----This thou tell’st me;
But saying thus, instead of oil and balm,
Thou lay’st in every gash that love hath given me,
The knife that made it.
SHAKSPEARE.
“Don’t you think Lady Jane Sydenham a most delightful girl?” said
Germain to Fitzalbert, as they were breakfasting together at the house
of the former.
“_You_ do--which is more to the purpose,” answered Fitzalbert. “Did I
not always say it would be so? I shall set up for a prophet; for did
I not also foresee that you would first fancy Lady Latimer?--but that
wouldn’t do. No, no; she had too much to lose, and like many of our
fair countrywomen, however fond of flirting, she was not likely to run
any such risk _pour vos beaux yeux_.”
“I think,” said Germain, recollecting what had been said at Boreton,
“Lady Latimer rather wants heart.”
“Well, nobody can accuse you of that except when it’s in _hand_, as
they say of a newspaper. However, I’m very glad that it’s likely to be
so. You and the Latimers will make a snug coterie together. It will be
the very thing for me. I only hope that ass Greenford won’t marry Lady
Caroline--that would be too great luck for Lady Flamborough; besides,
Sir Gregory is not exactly the sort of fellow one would present with
the fee-simple of one’s society. I let him out my acquaintance on
short leases--and he sometimes pays heavy fines for renewal,” he added,
half to himself, as he walked towards the window, doubting whether it
was prudent to acknowledge so much.
Any further confidences of this kind, even if he had been imprudent
enough to hint them, were prevented by the entrance of Oakley. Since
his reconciliation with Helen, he had begun to think that he had never
been sufficiently indulgent to the natural defects in the character of
his early friend, who, on his part, had always been very patient under
the much more annoying faults to which Oakley himself was subject. He
had met Germain, accidentally, the day before, and the first advances
he had then made to a reconciliation, had been at once received with
that cordiality which Germain’s good-natured and placable disposition
would have led one to expect. Oakley had felt much happier since this
interview had taken place; and his present visit was intended, not only
as a further peace-offering, but as an advance towards renewed intimacy.
This amiable temper of mind was a little ruffled by finding Fitzalbert
there. It is impossible to conceive any two men who had a more
thorough dislike of each other. Fitzalbert, to be sure on his side,
was a pococurante in every thing, and scarcely troubled his head
about Oakley, when he was not, as he called it, oppressed with his
presence; but it was observed that when that was the case, his jokes
flowed less naturally, and there was more sharpness, and less ease in
his conversation. Oakley had a thorough contempt for the character of
Fitzalbert, joined to a certain dread of his satire, which did not
the less exist, because he would never have acknowledged it, even to
himself.
Fitzalbert prepared to evacuate upon this irruption of his enemy. “Then
you are not for tennis this morning, eh, Germain?” said he. A strange
idea, at the instant, occurred to him, and he afterwards said that he
could not account by what chain of thought it first struck his fancy.
“By the by,” he added, “do you remember that devilish fine girl we gave
chase to yesterday morning--I always thought I had seen her before.
Who do you think I really believe it was? You remember Helen Mordaunt,
who used to live with Lady Latimer. It was stupid of me not to know
her at once. There is no mistaking that air and figure when once seen.
The light springy walk too! Nobody knew what had become of her. I
always heard she was of a low family. Who knows but she may be very
come-at-able?”
This was said carelessly, and with no other object than to annoy
Oakley; and with the view of watching its effect, he advanced towards
the mirror over the chimney-piece, and whilst still speaking, and
apparently examining Germain’s dinner-engagements, which stuck round
the frame, he stole a glance in the glass. But the impending storm
which he saw on Oakley’s brow, was so much more formidable and
threatening than he had expected, that his retreat was like that of
a man who has no objection to admire a tempest from a distance, but
is not prepared unnecessarily to expose himself to its violence. He
therefore wished Germain an abrupt good morning; at the same time,
however, whistling “Di tanti palpiti,” with the most successful
precision.
He had descended the stairs, and finished the tune, before Oakley had
recovered from his astonishment, or had decided in what way he could
most successfully annihilate him. He then seized Germain’s hand with
appalling earnestness, saying, “Tell me, for God’s sake, what is this
frightful story that puppy has been alluding to? Helen Mordaunt, and
Fitzalbert,--what can they possibly have in common? Did he follow
her?--did they speak?”
Germain, not having been informed of Oakley’s engagement to Helen,
was, on his side surprised at his vehemence, but readily explained
that on the previous morning he had been dragged on by Fitzalbert, in
pursuit of a woman, whose figure had struck him, but it had never for
an instant occurred to him, that it could be Miss Mordaunt, and his
ignorance, as to whether it was or was not, was a sufficient answer to
the other question, whether there had been any communication between
them.
“True! true!” said Oakley; “what a fool I am to mind the idle
insinuations of a coxcomb like that! Still he certainly used to be very
attentive to her at Boreton.”
“You have not told me,” said Germain, “whether you have any particular
reason for wishing to find her out, but if you have, now that
Fitzalbert has mentioned the likeness, I have no doubt that it was she
we saw yesterday morning, and her anxiety to avoid us, confirms me in
the idea.”
“Yes, I believe, so far the conceited fool was right; but I may as well
confide to you at once my precious secret; for, to say the truth, I
shall never be quite happy till Helen is again safe under your friend,
Lady Latimer’s protection; and you must arrange this.”
This proposal, on the part of Oakley, to re-unite Helen with Lady
Latimer, was principally intended to show the extent of his repentance
for his offence on the memorable night of the quarrel, which had
originated in his wanton attack on that lady’s character; but though he
was hardly aware of it himself, this good intention was not a little
accelerated in action, by an anxious uneasiness at what Helen might
be exposed to, in her present unprotected situation. He communicated,
without alluding to their quarrel, his discovery of Helen, her distress
since the death of her mother, and their present engagement. Whilst
Germain rejoiced in the happiness of his friend, he began seriously to
turn over in his mind the intention of being equally happy with Lady
Jane.
“And now,” said Oakley, “one word upon the credit of our old
friendship. Public report spreads too widely to be entirely without
foundation, that you are dreadfully embarrassed. I once told you,
that whatever ready money I could command, and that is not a little,
should be at your service; and you have not so entirely forgotten me,
as to think that I ever made an offer which I did not mean should be
accepted.”
“A thousand thanks!” replied Germain, not a little touched at this
revival of former kindness, “but at present, I am in no want; for next
week, when Lord Latimer’s colt wins the Derby, I shall sack twenty
thousand.”
“Or lose----?” inquired Oakley, shaking his head.
“Oh! nothing to signify; and besides, he can’t lose. I know all about
him.”
“Well, we shall see; or rather, you will _see_ and I shall _hear_--for
nothing should tempt me there.”
When Oakley, having left Germain, returned homewards, he in vain
attempted to banish from his recollection the offensive tone in which
Fitzalbert had mentioned Helen. He tried to persuade himself that, even
if it was done purposely to annoy him, circumstanced as he was, it was
impossible openly to resent it, and therefore to allow him to succeed
in his object, was giving an unnecessary triumph to his enemy.
Yet, in spite of these suggestions of his better reason, he could not
get over the disagreeable impression it had left behind--he could not
endure that Fitzalbert should ever have presumed to look at Helen for a
moment even in passing, with that feeling, which he had dared to avow
had induced him to follow her in the open streets. The intolerably
confident expression of countenance with which he had pronounced her
_come-at-able_, was ever obtruding itself on his recollection, and
rankling at his heart. Was it to be borne, that he should always be
subject, without redress, to similar insults? If the last were repeated
in its recent shape, he felt resolved, that not even his desire to
put off the declaration of his engagement till Helen was creditably
settled, should prevent his inflicting summary punishment on the spot.
But this was not all he had to fear, when even the announcement of
his intended marriage should secure him from the repetition of such
conversation in his hearing. He dreaded lest Fitzalbert, having once
ascertained that he was right, in supposing that it was Helen whom
he had seen in such a doubtful situation, should take a thousand
circuitous ways of hinting disadvantageous constructions upon her
conduct, the effect of which might meet his eye, without reaching
his ear; and that, being unable to trace this home to him on whom
his suspicions rested, or to make Fitzalbert answerable for the
contemptuous curl upon another man’s lip, he should be left entirely
without redress. There was much of morbid feeling in all this; but
it was in Oakley’s nature for such things to give him uneasiness;
and after torturing himself in vain, the only practical, though
not rational conclusion at which he arrived, was to take the first
opportunity of fastening a quarrel upon Fitzalbert.
Meanwhile, Germain gave himself up without alloy to agreeable
anticipations. That Lord Latimer’s horse should win the Derby, he
looked upon to be as certain as that Lady Jane would accept him. There
had certainly not been much romance in the attachment of the two;
but there was much that was just as likely to tend to their mutual
happiness. There was a buoyancy in Germain’s spirits, which it seemed
to be impossible for circumstances to depress. There was a sunshine in
his mind, which imparted a glowing light to all that it touched, which
was peculiarly attractive to a girl of Lady Jane’s cheerful, but not
thoughtless turn. Her natural good sense certainly led her to perceive
that Germain’s facility of temper caused him to be much too easily led,
but at the same time she saw that he was most in the power of those
with whom he lived the most, and this conviction was rather consolatory
as to the advantages a wife might derive from that circumstance.
Certain it is, that though Lady Flamborough still manœuvred as
if there were difficulties to be overcome, yet she experienced as
little real unwillingness, as she showed open opposition to the
arrangement--that while she, Caroline, and two others, went inside the
carriage, Jane and Germain should share the barouche-box down to Epsom.