When the new Viscount had dismissed Mr. Spicer, he set out to visit his
sister-in-law. Any one who has been patient enough to follow the stages
of this history will readily imagine that he did not address himself
to the task before him with remarkable satisfaction. If it had been a
matter to be bought off by money, he would readily have paid down a good
round sum as forfeit. It was no use fortifying himself, as he tried to
do, by all the commonplaces he kept repeating to his own heart, saying,
“She ain't my guardian. I'm no ward to be responsible to _her_. She can
exercise no control over me or my property. She 's the dowager, and
no more.” All the traditions of his younger brother life rose up in
rebellion against these doctrines, and he could think of her as nothing
but the haughty Viscountess, who had so often pronounced the heaviest
censures upon his associates and his mode of living. A favorite theory
of his was it, also, in olden time, to imagine that, but for Georgina,
Lackington would have done this, that, and t'other for him; that she it
was who thwarted all his brother's generous impulses, and brought him
to look with stern disfavor on his life of debt and dissipation.
These memories rushed now fully to his mind, and, assuredly, added no
sentiment of pleasure to his expectation of the meeting. More than once
did he come to a halt, and deliberate whether, seeing how unpleasant
such an interview must prove, he need incur the pain of it. “I could
write to her, or I could send Lizzy to say that I was confined to bed,
and ill. Would n't that be a flare up! By Jove! if I could only see the
match as it came off between them, I 'd do _that_. Not but I know Georgy
would win; she 'd come out so strong as 'Grande Dame;' the half-bred 'un
would have no chance. Still, there would be a race, and a close one, for
Lizzy has her own turn of speed; and if she had the breeding--” And as
he got thus far in his ruminations, he had reached the Palazzo Gondi,
where his sister-in-law lived. With a sort of sullen courage he rang the
bell, and was shown in; her Ladyship was dressing, but would be down in
a moment.
Beecher had now some minutes alone, and he passed them scrutinizing the
room and its appurtenances. All was commoner and more homely than he
looked for. Not many indications of comfort; scarcely any of luxury.
What might this mean? Was her settlement so small as to exact this
economy, or was it a voluntary saving? If so, it was the very reverse
of all her former tastes, for she was essentially one who cultivated
splendor and expense. This problem was still puzzling him, when the door
opened, and she entered. He advanced rapidly to meet her, and saluted
her on each cheek. There was a strange affectation of cordiality on each
side. Prize-fighters shake hands ere they double them up into catapults
for each other's heads; but the embrace here was rather more like the
kiss the victim on the scaffold bestows upon his executioner.
Seated side by side on the sofa, for a few minutes neither uttered a
word; at last she said, in a calm, low voice, “We had hoped to see you
before this,--_he_ looked anxiously for your coming.”
Beecher heaved a heavy sigh; in that unhappy delay was comprised all the
story of his calamities. And how to begin--how to open the narrative?
“I wrote as many as five letters,” resumed she; “some addressed to
Fordyce's, others to the care of Mr. Davenport Dunn.”
“Not one of them ever reached me.”
“Very strange, indeed,” said she, with the smile of faintest
incredulity; “letters so seldom miscarry nowadays. Stranger, still,
that none of your other correspondents should have apprised you of your
brother's state; there was ample time to have done it.”
“I know nothing of it I vow to Heaven I had not the slightest suspicion
of it!”
“Telegraphs, too, are active agencies in these days, and I wrote to
Fordyce to use every exertion to acquaint you.”
“I can only repeat what I have said already, that I was utterly
ignorant of everything till I arrived at Baden; there I accidentally met
Twining--”
“Spicer told me about it,” said she abruptly, as though it was not
necessary to discuss any point conceded on both sides. “Your coming,”
continued she, “was all the more eagerly looked for because it was
necessary you should be, so far as possible, prepared for the suit we
are threatened with; actions at law for ejectments on title are already
announced, and great--the very greatest--inconvenience has resulted for
want of formal instructions on your part.”
“Is the thing really serious, Georgy?” asked he, with an unfeigned
anxiety of manner.
“If you only will take the trouble of reading Fordyce's two last
letters,--they are very long, I confess, and somewhat difficult to
understand,--you will at least see that his opinion is the reverse of
favorable. In fact, he thinks the English estates are gone.”
“Oh, Georgy dearest! but _you_ don't believe that?”
“The Irish barony and certain lands in Cork,” resumed she, calmly, “are
not included in the demand they profess to make; nor, of course, have
they any claim as to the estates purchased by Lord Lackington through
Mr. Dunn.”
“But the title?”
“The Viscounty goes with the English property.”
“Good heavens! a title we have held undisturbed, unquestioned, since
Edward the Third's time. I cannot bring myself to conceive it!”
“Great reverses of condition can be borne with dignity when they are not
of our own incurring,” said she, with a stern and pointed significance.
“I'm afraid I cannot boast of possessing all your philosophy,” said he,
touchily.
“So much the worse. You would need it, and even more, too, if all that I
have heard be true.”
There was no mistaking this inference, and Beecher only hesitated
whether he should accept battle at once, or wait for another broadside.
“Not but,” broke she in, “if you could assure me that the rumors were
untrue,--that _you_ have been calumniated, and I misinformed,--if, I
say, you were enabled to do this, the tidings would help greatly to
sustain me through this season of trouble.”
“You must speak more plainly, Georgina, if I am to understand you.”
“Are you married, Annesley?” said she, abruptly.
“Yes. I hope I am of an age to enter the holy estate without leave from
my relations.”
“It is true, then?” said she, with a deep, full voice.
“Perfectly true. And then?” There was an open defiance in this tone of
questioning which seemed actually to sting her.
“And then?” repeated she, after him,--“'and then?' You are right to say,
'and then?'--if that means 'What next?'”
Beecher turned pale and red, as fear and passion swayed him alternately;
but he never spoke.
“Is it really a marriage?” broke she in again, “or is it some mockery
enacted by a degraded priest, and through the collusion of some scheming
sharpers. Oh, Annesley! tell me frankly how you have been tricked into
this ignominious contract!” And her accents, as she spoke this, assumed
a tone of imploring affection that actually moved him. To this a sense
of offended dignity quickly succeeded with him, and he said,--
“I cannot permit you to continue in this strain; I am rightfully,
legally married, and the lady who shares my lot is as much the
Viscountess Lackington as you are.”
She covered her face with both her hands, and sat thus for several
minutes.
“Perhaps it is all for the best,” muttered she, in a low but audible
accent,--“perhaps it is all for the best. Loss of rank, station, and
name will fall the more lightly on those who so little understood how to
maintain them with dignity.”
“And if I am threatened with the loss of my title and fortune,” cried
Beecher, passionately, “is it exactly the time to heap these insults on
me?”
Partly from the firmness of his manner as he uttered these words, partly
that they were not devoid of truthful meaning, she accepted the reproof
almost submissively.
“You must go over to England at once, Beecher,” said she, calmly. “You
must place yourself immediately in Fordyce's hands, and secure the best
advice the Bar affords. I would go with you myself, but that--” The deep
flush that spread over Beecher's face as she paused here made the moment
one of intense pain to each. “No matter,” resumed she; “there is only
one danger I would warn you against. You dropped the word 'compromise;'
now, Annesley, let nothing induce you to descend to this. Such a
suggestion could only have come from those whose habits of life accept
expediency in lieu of principle. Maintain your rights proudly and
defiantly so long as they pertain to you; if law should at last declare
that we are only usurpers--” She tried to finish, but the words seemed
as if they would choke her, and after an effort almost convulsive she
burst into tears. Scarcely less moved, Beecher covered his face with his
hands and turned away.
“I will do whatever you advise me, Georgina,” said he at length, as
he seated himself on the sofa at her side. “If you say I ought to go to
England, I 'll set off at once.”
“Yes; you must be in London; you must be where you can have daily,
hourly access to your lawyers; but you must also determine that this
contest shall be decided by law, and law alone. I cannot, will not,
believe that your rights are invalid. I feel assured that the House of
Lords will maintain the cause of an acknowledged member of their order
against the claims of an obscure pretender. This sympathy, however,
will only be with you so long as you are true to yourself. Let the
word 'compromise' be but uttered, and the generous sentiment will be
withdrawn; therefore, Annesley,”--here she dropped her voice, and
spoke more impressively,--“therefore, I should say, go over to England
_alone_; be free to exercise untrammelled your own calm judgment,--keep
your residence a secret from all save your law advisers,--see none
else.”
“You mean, then, that I should go without my wife?”
“Yes!” said she, coldly; “if she accompany you, her friends, her father,
with whom she will of course correspond, will know of your whereabouts,
and flock round you with their unsafe counsels; this is most to be
avoided.”
“But how is it to be managed, Georgina; she cannot surely stop here, at
an hotel too, while I am away in England?”
“I can see nothing against such an arrangement; not having had the
pleasure of seeing and knowing Lady Lack-ington, I am unable to guess
any valid reasons against this plan. Is she young?”
“Not twenty.”
“Handsome, of course?” said she, with a slight but supercilious curl of
the lip.
“Very handsome,--beautiful,” answered he, but in a voice that denoted no
rapture.
Lady Lackington mused for a moment or two; it seemed as if she were
discussing within her own mind a problem, stating and answering
objections as they arose, for she muttered such broken words as,
“Dangerous, of course--in Rome especially--but impossible for her to go
to England--all her relations--anything better than that--must make
the best of it;” then turning to Beecher with an air of one whose
determination was taken, she said: “She must stay with me till you
return.” Before he had rallied from his surprise at this resolution, she
added, “Come over to tea this evening, and let me see her.”
Beecher pressed her hand cordially, as though to imply a gratitude above
words; but in reality he turned away to conceal all the emotions this
new position of difficulty occasioned, merely calling out, “We 'll come
very early,” as he departed.
Lizzy heard that Spicer was to be their guest at dinner, and they
themselves to take tea with the Viscountess. Lackington, with
equal indifference. She had scarcely _seen_ Mr. Spicer, and was not
over-pleased with her brief impression; of her Ladyship she had only
_heard_, but even that much had not inspired her to anticipate a
pleasant meeting.
There was, however, in her husband's manner, a sort of fidgety anxiety
that showed he attached to the coming interview an amount of importance
she could by no means understand. He continued to throw out such hints
as to “Georgina's notions” on this or that point; and, while affecting
a half ridicule, really showed how seriously he regarded them. Even to
Lizzy's dress his cares extended; and he told her to be mindful that
nothing in her costume should attract special criticism or remark.
Beecher was far more uneasy than even his looks betrayed. He dreaded
to dwell upon the haughty demeanor his sister-in-law would so certainly
assume, and the sort of inspection to which his wife was to be
subjected. In his heart he wished that Lizzy had been less beautiful,
less attractive, or, as he ungraciously styled it to himself, “less
showy.” He well knew how damaging would all her brilliant qualities
become to the eyes of one herself a belle and a beauty in times past. He
discussed over and over with himself whether it might not be better to
acquaint Lizzy of the kind of dress parade that awaited her, or leave
wholly to chance the events of the interview. For once in his life he
took a wise resolve, and said nothing on the matter.
The dinner passed off somewhat heavily,--Beecher silent and preoccupied,
Lizzy thoughtful and indisposed to converse, and Spicer vexed, in spite
of all his resolutions to the contrary, by what he had insultingly
called to himself “the airs of Grog Davis's daughter;” and yet nothing
could be less just than to stigmatize by such a phrase a manner quiet,
calm, and unpretentious, and totally removed from all affectation.
For a while Beecher bestowed a watchful attention on Spicer, uneasy lest
by some adroit piece of malice he might either irritate Lizzy or lead
her covertly into some imprudent disclosures; but he soon saw that
it would have required a hardier spirit than Mr. Spicer's to have
adventured on impertinence in that quarter, and, lighting his cigar, he
sat moodily down by the window to think on the future.
Left with the field thus open, Spicer canvassed within himself how best
to profit by the opportunity. Should he declare himself an old friend
of her father's,--his associate and his colleague? Should he dexterously
intimate that, knowing all about her family and antecedents, she could
not do better than secure his friendship? Should he not also slyly
suggest that, married to a man like Beecher, the counsels of one prudent
and wily as himself would prove invaluable? “Now or never,” thought he,
as he surveyed her pale features, and interpreted their expression as
implying timidity and fear.
“Your first visit to Rome, I believe?” said he, as he searched for a
cigar amidst the heap on the table.
A cold assent followed.
“Wonderful place; not merely for its old monuments and ruins, though
they are curious too, but its strange society,--all nations and all
ranks of each mixed and mingled together: great swells and snobs,
grand ladies, princes, cardinals and ambassadors, thrown together with
artistes, gamblers, and fast ones of either sex,--a regular fair of fine
company, with, plenty of amusement and lots of adventure.”
“Indeed!” said she, languidly.
“Just the place your father would like,” said he, dropping his voice to
a half-whisper.
“In what way, pray?” asked she, quietly.
“Why, in the way of trade, of course,” said he, laughing. “For the
fine-lady part of the matter he 'd not care for it,--that never was
his line of country,--but for the young swells that thought themselves
sporting characters, for the soft young gents that fancied they
could play, Grog was always ready. I ask your pardon for the familiar
nickname, but we 've known each other about thirty years. He always
called me Ginger. Haven't you heard him speak of old Ginger?”
“Never, sir.”
“Strange that; but perhaps he did not speak of his pals to you?”
“No, never.”
“That was so like him. I never saw his equal to hunt over two different
kinds of country. He could get on the top of a bus and go down to St.
John's Wood, or to Putney, after a whole night at Crawley's, and with an
old shooting-jacket and Jim-crow on him, and a garden-rake in his hand,
you 'd never suspect he was the fellow who had cleared out the company
and carried off every shilling at billiards and blind-hookey. Poor old
Kit, how fond I am of him!”
A stare, whose meaning Spicer could not fathom, was the only reply to
the speech.
“And he was so fond of _me!_ I was the only one of them all he could
trust. He liked Beech--I mean his Lordship there; he was always
attached to him, but whenever it was really a touch-and-go thing, a
nice operation, then he'd say, 'Where's Ginger? give me Ginger!' The
adventures we've had together would make a book; and do you know that
more than once I thought of writing them, or getting a fellow to write
them, for it's all the same. I'd have called it 'Grog and Ginger.'
Wouldn't that take?”
She made no reply; her face was, perhaps, a thought paler, but unchanged
in expression.
“And then the scenes we've gone through!--dangerous enough some of them;
he rather liked that, and _I_ own it never was my taste.”
“I am surprised to hear you say so, sir,” said she, in a low but very
distinct voice; “I'd have imagined exactly the reverse.”
“Indeed! and may I make so bold as to ask why?”
“Simply, sir, that a gentleman so worldly-wise as yourself must always
be supposed to calculate eventualities, and not incur, willingly at
least, those he has no mind for. To be plain, sir, I 'm at a loss to
understand how one not fond of peril should hazard the chance of being
thrown out of a window,--don't start, I 'm only a woman, and cannot do
it, nor, though I have rung for the servant, am I going to order _him_.
For this time it shall be the door.” And, rising proudly, she walked
toward the window; but ere she reached it, Spicer was gone.
“What's become of Spicer, Lizzy?” said Beecher, indolently, as his eyes
traversed the room in search of him.
“He has taken his leave,” said she, in a voice as careless.
“He's tiresome, I think,” yawned he; “at least, I find him so.”
She made no reply, but sat down to compose her thoughts, somewhat
ruffled by the late scene.
“Ain't it time to order the carriage? I told Georgy we'd come early,”
added he, after a pause.
“I almost think I'll not go to-night,” said she, in a low voice.
“Not go! You don't mean that when my sister-in-law sends you a message
to come and see her that you 'll refuse!” cried he, in a mixture of
anger and astonishment.
“I'm afraid I could be guilty of so great an enormity,” said she,
smiling superciliously.
“It's exactly the word for it, whatever you may think,” said he,
doggedly. “All I can say is, that you don't know Georgina, or you'd
never have dreamt of it.”
“In that case it is better I _should_ know her; so I'll get my bonnet
and shawl at once.”
She was back in the room in a moment, and they set out for the Palazzo
Gondi.
What would not Beecher have given, as they drove along, for courage to
counsel and advise her,--to admonish as to this, and caution as to that?
And yet he did not dare to utter a word, and she was as silent.
It would not be very easy to say exactly what sort of person Lady
Georgina expected in her sister-in-law; indeed, she had pictured her in
so many shapes to herself that there was not an incongruity omitted
in the composition, and she fancied her bold, daring, timid, awkward,
impertinent, and shy alternately, and, in this conflict of anticipation,
it was that Lizzy entered. So utterly overcome was Lady Georgina by
astonishment, that she actually advanced to meet her in some confusion,
and then, taking her hand, led her to a seat on the sofa beside her.
[Illustration: 372]
While the ordinary interchange of commonplaces went on,--and nothing
could be more ordinary or commonplace than the words of their
greeting,--each calmly surveyed the other. What thoughts passed in their
minds, what inferences were drawn, and what conclusions formed in
this moment, it is not for me to guess. To women alone pertains
that marvellous freemasonry that scans character at a glance, and
investigates the sincerity of a disposition and the value of a
lace flounce with the same practised facility. If Lady Georgina was
astonished by the striking beauty of her sister-in-law, she was amazed
still more by her manner and her tone. Where could she have learned that
graceful repose,--that simplicity, which is the very highest art? Where
and how had she caught up that gentle quietude which breathes like a
balmy odor over the well-bred world? How had she acquired that subtlety
by which wit is made to sparkle and never to startle; and what training
had told her how to weave through all she said the flattery of a wish to
please?
Woman of the world as she was, Lady Lackington had seen no such marvel
as this. It was no detraction from its merit that it might be all
acting, for it was still “high art.” Not a fault could she detect in
look, gesture, or tone, and yet all seemed as easy and unstudied as
possible. Her Ladyship knew well that the practice of society confers
all these advantages; but here was one who had never mixed with the
world, who, by her own confession, “knew no one,” and yet was a mistress
of every art that rules society.
Lady Georgina had yet to learn that there are instincts stronger than
all experience, and that, in the common intercourse of life, Tact is
Genius.
Though Lizzy was far more deeply versed in every theme on which it was
her Ladyship's pleasure to talk than herself,--though she knew more of
painting, of music, and of literature, than the Viscountess, she still
seemed like one gleaning impressions as they conversed, and at each
moment acquiring nearer and clearer views; and yet even this flattery
was so nicely modulated that it escaped detection.
There was a mystery in the case her Ladyship determined to fathom. “No
woman of her class,” as she phrased it, could have been thus trained
without some specific object. The stage had latterly been used as a sort
of show mart where young girls display their attractive graces, at times
with immense success. Could this have been the goal for which she had
been destined? She adroitly turned the conversation to that topic, but
Lizzy's answers soon negatived the suspicion. Governesses, too, were
all-accomplished in these days; but here there was less of acquirement
exhibited than of all the little arts and devices of society.
“Is my trial nearly over?” whispered Lizzy in Beecher's ear as he passed
beside her chair. “I'd rather hear a verdict of Guilty at once than to
submit to further examining.”
A look of caution, most imploringly given, was all his reply.
Though Lady Lackington had neither heard question nor answer, her quick
glance had penetrated something like a meaning in them, and her lip
curled impatiently as she said to Beecher, “Have you spoke to Lady
Lackington of our plans for her,--I mean during your absence?”
He muttered a sullen “No, not yet,” and turned away.
“It was an arrangement that will, I hope, meet your approval,” said Lady
Georgina, half coldly, “since Beecher must go over to England for some
weeks; and as you could not with either comfort or propriety remain
alone in your hotel, our plan was that you should come here.”
Lizzy merely turned her eyes on Beecher, but there was that in their
expression that plainly said, “Is this _your_ resolve?” He only moved
away, and did not speak.
“Not but if any of your own family,” continued Lady Lackington, “could
come out here, and that you might prefer _their_ company,--that would be
an arrangement equally satisfactory. Is such an event likely?”
“Nothing less so, my Lady,” said Lizzy. “My father has affairs of
urgency to treat at this moment.”
“Oh, I did not exactly allude to your father,--you might have sisters.”
“I have none.”
“An aunt, perhaps?”
“I never heard of one.”
“Lizzy, you are aware, Georgina,” broke in Beecher, whose voice trembled
at every word, “was brought up abroad,--she never saw any of her
family.”
“How strange! I might even say, how unfortunate!” sighed her Ladyship,
superciliously.
“Stranger, and more unfortunate still, your Ladyship would perhaps say,
if I were to tell you that I never so much as heard of them.”
“I am not certainly prepared to say that the circumstance is one to be
boastful of,” said Lady Lackington, who resented the look of haughty
defiance of the other.
“I assure your Ladyship that you are mistaken in attributing to me such
a sentiment. I have nothing of which to be boastful.”
“Your present position, Lady Lackington, might inspire a very natural
degree of pride.”
“It has not done so yet, my Lady. My experience of the elevated class
to which I have been raised has been too brief to impress me; a wider
knowledge will probably supply this void.”
“And yet,” said Lady Georgina, sarcastically, “it is something,--the
change from Miss Davis to the Viscountess Lackington.”
“When that change becomes more real, more actual, my Lady,” said Lizzy,
boldly, “it will, assuredly, bear its fruits; when, in being reminded of
what I was and whence I came, I can only detect the envious malevolence
that would taunt me with what is no fault of mine, but a mere accident
of fortune,--when I hear these things with calm composure, and in my
rank as a peeress feel the equal of those who would disparage me,--then,
indeed, I may be proud.”
“Such a day may never come,” said Lady Georgina, coldly.
“Very possibly, my Lady. It has cost me no effort to win this station
you seem to prize so highly; it will not exact one to forego all its
great advantages.”
“What a young lady to be so old a philosopher! I 'm sure Lord Lackington
never so much as suspected the wisdom he acquired in his wife. It may,
however, be a family trait.”
“My father was so far wise, my Lady, that he warned me of the reception
that awaited me in my new station; but, in his ignorance of that great
world, he gave me, rather, to believe that I should meet insinuated
slights and covert impertinences than open insults. Perhaps I owe it to
my vulgar origin that I really like the last the best; at least, they
show me that my enemies are not formidable.”
“Your remarks have convinced me that it would be quite superfluous in me
to offer my protection to a lady so conversant with life and the world.”
“They will, at least, serve to show your Ladyship that I would not have
accepted the protection.”
“But, Lizzy dearest, you don't know what you are saying. Lady Georgina
can establish your position in society as none other can.”
“I mean to do that without aid.”
“Just as her father, Mr. Grog, would force his way into the
stand-house,” whispered Lady Lackington, but still loud enough for Lizzy
to overhear.
“Not exactly as your Ladyship would illustrate it,” said Lizzy, smiling;
“but, in seeing the amount of those gifts which have won the suffrages
of society, I own that I am not discouraged. I am told,” said she,
with a great air of artlessness, “that no one is more popular than your
Ladyship.”
Lady Lackington arose, and stared at her with a look of open insolence;
and then turning, whispered something in Beecher's ear.
“After all,” muttered he, “_she_ did not begin it. Get your shawl,
Lizzy,” added he, aloud; “my sister keeps early hours, and we must not
break in on them.”
Lady Lackington and Lizzy courtesied to each other like ladies of high
comedy; it seemed, indeed, a sort of rivalry whose reverence should be
most formal and most deferential.
“Have n't you gone and done it!” cried Beecher, as they gained the
street. “Georgina will never forget this so long as she lives.”
“And if she did I 'd take care to refresh her memory,” said Lizzy,
laughing; and the mellow sounds rang out as if from a heart that never
knew a care.
“I shall require to set out for England to-morrow,” said Beecher,
moodily, so soon as they had reached the hotel. The speech was uttered
to induce a rejoinder, but she made none.
“And probably be absent for several weeks,” added he.
Still she never spoke, but seemed busily examining the embroidered
coronet on the corner of her handkerchief.
“And as circumstances require--I mean, as I shall be obliged to go
alone, and as it would be highly inconvenient, not to say unusual, for
a young married woman, more especially in the rank you occupy, to remain
in an hotel alone, without friends or relatives, we have thought--that
is, Georgy and I have considered--that you should stay with her.”
Lizzy only smiled; but what that strange smile might signify it was far
beyond Beecher's skill to read.
“There is only one difficulty in the matter,” resumed he; “and as it is
a difficulty almost entirely created by yourself, you will naturally
be the more ready to rectify it.” He waited long enough to provoke a
question from her, but she seemed to have no curiosity on the subject,
and did not speak.
“I mean,” added he, more boldly, “that before accepting my sister's
hospitality, you must necessarily make some _amende_ for the manner in
which you have just treated her.”
“In which _I_ treated _her!_” said Lizzy, after him, her utterance being
slow and totally passionless.
“Yes, these were my words,” said he.
“Have you forgotten how _she_ treated _me?_” asked Lizzy, in the same
calm tone.
“As to that,” said he, with a sort of fidgety confusion,--“as to
that, you ought to bear in mind who she is--what she is--and then it's
Georgy's way; even among her equals--those well born as herself--she has
always been permitted to exercise a certain sort of sway; in fact,
the world of fashion has decreed her a sort of eminence. You cannot
understand these things yet, though you may do so, one day or other. In
a word, _she_ can do what _you_ cannot, and must not, and the sooner you
know it the better.”
“And what is it you propose that I should do?” asked she, with seeming
innocence.
“Write her a note,--brief if you like, but very civil,--full of excuses
for anything that may have given her offence; say all about your
ignorance of life, newness to the world, and so on; declare your
readiness to accept any suggestions she will kindly give you for future
conduct,--for she knows society like a book,--and conclude by assuring
her--Well!” cried he, suddenly, for she had started from him so abruptly
that he forgot his dictation.
“Go on,--go on,” said she, resuming her calm tone.
“You 've put me out,” cried he; “I can't remember where I was. Stay--I
was saying--What was it? it was something like--”
“Something like 'I 'll not do it any more,'” said Lizzy, with a low
laugh; while, at the same instant, she opened her writing-desk and sat
down to write.
Now, although Beecher would have preferred seeing her accept this lesson
with more show of humility, he was, on the whole, well satisfied with
her submission. He watched her as her pen moved across the paper,
and saw that she wrote in a way that indicated calm composure and not
passion. The note was quickly finished; and as she was folding it, she
stopped, and said, “But perhaps you might like to read it?”
“Of course I 'd like to read it,” said he, eagerly, taking it op and
reading aloud:--
“'The Viscountess Lackington having received Lord
Lackington's orders to apologize to Georgina, Viscountess
Lackington, for certain expressions which may have offended
her, willingly accepts the task as one likely to indicate to
her Ladyship the propriety of excusing her own conduct to
one who had come to claim her kindness and protection.'
“And would you presume to send her such a note as this?” cried he, as he
crushed it up and flung it into the fire.
“Not now,” said she, with a quiet smile.
“Sit down, and then write--”
“I'll not write another,” said she, rising. She moved slowly across the
room; and as she gained the door, she turned and said, “If you don't
want Kuffner, I 'd be glad to have him here;” and without awaiting his
reply, she was gone.
“Haven't I made a precious mess of it?” cried Beecher, as he buried his
head between his hands, and sat down before the fire.