VIOLET OSBORNE.
VOL. I.
VIOLET OSBORNE.
BY
THE LADY EMILY PONSONBY,
AUTHOR OF
“THE DISCIPLINE OF LIFE,”
“MARY LYNDSAY,”
&c., &c.
“... All worldly joys go less
To the one joy of doing kindnesses.”
GEORGE HERBERT.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS,
SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN,
13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
1865.
_The right of Translation is reserved._
LONDON:
PRINTED BY MACDONALD AND TUGWELL, BLENHEIM HOUSE,
BLENHEIM STREET, OXFORD STREET.
VIOLET OSBORNE.
CHAPTER I.
“Even at that age she ruled, a sovereign queen
Over her comrades.”
_The Excursion._
“Which of all those charming girls is your daughter, Mrs. Osborne?”
inquired a gentleman of a lady, in whose house a small party was
assembled. “But no, do not tell me; I like to make people out for
myself.”
“Thank you,” replied Mrs. Osborne, who was a little deaf, and of all
this speech, having only heard the word charming, applied it to her
party.
The gentleman smiled, and, aware of her infirmity, raised his voice.
“I am trying to make out Miss Osborne. It amuses me to guess people’s
situations from their actions, and their characters from their looks.
It is Miss Osborne’s birthday to-day, is it not?”
“Yes. Violet begins her life to-day. God grant it may be a happy one!”
There was something touching in the warmth of this speech, contrasting
as it did with the calm and inanimate repose deafness had given to Mrs.
Osborne’s manner.
“We will at any rate anticipate it for her,” replied her companion
kindly; “she is good, I am sure, and, unless for some special purpose
it is otherwise ordained, happiness comes to the good.”
“She is good, certainly,” said Mrs. Osborne, with the same eagerness
of speech; “she lives only to make others happy.”
“I have found Miss Osborne!” cried the gentleman, a few moments
afterwards. “Is she not the young lady with red roses in her hair?”
“Yes, that is Violet. How did you make her out?”
“Because of what you told me. I saw somebody--I had remarked her
for some time--thinking first of others and last of number one. I
congratulate you on your daughter, Mrs. Osborne; she is charming.
Beautiful, and still more good than beautiful.”
“You are very kind to say so,” said Mrs. Osborne, much gratified.
At this moment, Violet rushed up to her mother.
“We are not going to dance, mamma. I find the Lovels think their mother
might not like them to dance so soon after their grandmother’s death,
and it would be a pity for them to have to sit down.”
“But you will be disappointed, dear.”
“Oh no, mamma; it does not matter. I was thinking of what we could do.
Albert wishes to act charades. I suppose, mamma, you have no objection?”
It was evidently Violet who made arrangements, for she hardly waited
for a reply before she kissed her mother’s brow, and was hurrying away,
when Mrs. Osborne detained her, to introduce her to Mr. Woodrowffe.
“An old friend of mine, Violet, though he has not been in England of
late.”
Violet did not bow, but frankly gave him her hand.
“A charming girl indeed!” exclaimed Mr. Woodrowffe as she left them;
for he was of that age when a little show of gratification in making
his acquaintance--from the young and beautiful at least--pleases a man.
“I am glad you will see her act,” said Mrs. Osborne, who, by this
appreciation of her daughter, was won to be confidential. “Violet acts
very well.”
“So I should guess. There is life, intelligence, and confidence in her
face. She does not look as if she _could_ be afraid; and she is right.
Why should she? Who is that tall youth beside her? Is that Albert?”
“Yes, he is my nephew. He is an orphan, poor boy, and his only sister,
who is married, is lately gone to India. We have him constantly with
us. He comes, indeed, whenever he pleases.”
“He has a pleasant countenance, but not a great deal in it; not like
Miss Violet. She has a whole history in those dark blue eyes and that
brilliant smile. Your daughter’s beauty would drive an Italian painter
mad, Mrs. Osborne. What a skin, and what perfect auburn hair! The very
tint the old painters liked, only with a touch more of gold than red.”
Of this rhapsody upon her daughter Mrs. Osborne heard little, but she
saw by the direction of his eyes that he was commenting on Violet. She
therefore smiled and thanked him.
“I am afraid,” she added, “that I have been rather unjustifiably
praising my own child, but the truth is she is our only one, and we
have very few thoughts that are not connected with her.”
“No praise so valuable as a mother’s!” said her companion, kindly; “for
who can know a child as well?”
“True,” said Mrs. Osborne, with a slight smile, “but I believe a wise
mother should leave her child’s virtues to be discovered. See, they
have arranged a charade! I hope Violet will act,” she added, forgetting
her late sage observation. “We think she acts so well.”
Violet did not act in any of the scenes of the charade. It was well
done, but, to Mrs. Osborne and her friend, it was tedious, because the
individual they wished to see did not appear.
“Did you like it, mamma?” Violet inquired, rushing up to her mother
when it was concluded.
“Yes, dear, it was very nice; but we wished, that is, I hoped you would
act. You must next time.”
“I don’t know, mamma. There are a great many good actors here to-night,
and I am at home, you know. Perhaps, by-and-by, but don’t expect it.”
And again kissing her mother’s brow, an action which seemed so
habitual as to be unconsciously done, she hastened back to her
companions.
Two more charades were performed, and in the last Violet did appear;
but it was in the character of a decrepid old woman, and though the
acting was certainly excellent, the disguise was too complete to
satisfy her mother or Mr. Woodrowffe.
When the party, with the exception of this old friend and Albert,
had dispersed, Mrs. Osborne complained, with some warmth, of her
disappointment.
“But, mamma, it could not be helped,” said her daughter. “I was at
home. You would not have had me take the best parts?”
“Your mamma would have you please yourself, sometimes, darling, instead
of always pleasing others!” was her father’s fond observation.
“As to that, papa, I please myself best in my own way. How well
Margaret Lovel looked as Queen, didn’t she?”
“Yes,” said Albert. “And,” he added, with a boyish wink, “I know
somebody who thought she did.”
“Who?” cried Violet, eagerly, expecting some revelation of interest.
“Miss Margaret Lovel,” was his reply, very dryly given. “If young
ladies could but know how I see them through and through, they would
either leave off deceiving, or practise a little harder to learn how to
deceive.”
“Margaret Lovel does not deceive in the least,” said Violet, quickly,
“and you are unjust to say so, Albert. If she thinks she is handsome,
how can she help it? She can see as well as others.”
“Oh! very well, then, I suppose I am all wrong. _I_ thought the
modest thing was for young ladies not to know they were handsome. _I_
thought they were to hang their heads like a humble violet; but that’s
evidently all trash. Come now, Violet, what do _you_ think of yourself?
Are you handsome or not? Come, speak, I will have an answer.”
“It is a very unfair question, Albert,” she said, angrily; “and before
a stranger, too; but I don’t mean to tell any stories about it. I don’t
think I am wonderfully handsome, but I know I am not ugly.”
“Well, to be sure, the vanity of girls!”
“And their truth,” observed Mr. Woodrowffe. “Miss Osborne, I
congratulate you on being courageous enough to tell the truth, without
regard to consequences.”
“You are very kind to take it in that way,” said Violet, blushing;
“of course I knew to what I exposed myself; but I think a story is a
story, and I never mean to tell one for anything or anybody.”
“A wise resolve, Miss Osborne, and a brave one. But I fear I am keeping
you all up. Good night.”
He made some kind speeches to Mrs. Osborne, and took his departure.
“I will walk with you,” cried Albert, following him; “I’ve a good way
to go, and I like company.”
“What a fascinating girl your cousin is,” observed Mr. Woodrowffe, with
energy, as they walked along.
“Yes,” he replied, carelessly; “she’s a very good girl, but she’s
terribly spoiled. That father and mother of hers let her govern the
house exactly as she pleases.”
“Perhaps because she is the fittest person to govern it. If you
observe, government usually falls into the hands of the most fit.”
“Does it? I am not at all sure of that. Certainly neither my uncle nor
aunt will ever die of over-exertion of the intellectual powers; but for
all that I think it a great pity that Violet should be ruined.”
“She will not be ruined. You may make your mind quite easy on that
point. Good natures are never ruined by freedom, and no one can look in
her face and fail to see that she is good.”
“Oh! yes, she’s a good girl, but she’s terribly wilful. But where do
you live? This is my way. I’m going to Lincoln’s Inn.”
“I will go a little farther with you. Are you a barrister?”
“Not yet. I am only studying for the bar at present. I live down there
to be in the way, not being fond of early rising.”
“Your studies are dry enough, are they not? How do you like them?”
“Not very much; but _they_ wish me to be a lawyer, and it’s all one to
me.”
“Who are _they_?”
“My uncle. Because he’s a rich banker, he thinks I shall get on at the
bar, though what connection the things have together has always passed
my comprehension. However, as I said before, it’s all one to me. I make
myself agreeable to anything.”
“But it will not be all one if you don’t get on. There’s a future to be
considered.”
“To tell you the truth, I don’t intend to be a slave all my life. In a
few years I shall marry, and have done with it.”
“An heiress, of course?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Your cousin, Miss Osborne?”
“Oh! dear no, no one in particular. You don’t suppose Violet would ever
marry me? She’s one of the fastidious ones. Does not mean to marry
unless she finds every perfection under the sun. I shall find her a
husband one of these days, but not for three or four years. I think
it’s a bad plan for girls to marry too early; besides, it’s much better
fun to have her at home.”
“True. I suppose Miss Osborne is so far fortunate that she need not
consider fortune a necessary perfection.”
“So far from it, that one of her great perfections is poverty; but then
you know Violet has plenty of money, and I must say she likes to have
the upper hand.”
“Most women do, they say in the old ballad.”
“Then if most like it in a degree, Violet likes it four times over that
degree. I suppose you have a right to know all the family affairs?” he
asked, suddenly.
“Well,” said his companion, smiling, “I don’t know that I have any
right, and perhaps I ought to beg your pardon for my inquisitiveness.
It is a quality that is always excited when I take a fancy to a person,
as I did to your cousin to-night. However, you may be quite easy. All
your secrets shall go back with me to India, and there be buried.”
“Thank you; not that I have said anything I would not say to their
faces; but it’s not pleasant to have remarks on one’s relations
repeated back again.”
“I quite agree with you. And now good night, and my best wishes
regarding the heiress you mentioned.”
“That will not be for some years to come; but I am very much obliged to
you all the same. Good night.” And they went on their separate ways.
“A good-natured old soul, with a yellow face!” was Albert’s soliloquy
as he sauntered along. “In love with Violet, evidently--all old men
are!”
“A well-meaning boy, with an empty head,” was Mr. Woodrowffe’s. “He’ll
never do at the bar.”