Lady Arden, leaning on her son Alfred, her eldest daughter on the other
side, her two younger following, had just entered the ballroom at
Almacks.
The sisters, we have already said, were beautiful. They were all above
the middle height, and finely formed; remarkably fair, with brilliant
complexions, and very beautiful light brown hair.
Jane, the eldest, had her mother's amiable, mild, regular features, and
soft, modest, hazel eyes.
Louisa, the second, much resembled her sister in the form of her
features, except that her mouth was a very little larger, the lips
fuller, and of a more vivid red, and the smile more conscious. Her eyes
were of a grey colour, clear and sparkling; but in their expression
there was too much of triumph, while her very blush had something in it
of the same character; you felt, you knew not why, that it did not arise
altogether from timidity.
Her beauty, however, was perfectly exquisite; there was a rich
luxuriance, a beaming lustre about her whole appearance, which seemed to
gain by contrast with others, whom, while viewed separately, you had
thought as handsome. It was like the undefinable distinction between
the brilliant and its best imitations, most clearly seen when subjected
to the ordeal of comparison.
Madeline, the youngest, had a rounder face than her sisters, the
features not quite so fine, yet lovely in their own perfectly innocent
joyousness; while beautifying dimples accompanied her smiles, and fairy
cupids danced in her laughing eyes.
The sisters always dressed alike: on the present occasion, they all wore
white lace over white satin; the lighter or outer drapery looped up on
one side with a bunch of white roses, mixed with lilies of the valley:
and a few of the same flowers in the hair on the contrary side. A set of
diamonds each, unusually costly for girls, but which, by a whim of their
maternal grandfather, they happened to possess, were their only
ornaments.
Lady Arden had never, since her widowhood, returned to colours; her
invariable costume was black velvet; her diamonds, however, yielded in
magnificence to those of royalty only. So that, what with the faces
being quite new, and the appearance of the group altogether, not
forgetting the handsome Alfred, was such as to excite considerable
attention, even amid an assembly like the present, where youth, beauty,
fashion, and splendour, habitually congregate.
Willoughby was too important a personage to form one of the family
picture. He was in the room, however, having just arrived in attendance
on a party with whom he had dined.
A young lady of remarkable beauty was leaning on his arm. He addressed
her from time to time with great animation; while she appeared to listen
with the most languid indifference. Young Lord Nelthorpe, one of their
nearest neighbours at Arden, now approached our party. Jane had noticed
him for some time, and, on first doing so, had coloured deeply. They had
not met before since their arrival in town. He came up to our party, was
very polite, and even friendly, but not quite as cordial as might have
been expected. He conversed with Lady Arden for a little time. Music
commenced, he made a slight bow, and moving quickly towards a lady at a
little distance, led her to the quadrille. Jane had been so perfectly
certain that he intended to dance with her, that when the music began,
she had instinctively drawn her arm half way from within her mother's.
Her disappointment was bitter, and arose from a feeling much deeper than
the mere loss of a partner for the dance could have excited.
From her earliest childhood she had been in the habit of hearing her own
family speak of Lord Nelthorpe as a very suitable match. As children
together, they had been quite little lovers. Public schools and colleges
had broken off this familiarity of intercourse. He had, however, since
arriving at the age of manhood, often paid her a good deal of attention
in the country, where he had nothing else to do; and in some of the
summer evening walks of the young people, a declaration had more than
once seemed to tremble on his lips; still nothing decided had passed;
and poor Jane's heart had been given away, some couple of years before
she had begun to doubt the sincerity of his attachment, or the certainty
of their future union. And why was Jane mistaken? Because, society being
artificially constituted, the language of nature cannot explain the
motives which govern its members; nor our own feelings, till we too
become sophisticated, teach us to calculate upon those of others.
The attention of Alfred was just at this moment attracted by the
appearance of the younger of two ladies, who were standing at a little
distance. They were evidently, from their striking resemblance, mother
and daughter. The stature of both was rather above the middle height;
that of the elder, from its queen-like carriage, and its being a little
disposed to embonpoint, had a strikingly imposing and majestic effect;
while that of the younger, though perfectly formed and beautifully
rounded, was so delicate in its proportions, and so timid in its air, as
to require comparison to convince the eye that the actual elevation was
the same. The features of both were so regular, that it would be
impossible for the scrutiny of the nicest artist, to discover a defect;
but those of the elder were of a lustrous, conspicuous white, as though
chiseled in Parian marble; those of the younger of a stainless
transparency, as if modelled in the purest wax; the lips only of both
were of a lively red; those of the elder, perhaps, a little too thin,
but boasting the glossy scarlet of the coral; while those of the
younger, full and bewitching in their expression, were of the tender
tint of the rose's ambrosial centre. The hair, eye-brows, and eye-lashes
of both were absolute jet; but while the firm braiding of the elder
lady's tresses betrayed the usual defect of black hair--strength of
texture--the raven ringlets of the younger rivalled the flaxen locks of
childhood in their silken softness. The line of her eye-brow, too, was
the most delicately penciled, and her eye-lashes the longest, or they
seemed so, her eyes being cast down; while those of the elder lady were
raised and fully visible. They were dark, large, and brilliant; but the
supercilious vanity with which they moved slowly round, courting the
universal admiration they drew towards them, without once shrinking from
its glare, made it impossible for their lustre, splendid as it was, to
reach any heart.
Alfred observed an elderly gentleman with whom he was acquainted join
the two ladies, and converse for a time with the air of an old intimate
of the elder. As soon as he quitted them Alfred joined him; and with as
much circumlocution, preparation, and management, as though he had in
view nothing less than the place of prime minister, demanded if he
could venture to introduce him to his fair friends, as a candidate for
the hand of the younger lady for the next quadrille. Nothing could be
easier: Lord Darlingford was intimate with the parties; accordingly, he
presented our hero to Lady Palliser and her daughter, Lady Caroline
Montague.
The eyes of the latter were, at the moment of introduction, of necessity
lifted to Alfred's face. In colour, size, and liquid lustre they
resembled her mother's; but oh, how unlike were they in their mild,
beseeching expression; and in the tremulous movement of the lids; which,
as if weighed down by their sable veil of silken lashes, hastened again
to overshadow them. The transparent cheek too, at the same instant that
the eyes were raised, had been visited by a deep blush; gifting, though
but for a fleeting instant, this beautiful, this almost too unearthly
being with the warm glow of life.
The effect on Alfred of the momentary vision was decisive of his fate.
During the dance, to which this introduction led, the snatches of most
exquisite pleasure experienced by our hero were when, by directly
addressing his partner, he could again induce her to look up. On each
such occasion, the beseeching expression already described, excited,
despite the cooler suggestions of reason, a feeling as though the gentle
appeal were addressed to him in particular. What was there so entreated
that he would not have undertaken? The most difficult feats of ancient
chivalry, nay, the impossibilities of necromancy itself, would have
seemed tasks of easy performance in such a cause! His beautiful partner
said very little; yet, from her general demeanour, and the fluttering
frequency with which her changing colour came and went, it might be
inferred that her reserve was neither that of haughtiness, nor of cold
calculation, but rather an excess of almost painful timidity. This
reserve, however, did not affect her performance of the quadrille, which
was perfect; it was the harmony of motion realized. The absolute
accordance was such that it seemed to be the influence of the musical
sounds on the undulating air, which wafted the light form, "like the
thistle-down floating on the breeze," through each evolution of the
dance. Or when called upon to quit her original position in the
quadrille for a few seconds and again return to it, such was the quiet
grace with which she executed the task, that it seemed as though the
delicate vision, fading away like Scott's White Lady of the Mist, had
but ceased for a moment to be visible, and, in a moment more, again
became palpable to sight.
From time to time she looked at Lady Palliser; not, however, as though
it were there she sought a refuge; for, on the contrary, there was an
indescribable something in the manner of the glance, which conveyed the
idea that her ladyship was the principal object of her daughter's fears.
Yet again, the moment the quadrille was concluded, Lady Caroline
expressed a wish to rejoin her mother. Lady Palliser received our hero
with a coldness that very soon made him feel obliged to take himself
off. At once captivated and mortified, he felt disinclined to dance any
more, and rather disposed to indulge in reveries, while pursuing with
his eyes the form of his new acquaintance through the moving crowd.
Instead, however, of reclining indolently on a sofa, or lounging about
with other men, he devoted himself, in the most amiable manner possible,
to his mother and sisters for the remainder of the evening; and though
they found him somewhat deaf, performed, when they did make him hear,
any little service they required of him with great alacrity.
Notwithstanding which, ere the evening was over, each of his sisters had
severally informed him that he was already in love. Such secrets are
generally discovered by others before they are known to the parties
themselves.
A friend of Lady Arden's, forgetful that her ladyship objected on
principle to all younger sons, _except her own_, had introduced Henry
Lindsey to Louisa. Her exquisite beauty dazzled and delighted him, while
her gratified vanity, at the enthusiasm of his admiration, made her
manner so encouraging, that he believed himself well received, and gave
himself up to hopes and feelings destined to cost him many a bitter
pang.
Lord Darlingford, though a widower and a man, by his own account upwards
of fifty, was much disposed, on the strength of his rank, to be a
serious admirer of Jane Arden. This evening he found himself better
received than usual; he did not deem it necessary to make a fool of
himself by dancing, but was sitting apart with the lady, conversing very
earnestly, and was just beginning to weigh the propriety of availing
himself of so favourable an opportunity for making her an offer of
marriage, when Lord Nelthorpe came up and asked her to dance. The moment
before she had determined, if he did do so at this late period of the
evening, to reject his offer. As soon, however, as he approached, and
preferred his request, her spirited resolve vanished: with one of her
sweetest smiles she rose and took his arm, and in the flurry of her
spirits, forgetting to make even a parting bow to poor Lord Darlingford,
left him sitting alone, looking what he was, quite forsaken, and cursing
himself for an old fool.
Lord Nelthorpe now took pains to be particularly agreeable, and either
from vanity or lingering attachment, was evidently anxious to discover
if he still retained the power he knew he had long possessed over the
feelings of his fair partner. He made allusions to her late companion,
and half jest, half earnest, ventured several whispered comments, almost
amounting to tender reproaches, watching her countenance while he did
so. As he handed her into the carriage, he secretly wished, with
something like a sigh, that he had no brothers and sisters to pay off.
She went home in high spirits.
"I wish, Jane," said Lady Arden, as they drove from the door, "you would
make up your mind to marry Lord Darlingford."
Jane made no reply.