, that woman must have been wretchedly brought
up.... Should I in my second marriage be blessed with offspring, I shall
make it my first object to teach them manners befitting their rank."
The absurdities of Lady Elizabeth's guests on this evening were not
sufficiently piquant to justify a detailed description.... One old
gentleman was summoned to THE chair that he might recount how many
habitual drunkards, both male and female, he had converted into happy
water-drinkers by the simple process of making them take an oath;
another amused her ladyship for several minutes by what she called
"_saying his peerage_,"--that is, by repeating a catalogue of noble
names, all of which he stated to belong to his most familiar friends.
One lady was had up for the purpose of repeating her own poetry; and
another that she might, by a little prompting, give vent to some
favourite metaphysical doctrine, which it was her _forte_ to envelop in
words of her own construction. Miss Morrison, too, was courted into
talking of Paris in her own French; but altogether the meeting was not
successful, and Lady Elizabeth was in the act of arranging the shade of
her lights, so as to permit her reading at her ease, when her eye, as
she looked round the room, chanced to fall upon Agnes. She was on the
point of calling to her by name; but there was a modest tranquillity in
her delicate face, that the imperious old lady felt no inclination to
startle, and instead of speaking to her, she addressed her aunt.
"Pray, Mrs. Barnaby, does your young lady play or sing? We are mighty
drowsy, I think, to-night, all of us; and if she does, I should be
really much obliged if she will favour us. Lady Stephenson's instrument
is a very fine one."
Mrs. Barnaby was so little pleased by her reception, and so completely
out of sorts at the non-arrival of Lord Mucklebury, that she answered as
little graciously as it was well possible, "I don't think there is any
chance of her amusing your ladyship."
Great was the widow's surprise when she saw the quiet unpresuming Agnes
rise from her distant chair, walk fearlessly across the circle to that
of Lady Elizabeth, and heard her say in a low voice, but quite
distinctly,--
"I do sing and play a little, Lady Elizabeth; and if it be your
ladyship's wish that I should make the attempt now, I shall be happy to
obey you."
Perhaps Lady Elizabeth was as much surprised as Mrs. Barnaby; but though
she understood not the feeling that had prompted this wish to oblige
her, she was pleased by it, and rising for the first time that evening
from her chair, she took Agnes by the arm, and led her to the
pianoforte.
"Does your ladyship love music?" said Agnes, trembling at her own
temerity, but longing irresistibly to be noticed by the aunt of Colonel
Hubert.
"Yes, my dear, I do indeed," replied the old lady. "It is one of our
family failings,--I believe we all love it too well."
"Which does your ladyship prefer, old songs or new ones?" said Agnes.
"Old ones most decidedly," she replied. "But at your age, my dear, and
in the present state of musical science, it is hardly likely you should
be able to indulge my old-fashioned whim in this respect."
"My practice has been chiefly from the old masters," replied Agnes,
turning over the leaves of a volume of Handel.
"Say you so, my little girl?... Then I will sit by you as you play."
The delighted Agnes, wondering at her own audacious courage, assiduously
placed a chair for the old lady, and with a flutter at her heart that
seemed almost like happiness, turned to the song that she had seen
produce on Colonel Hubert an effect never to be forgotten. It had
brought tears to the eyes of the gallant soldier, and given to his
features such dangerous softness, that the poor minstrel had never
recovered the effects of it. To sing it again to the ear of his aunt was
like coming back towards him; and the alleviation this brought to the
terrible fear of having lost sight of him for ever, not only gave her
the courage necessary to bring her to the place she now occupied, but
inspired her with animation, skill, and power, to sing with a perfection
she had never reached before.
The pleased attention of Lady Elizabeth had been given in the first
instance to reward the ready effort made to comply with her wishes; but
long before the song was ended, she had forgotten how she had obtained
it, had forgotten everything save her own deep delight, and admiration
of the beautiful siren who had caused it. Silent and motionless she
waited till the last chord of the concluding symphony had died away; and
then rising from her chair she bent down over Agnes, and having gazed
earnestly in her face for a moment, kissed her fair forehead once,
twice, and again with a cordiality that thanked her better than any
words could have done.
Agnes was greatly touched, greatly gratified, and forgetting the
inexpediency of giving way to feelings that it was neither possible nor
desirable should be understood, she seized the good lady's hand, pressed
it to her bosom, and looking up to her with eyes swimming in tears of
joy, said in a voice of deep feeling, ... "I am so very glad you like
me!"
"Why, what a precious little creature you are!" exclaimed Lady
Elizabeth, half aroused and half softened; "as original to the full as
any of my queer company here, and quite as remarkable for sweetness and
talent as they for the want of it.... Where did you grow, fair
lily-flower?... And how came you to be transplanted hither by so.... But
never mind all this now; if we get on well together we shall get better
acquainted. What shall I call you, pretty one?"
"Agnes, if you please, Lady Elizabeth ... Agnes Willoughby," replied the
happy girl, becoming every moment more delighted at the result of the
bold measure she had taken.
"You must come to me to-morrow morning, Agnes, while I am at breakfast,
at ten o'clock remember, for then I am alone.... And you must come
prepared, my child, to talk to me about yourself, ... for I can't
understand it at all ... and I never choose to be puzzled longer than I
can help it upon any subject.... But listen to my monsters! If they are
not presuming to be noisy behind my back!...
Then lull me, lull me, charming air,
My senses wrap in wonder sweet.
Like snow on wool thy footsteps are,
Soft as a spirit's are thy feet,"--
exclaimed the old lady in a whisper close to the ear of Agnes...." Sing
to me again, my child, and I will send a message to them in words
borrowed from the famous epitaph on Juan Cabeca, ... 'Hold your tongues,
ye calves!'"... and turning herself round she beckoned to a servant who
had just entered with refreshments, saying to him in a voice which might
have been heard by most of those in the apartment, "Set down the tray,
Johnstone; nobody wants it; ... and go round the room begging they will
all be silent while this lady sings."
It was in the middle of the song which followed that Sir Edward and Lady
Stephenson returned. The door opened without Agnes being aware of it;
and her rich voice swelling to a note at the top of its compass, and
sustaining it with a power given to few, filled the chamber with a
glorious volume of sound that held Colonel Hubert's sister transfixed as
she was about to enter. Unconscious that there was another of the race
near her, whom she would have almost breathed her soul away to please,
Agnes warbled on, nor raised her eyes from the page before her till the
strain was ended. Then she looked up and perceived Lady Stephenson, who
had noiselessly crept round to ascertain whom the gifted minstrel might
be, immediately opposite, and looking at her with a most gratifying
expression of surprise and pleasure. A very cordial greeting and shaking
of hands followed; while Lady Elizabeth, her hand resting on her new
favourite's shoulder, said almost in a whisper,--
"Who would have thought, Emily, that I should come at last to take
lessons from you as to the selection of my natural curiosities?... But
you have made a hit that does you immortal honour ... this little
singing bird is worth all the monsters I ever got together.... Your
ladyship need not look so grave, however," she added in a voice still
lower. "I do not intend to treat her as if she were stolen from the
Zoological Gardens.... She is to come to me to-morrow morning, and then
we shall know all about her.... I wish your fastidious brother were
here!... Do you remember what he said the other day about some miss he
had heard at Clifton? I fancy we might have a chance of correcting his
outrageous judgment concerning her.... What think you?"
Lady Stephenson answered by expressing the most cordial admiration of
Agnes's voice, but added.... "There are many people coming in now, dear
aunt.... If Miss Willoughby will have the kindness to come to us
to-morrow, we shall enjoy hearing her much more than we can now, ... and
I think she would like it better too."
Agnes gave her a very grateful look, and whispering an earnest "Thank
you!" as she passed, glided back to the place she had left beside her
aunt.
"Upon my word, Miss Agnes, your are improving fast in impudence," said
Mrs. Barnaby in her ear.... "I desire, if you please, that next time you
will wait till I bid you sing."
Agnes did not reply. Nothing that it was in the power of her aunt to say
could in that happy moment have caused her the slightest serious
uneasiness. She was blessed beyond the reach of scolding, which was the
more fortunate, as the widow had seldom been in a more irritable mood.
Quarter after quarter had heavily struck upon her ear from the
time-piece on the marble slab behind her; eleven o'clock (the hour at
which her carriage was ordered) approached with fearful strides, and
yet Lord Mucklebury came not.... Had her toilet upon this occasion been
less fearfully expensive she could have endured it better; but that all
the charms a milliner could give should have been freely ventured on,
and HE not see it, was hard to bear.
It is true that, with the dogged firmness of a resolute purpose, Mrs.
Barnaby scorned to shrink or tremble as she played her desperate game;
nevertheless she knew that selling out stock three times within a
fortnight _was_ a strong measure; and anything that seemed to check her
approach to the goal she felt so sure of reaching, did produce a
disagreeable sort of spasm about her heart. There was no help for it,
however; go she must, as nearly all the rest of the company had gone
before her, with nothing to console her but an indifferently civil nod
from Lady Elizabeth, and the surprise, less agreeable perhaps than
startling, of seeing her dependant niece parted with in a manner that
shewed she was considered of infinitely greater importance than herself,
notwithstanding her carriage, her tall footman, and her magnificent
attire.
Miss Morrison was accommodated with a seat in the carriage she had so
actively exerted herself to procure, and the first words spoken after
they drove off were hers.
"_Nest paw que jay raisong?..._ Did I not say so, Mrs. Barnaby?... Did I
not tell you, my dear madam, that you need do nothing but make this
young lady sing in order to become the fashion at Cheltenham?... You
have no idea what a number of visits you will have to-morrow.... _Noo
verong._"
"Really, Miss Morrison," replied the widow tartly, "I am surprised to
hear a person of your good sense speak so foolishly.... How can you
suppose that a person in my station of life could desire the visits of
such a set of people as we met to-night?... And as to making this poor
penniless girl talked of as a singer, I should be ashamed to think of
such a thing. Remember, miss, if you please, that from this time forward
I never will permit you to sing again, ... unless, indeed, you mean to
get your bread by it, ... and I'm sure I won't undertake to say but what
you may want it.... I can answer for nobody but myself; and I don't
think it probable that others may be inclined to shew the same devoted
generosity that I have done to a girl that never shewed the slightest
affection for me in return."
And so she ran on till she fell asleep ... but her words fell like rain
on a water-proof umbrella; they made a noise, but they could not reach
the head which they seemed destined to deluge. Agnes was wrapped in
armour of proof, and nothing could do her harm.
Happily for her, one of the facetious Lord Mucklebury's modes of
extracting amusement from the widow was by writing her notes, which
elicited answers that often threw him into a perfect ecstasy, and which
he carefully preserved in an envelope endorsed "Barnaby Papers," lodging
them in a corner of his writing-desk, from whence they were not
unfrequently drawn for the delectation of his particular friends. One of
these notes, intended to produce an answer that should add a gem to his
collection, was delivered to Mrs. Barnaby as she passed from the
breakfast-table of the boarding-house to her own sitting-room. The
emotions produced by these notes were always very powerful, and on the
present occasion more so than ordinary, for there were apologies for not
appearing last night, and hopes for an interview that morning, which
were to be answered instantly, for the servant waited.
Mrs. Barnaby, panting with haste and gladness, seated herself at her
table, opened her writing-desk, seized a pen, and was in the very act of
venturing the words "My dear Lord," when Agnes drew near, and said, "May
I go out, aunt, to call on Lady Elizabeth?"
"Gracious Heaven!... what a moment to torment me! Go!... go where you
will ... plague of my life as you are! Get along at once, can't you?"
Agnes vanished,--a Barnaby paper was written; and while the niece was
enjoying three hours of the most flattering and delightful intercourse
with the nearest relations of Colonel Hubert, the aunt, with a degree of
felicity hardly less perfect, was receiving a _tete-a-tete_ visit from
Lord Mucklebury, in which he as carefully studied her looks, attitudes,
and words, as if their effect on him were all she believed them to be.
Nor did either interview pass without producing some important results.
His lordship carried away with him wherewithal to keep half-a-dozen of
his friends who dined with him on that day in a continued roar for
nearly an hour.... Mrs. Barnaby was left with a sweet assurance that all
was going well, which led to the purchase of a richly-laced mantelet and
a new bonnet ... while Agnes, inspired by so strong a wish to please as
to make her follow the lead of her new friends, and converse with them
of all her little history just as they wished to make her, created in
them both an interest too strong to be ever forgotten, and she left them
with a confidence in their kindness that made her endure much subsequent
suffering with firmness; for it was long ere she wholly lost the hope
that they might meet again in future years.
During the next fortnight this agreeable intercourse was very frequently
repeated; for there were few hours of the day in which Mrs. Barnaby was
not in some way or other so occupied by the sentiment that engrossed
her, either by the presence of its object, or the anticipation of his
presence, or meditation upon it when it was passed, that she was well
pleased to have Agnes out of the way; and Lady Elizabeth and her
charming niece were, on the contrary, so well pleased to have her, that
scarcely a day passed without some hours of it being devoted to them.
Lady Stephenson in particular seemed to study her character with
peculiar attention. There was a fond devotion in the gratitude which
their kindness had produced that could not be mistaken, and which, from
one so artless and so every way interesting, could not fail of producing
affection in return. From such a friend it was impossible for Agnes to
conceal, even if she had wished it, that her home was a very wretched
one; and they often conversed together on the possibility of her
releasing herself from it by endeavouring to obtain some sort of
independence by her own exertions. Lady Elizabeth was repeatedly a party
in these consultations, but uniformly gave it as her opinion that any
home was better for such a girl as Agnes, than an attempt to support
herself, which must inevitably expose her to a degree of observation
more dangerous than any annoyance from her aunt Barnaby. Agnes by no
means clearly understood the grounds upon which this sturdy opposition
to her wishes was founded; and as Lady Stephenson, who seemed more able
to sympathise with her actual sufferings, listened without venturing to
answer these mysterious threatenings of something remote, she at length
took courage herself and said, ...
"Will you tell me, dear Lady Elizabeth, what it is you think would
happen to me if I went into a family as a governess?"
"You are a little fool, Agnes," replied the old lady, unable to repress
a smile; "but as I do really believe that your ignorance is genuine, I
will tell you.... Don't be frightened, my poor child; but the fact is,
that you are a great deal too handsome for any such situation."
Agnes blushed instantly a most celestial rosy red, and felt shocked and
ashamed at having drawn forth such an answer; but, though she said
nothing in reply, she at once decided that Lady Elizabeth Norris should
never have reason to believe that she was capable of neglecting her
friendly caution. All hopes from her power of teaching ended for ever,
and the next time her aunt Barnaby was particularly cross (which
happened that night while they were undressing to go to bed) Agnes very
seriously began to revolve in her altered mind the possibility of
learning so late in life the profitable mystery of satin-stitch.
Once, and once only, during the many hours Agnes passed with his
relations, did she venture to pronounce the name of Colonel Hubert. She
had often determined to do it, but had never found courage and
opportunity till one morning, after an hour or two passed in singing
duets with his sister, Lady Elizabeth again alluded to the _Clifton
miss_ that her nephew had so vaunted, and whose voice must, she was
sure, be so immeasurably inferior to that of Miss Willoughby.
It was under cover of this observation that Agnes ventured to say, ...
"I knew Colonel Hubert a little when I was at Clifton."
"Did you?"... said the old lady briskly; "then I'll bet my life he heard
you sing."
"Once or twice he did."
"Oh! hah!... that explains it all.... You need not blush so about it,
my dear; why did you not tell me so at once?"
"I do not think it is quite certain," returned Agnes, attempting to
smile, "that Colonel Hubert spoke of me."
"Don't you, my dear ... but I do, and I know him best, I suppose.... And
what was it you sang to him, Agnes?"
Agnes mentioned the songs; but her voice trembled so, that she
grievously repented having brought on herself questions that she found
it so difficult to answer.
Her embarrassment was not greatly relieved by perceiving,--when at
length she looked up to save herself from the awkwardness of
pertinaciously looking down,--that the eyes of Lady Stephenson were
earnestly fixed upon her.
"Did you ever see Frederick Stephenson with my brother?" said her
ladyship; "they were at Clifton together this summer.... Perhaps you
don't know that I was married there, Agnes?... and Sir Edward and I left
our two brothers there together."
This change of subject was a considerable relief; and Agnes answered
with tolerable composure,--"Oh yes!... I did know you were married
there, for I heard it mentioned several times; ... and I saw you too,
Lady Stephenson, the evening before you were married, walking up and
down Gloucester Row with ... with your brother."
"Did you indeed?--Were you walking there, Agnes?"
"No ... we were at the drawing-room window, and my aunt made me look out
to see your brother."
"Why particularly to see my brother?" inquired Lady Stephenson with a
smile.
"Because ... because he was so tall, I believe," replied Agnes, looking
considerably more silly than she had ever done in her life.
"And so you watched us walking up and down, did you, Agnes?"
"Yes, once or twice," answered Agnes, again blushing violently.
"And did you hear what we said, my dear?"
"No!... but I am sure it was something very interesting, you seemed to
be talking so earnestly."
"It was very interesting ... it was about Frederick.... You knew him
too, did not you?"
"Oh yes!... very well."
"Really!... I wonder you never told me so before."
It was impossible to look at Agnes at this moment, as Lady Stephenson
now looked at her, without perceiving that there must be some cause for
the agitation she evinced. It immediately occurred to her that it was
likely enough Frederick might have laid his heart at her feet, or
perhaps stopped short before he did so from the effect of that very
conversation of which Agnes had been an eye, though not an ear, witness.
"Poor little thing!"... thought Lady Stephenson; "if this be so, and if
she has given her young heart in return, how greatly is she to be
pitied!"
No sooner had this idea struck her, which many trifling circumstances
tended to confirm, than Lady Stephenson determined to drop the subject
for ever; and much as Agnes secretly but tremblingly wished it, no
allusion was ever made to the two gentlemen again.
* * * * *
Days and weeks rolled on till the time fixed by Lord Mucklebury for his
departure arrived. His collection of the Barnaby papers was quite as
copious as he wished it to be; and having indulged himself and his
friends with as many good stories as any one lady could be the heroine
of, without being fatiguing, he parted with the widow on Saturday
evening, assuring her, with a thousand expressions of passionate
admiration, that he should be early on the walks to look for her on the
morrow, and by noon on Sunday was on his road to London behind four
gallopping post-horses.
During the whole of that fatal Sunday Mrs. Barnaby roamed through all
the public walks of Cheltenham with the disconsolate air of a pigeon
whose mate has been shot.... She was sad, cross, tender, and angry by
turns; but never for a moment during that long dismal day did she ever
once conceive the terrible idea that her intended mate was flown for
ever. Nay, even on the morrow, when in answer to an inquiry at the
reading-room, of whether Lord Mucklebury had been there that morning,
the man replied,--"I believe his lordship has left the town,
ma'am!"--not even then did her mind receive the terrible truth.
It was from the hand of her friend Miss Morrison that the blow came at
last.... That lady on Wednesday evening entered her room, bringing a
London newspaper with her; she was much irritated.
"_Mong Dew_, Mrs. Barnaby!" she cried, "look here."
The widow seized the paper with a trembling hand, and before she fainted
read as follows:--
"Lord Viscount Mucklebury arrived this morning at Mivart's Hotel from
Cheltenham. It is rumoured that his lordship is about to depart in a few
days for the Continent, in order to pass the winter at Rome, but rather
with the intention of kissing the hands of the beautiful Lady M----
S---- than the toe of his holiness."
END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.