Lady Clara Vere de Vere,
Some meeker pupil you must find,
For were you queen of all that is,
I could not stoop to such a mind.
TENNYSON.
Mrs. Villars returned from the ball full of triumphant feelings. Never,
since her first appearance at the rooms, had Caroline appeared to such
advantage. Hargrave, who seldom did more than walk through a quadrille,
had twice asked her to waltz. Mrs. Villars had received, with gracious
smiles, many premature congratulations--and her husband, who had
despaired of Caroline's marriage, looked on with satisfaction, and
began to think everything was taking a brighter turn.
The next morning, Mrs. Villars overwhelmed Mabel with thanks for her
ingenuity--and even, in the excess of her gratitude, confided to her a
long and exaggerated account of the ball, mixed with many speculations
on the probable causes which led Hargrave to delay his proposals. She
ended by announcing her intention, (if she did not consider it hurtful
to her feelings,) of giving a grand rout the following week.
Mabel begged her not to think of her, as she could easily, if she
preferred doing so, spend the evening alone. Her aunt was, however, bent
on displaying herself as her benefactress, though she thought it better
to be contented, at first, with getting no opposition to her plan.
Invitations were soon issued. Colonel Hargrave was persuaded to give up
a hunting party he had intended joining, and even to discuss the
numerous arrangements, of which none but good entertainers can
appreciate the difficulty. The music, the dances, the company, the
decorations of the rooms, were all thoroughly talked over, and
everything promised to make it the most popular party of the Bath
season.
The girls were in high spirits, and congratulated themselves on
Hargrave's continued good humour.
Selina declared he must have made up his mind, at last, and anticipated
looking pretty on a Shetland pony, at Aston, while Maria declared that
she had nearly "hooked" a Gloucestershire squire, and hoped Caroline
would give her an opportunity of landing him.
On the morning of the party, Mabel was sitting in the library alone,
finishing some ornaments for the wax tapers, which her aunt had
requested her to make. Mr. Villars was gone to put a letter to a London
publisher in the post--and finding herself alone, she had given herself
up to thoughts of her mother and Amy--that dear sister, whose life she
had hoped to see so much happier than her own--then came to her memory,
which was well stored with every antidote to discontent, those beautiful
lines of Milman--
"We thank thee for our lost, our beauteous child,
The tears less bitter she has made us shed."
And these told her how Amy's artless love had beguiled her first
disappointment of its bitterness, and called her to exert her energies
in a life of activity.
As she continued this more cheerful train of thought, she heard a step
in the passage, whose echo thrilled to her very heart. How often had she
sprung at that signal in all the buoyancy of unchecked love; cold and
dark had been the change--the elastic step was now firm and majestic,
and she listened to it with attempted indifference, for they had learnt
to meet as strangers.
Colonel Hargrave entered, and instead of leaving the room, as he now
always did, when he found her alone, he walked up to the fire, and stood
looking at her, for a moment, as her varying color made her face look
something more than beautiful.
"I have a request to make," he said, at length.
"One that I can grant, I hope," said Mabel; for the silence broken, her
courage was at once restored.
"I would ask you to do violence to your own feelings, and appear at the
dance to-night?"
"Why need I appear in a circle, where, being unknown, I cannot be
missed, when I feel naturally disinclined for gaiety?"
"Because your influence is needed there. Do not think I am frivolous
enough to believe, that the admiration you may possibly excite, would
give you any compensation for the pain of appearing in that mourning
dress, amongst the light and gay; but there is one over whom you seemed
once to have some influence, who must be there, and you will have an
opportunity of seeing her in society."
"Do you mean Lucy?"
"Yes--I have watched her narrowly, for some time, and think she may be
made something better under proper guidance. Where is she to find that
but in you? She is now attracted by a man, whose attentions are, I fear,
too general to mean anything."
"Are you certain Mr. Beauclerc means nothing?" said Mabel,
incredulously; "it is so difficult to decide--and almost impossible to
interfere."
"Except by advice. Could you not persuade her to remain passive, and not
to pay him so much open admiration?"
"Impossible;" said Mabel, "it must be that he is more reserved in the
display of his attentions than she is. Are you not severe?"
"Depend upon it," returned Hargrave, "the truth is often more charitable
than falsehood, and I am not speaking now in the common spirit of
criticism. Lucy is rendering herself an object of general observation,
and even ridicule, to the gentlemen of her acquaintance, and though I
may be able to prevent such remarks being made in my presence, my
influence cannot extend further. She offends all her former ball-room
admirers by having eyes for no one but Beauclerc--she will dance with no
one else, and pays him an open tribute of admiration, which cannot but
be flattering from a pretty girl."
"But I do not see why you suppose he is indifferent to her?"
"If my observation has not deceived me, he shares, in common with many
men of talent--a belief in a feeling warmer than friendship, but colder
and more spiritual than love. I once knew a man, in fact, who carried on
such a flirtation, for I can give it no other name, with a very
superior, enthusiastic girl, but when every one expected him to propose
to her in form, she heard of his marriage with a woman of the most
ordinary understanding, but who, I dare say, made him a very good wife.
As I was attached to him, I ventured to remonstrate with him on his
conduct. In excuse, he brought so many really flimsy and poetical
apologies, and proofs of the pure minded nature of his attachment, that
though they appeared to me in their right light, they yet convinced me
that he had not intended wrong, but that his vanity had led him astray,
into the belief that he could be the object of an admiration superior to
love; altogether foolish, but he was sincere, I believe. When I last
heard of the poor girl she was sinking in a decline. Now I suspect
Beauclerc to be such another as I have described, and I want you to see
if you can make Lucy aware of it." "But you must first judge for
yourself, and no such opportunity is likely to occur again, as you might
not like to go out."
"You set me a difficult task; the more difficult, because Lucy has
seemed so estranged from me lately."
"Ah, that reminds me of something else, I had to say. Do you happen to
have met Miss Foster, a beautiful girl, one of the most striking women
in Bath?"
"No, but I have heard Lucy speak of her."
"Yes, so she used to do, most enthusiastically; and her beauty, if
nothing more, deserved admiration. I remember meeting her in the
park--she was sitting down, and, as I afterwards learnt, had sprained
her ankle. She looked so near fainting, that I did not hesitate to
dismount--(for I was riding)--and offer her my assistance. After a
little persuasion she gave me her direction and suffered me to place her
on my horse, which I carefully led to her house, in the Circus. The
grace with which she accepted my services, and the reserve with which
she withdrew from my attentions, when they were no longer required,
excited some curiosity in me; but, though I was repeatedly congratulated
for such a singular opportunity of meeting the mysterious beauty, I am
afraid I must confess that I was never able to improve the acquaintance.
Now, lately, she has withdrawn entirely from society, and, indeed,
up-stairs there is a polite note from her, declining Mrs. Villars'
invitation for to-night. I have heard it frequently remarked that she is
never seen out of doors, though some of her professed admirers have been
anxiously watching for her. Lucy seems entirely to have forgotten her,
and colored violently when I asked for her, the other day."
"A long string of evidence," said Mabel, with a half smile, "now tell me
how you connect Miss Foster, with Lucy and Mr. Beauclerc."
"Why, she was at an evening party the day before he arrived in Bath, and
has not been seen since; but this would be nothing perhaps had not my
groom--who, one morning, took my horses to air, through the Circus--seen
him call at her house, early, and thought, that when he was denied, he
turned away with disappointment. I immediately ordered him to air the
horses every morning in the Circus, though certainly not the best place
for them, which I might have chosen. However, the result of his
information is, that almost every day, before the fashionable world is
stirring, Beauclerc calls on Miss Foster, and is as strictly denied. To
me, this looks suspicious, and Beauclerc seems carrying on a double
game."
"Perhaps she is only some relation, and he calls to leave the morning
paper," said Mabel.
"Well, only judge for yourself, if he is sincere with Lucy; if you think
he is, we will leave them to themselves, but if not, the poor girl
should be warned before her affections are too deeply implicated."
"Yes, I will appear to-night," said Mabel.
What more she might have added was stopped by the entrance of Caroline,
whose jealous surveillance had discovered the _tête-à-tête_. Casting a
fiery glance of suspicion on both, which was received with admirable
coolness, she turned to Hargrave, and rather peremptorily informed him,
that the case of fruit and flowers which he had ordered from his
gardens, at Aston, was arrived, and they waited his permission to open
it.
"Oh, I will come," said he, looking rather amused, than either sorry or
angry at her displeasure. "Miss Lesly, you will like to see some flowers
from Aston."
Accepting the half implied invitation to accompany them, Mabel followed
to the morning room, where an immense basket was surrounded by Mrs.
Villars and her daughters, in anxious expectation, while china and glass
dishes were waiting to receive the fruit.
The basket fully answered the demand upon it--and satisfied Hargrave as
to the state of his green-houses and hot-house, by producing some
excellent specimens of forced early fruit, which Mrs. Villars had been
anticipating, not only as an additional charm to her supper-table, but
as a public proof of his anxiety to please her.
Besides flowers for vases, Hargrave drew from the basket, bouquets,
arranged with a gardener's nicety, which he presented to Mrs. Villars
and her daughters. They were composed of the most beautiful hot-house
flowers, and were all in exquisite taste--but by some chance, it
happened that the one presented to Caroline, far excelled the others in
beauty. The sisters exchanged glances, and Caroline's haughty eye beamed
with triumph.
"Stay, what is this?" said the unconscious Hargrave, dipping his hand
again into the basket, and drawing forth from the moss, with which it
was carefully packed, a bouquet, much smaller in size, and singularly
pretty, because composed entirely of white flowers of the rarest kind.
"Is it not beautiful?" he exclaimed, holding it up to view; "it really
does my gardener credit."
"Beautiful indeed!" exclaimed every one.
"What is that paper round it?" said Maria.
Hargrave turned to the small strip of rather untidy paper, which was
fastened to it, and read--
"Miss Lesly will accept this, with my respects."
"From my gardener, Dibden, I declare," said he--a look of childlike
pleasure taking possession of his features, as he regarded the flowers
which smelt sweeter than all the rest--and then handing them to Mabel,
he begged her to accept them.
Mabel held out her hand, and looked much gratified as she took them; but
no sooner had she done so, than the color rushed to Caroline's cheek,
and a scowl darkened her beautiful features, as she regarded her with
ill-concealed malignity. Her own bouquet no longer appeared the finest,
and flinging it on the table with such violence, that the head of a
camelia was broken from it, she said, angrily--
"I will have no second bests."
"My dear," said her mother, trembling, "yours is, I am sure, the
prettiest."
"Do you think I have no eyes," returned Caroline, "or that I am going to
be eclipsed in my own house?"
Hargrave stood amazed, for hitherto her temper had been greatly
concealed from him, and he was surprised to see features, lately beaming
with smiles, now darkened and disfigured by rage, while he felt
something very like disgust at the jealousy which so openly betokened a
preference for himself. Mabel stood, with her eyes fixed on the flowers
she held in her hand, too pained to look up; then suddenly remembering
herself, she offered them to Caroline, saying--
"I am glad I have anything to offer you, that you really like--pray take
it."
Caroline, however, was too provoked to be easily pacified by this
display, as she believed it, of superior sweetness of temper, and
roughly pushing aside Mabel's extended hand, the flowers fell to the
ground.
Hargrave looked from one to the other in mute surprise; and Mrs.
Villars, terrified at her daughter's ungovernable temper, and mistaking
his look for vexation, hurriedly interposed.
"Oh, my dear, now do take what Mabel offers you--do, my dear, if you
have a fancy for it--I am sure Henry intended to give you the best--who
could think you would prefer a few white flowers to that lovely
collection of geraniums. Come, my dear, now do have it."
"I am sure," said Hargrave, indifferently, "I knew no difference in the
bouquets--I have nothing to do with poor Dibden's unfortunate present."
"There now," said Mrs. Villars, "now do take them, if it is a fancy of
yours."
"Don't be angry, love," said Selina; "only think what is to become of
the party if you and Henry quarrel. No one will have spirits for
anything. Don't, dear, be angry."
"For my part," said Maria, "I see nothing to be angry about."
"Nor I," said Hargrave, as he left the room.
"Now see," said Mrs. Villars, "how you have vexed him."
"Something more than that, I fear," said Maria.
"Well, I really have no patience," observed her mother; "with lovers'
quarrels--there, smile and make it all right again. We all know what
your feelings are; but do, there is a dear girl, cheer up, for all our
sakes. Is she not a silly girl, Mabel."
The latter was too candid to venture on a reply, as she stood busied in
restoring the bouquet to order.
Caroline received these offerings to her wrath, with haughty
indifference; but, at length, she suffered herself to be appeased by
their repeated entreaties, and Mrs. Villars whispered to her niece, that
if she now offered the flowers, she thought the dear girl would receive
them.
Mabel could scarcely allow herself to minister to so much selfishness,
and it was with some appearance of reserve, that she placed the bouquet
on the table, by her side, not choosing to subject it to a second
rebuff.
But Caroline's good humour was now happily restored, for she had gained
all she could by her violence. Not only obtaining possession of the
desired object, but being entreated to accept it. She, therefore,
rewarded the patience of her mother and sisters, by entering into the
arrangements of the evening with renewed animation.
"Mabel," said Lucy, as passing her arm through hers, they walked up
stairs together; "where did you get such an angelic temper?"
"Whatever good I do possess," said Mabel, gravely; "is not mine; but is
borrowed from a treasure house, which is as free to you as to me."
"But, tell me," urged Lucy, stopping on the landing place; "do you not
despise the weakness to which you minister."
"What right have I to do so," answered Mabel; "who knows how proud and
self-willed I might have become, if I had not early suffered
deprivation, sorrow, and humiliation, as I have done. And who can say, I
shall be as strong to-morrow as I am to-day; when a thousand temptations
surround us on every side; and we cannot tell under which we may fall,
if we once lose sight of the true humility which alone brings strength
and power. How, then, can I dare to despise the frailty of others. But,
dearest, what is the matter, how can I have pained you."
"You have not pained me," replied Lucy, a momentary color banishing the
pallor of her cheek; "but sometimes I feel as if there were something
wanting in me, which I find in you--yet, if it has been purchased by
suffering, I must not wish for it, for I have not courage for such an
ordeal."
"But, only consider," replied Mabel; "how much more noble, how much more
worthy--if any could be worthy--would be the offering, to heaven, of a
young heart, in the midst of joy and prosperity--than the tearful
tribute of the worn spirit, which can find no other refuge. It is only
our own rebellion which makes sorrow needed."
"Beautiful words," said Lucy, mournfully, "and something within tells me
that they are true;" she stopped for a moment, and looked down upon her
own share of the beautiful flowers, which she held in her hand, and a
tear hung upon the lash, which shrouded her bright blue eye; then
turning again to her cousin, she said:--
"To-morrow, dearest, I will think: to-night, must be all mirth and
gladness."
Mabel would have remonstrated, but she saw that the serious fit had
passed away, by the beaming smile that lighted her face, and dimpled
round her mouth; and she knew her temper too well, to hope to recall it.
So the two girls separated. Lucy to think over the pleasures of the
evening; while Mabel, meditated how she might serve her, by screening
her from the consequences of her indiscretion. She could not, however,
refrain from reverting to the disagreeable scene in which she had taken
a part. She could not help feeling almost humiliated for Caroline, while
she regarded Hargrave's situation with commiseration; for she fancied
that, however he might have implicated the honor on which he so strictly
prided himself, with regard to Caroline, he displayed very little love;
and she sincerely pitied him, as she knew that, if he had once committed
himself, he would probably be too proud to retract.