_Birds of a Feather_
WE WILL go and make a morning call. The garish light of day, that never
suits a chamber, was broken by a muslin veil, which sent its softened
twilight through a room of moderate dimensions but of princely
decoration, and which opened into a conservatory. The choice saloon was
hung with rose-coloured silk, which diffused a delicate tint over the
inlaid and costly cabinets. It was crowded with tables covered with
_bijouterie_. Apparently, however, a road had been cut through the
furniture, by which you might wind your way up to the divinity of the
temple. A ravishing perfume, which was ever changing, wandered through
the apartment. Now a violet breeze made you poetical; now a rosy gale
called you to love. And ever and anon the strange but thrilling breath
of some rare exotic summoned you, like an angel, to opening Eden. All
was still and sweet, save that a fountain made you, as it were, more
conscious of silence; save that the song of birds made you, as it were,
more sensible of sweetness.
Upon a couch, her small head resting upon an arm covered with bracelets,
which blazed like a Sol-dan’s treasure, reclined Mrs. Dallington Vere.
She is in thought. Is her abstracted eye fixed in admiration upon that
twinkling foot which, clothed in its Russian slipper, looks like a
serpent’s tongue, small, red, and pointed; or does a more serious
feeling than self-admiration inspire this musing? Ah! a cloud courses
over that pellucid brow. Tis gone, but it frowned like the harbinger of
a storm. Again! A small but blood-red blush rises into that clear cheek.
It was momentary, but its deep colour indicated that it came from the
heart. Her eye lights up with a wild and glittering fire, but the flash
vanishes into darkness, and gloom follows the unnatural light. She
clasps her hands; she rises from an uneasy seat, though supported by a
thousand pillows, and she paces the conservatory.
A guest is announced. It is Sir Lucius Grafton.
He salutes her with that studied courtesy which shows they are only
friends, but which, when maintained between intimate acquaintance,
sometimes makes wicked people suspect that they once perhaps were more.
She resumes her seat, and he throws himself into an easy chair which is
opposite.
‘Your note I this moment received, Bertha, and I am here. You perceive
that my fidelity is as remarkable as ever.’
‘We had a gay meeting last night.’
‘Very much so. So Lady Araminta has at last shown mercy.’
‘I cannot believe it.’
‘I have just had a note from Challoner, preliminary, I suppose, to
my trusteeship. You are not the only person who holds my talents for
business in high esteem.’
‘But Ballingford; what will he say?’
‘That is his affair; and as he never, to my knowledge, spoke to the
purpose, his remarks now, I suppose, are not fated to be much more
apropos.’
‘Yet he can say things. We all know----’
‘Yes, yes, we all know; but nobody believes. That is the motto of the
present day; and the only way to neutralise scandal, and to counteract
publicity.’
Mrs. Dallington was silent, and looked uneasy; and her friend perceiving
that, although she had sent to him so urgent a billet, she did not
communicate, expressed a little surprise.
‘But you wish to see me, Bertha?’
‘I do very much, and to speak to you. For these many days I have
intended it; but I do not know how it is, I have postponed and postponed
our interview. I begin to believe,’ she added, looking up with a faint
smile, ‘I am half afraid to speak.’
‘Good God!’ said the Baronet, really alarmed, ‘you are in no trouble?’
‘Oh, no! make yourself easy. Trouble, trouble! No, no! I am not exactly
in trouble. I am not in debt; I am not in a scrape; but--but--but I am
in something--something worse, perhaps: I am in love.’
The Baronet looked puzzled. He did not for a moment suspect himself to
be the hero; yet, although their mutual confidence was illimitable, he
did not exactly see why, in the present instance, there had been
such urgency to impart an event not altogether either unnatural or
miraculous.
‘In love!’ said Sir Lucius; ‘a very proper situation for the prettiest
woman in London. Everybody is in love with you; and I heartily rejoice
that some one of our favoured sex is about to avenge our sufferings.’
‘_Point de moquerie_, Lucy! I am miserable.’
‘Dear little pigeon, what is the matter?’
‘Ah, me!’
‘Speak,-speak,’ said he, in a gay tone; ‘you were not made for sighs,
but smiles. Begin----’
‘Well, then, the young Duke----’
‘The deuce!’ said Sir Lucius, alarmed.
‘Oh! no! make yourself easy,’ said Mrs. Dallington, smiling; ‘no
counterplot, I assure you, although really you do not deserve to
succeed.’
‘Then who is it?’ eagerly asked Sir Lucius.
‘You will not let me speak. The young Duke----’
‘Damn the Duke!’
‘How impatient you are, Lucy! I must begin with the beginning. Well, the
young Duke has something to do with it.’
‘Pray be explicit.’
‘In a word, then,’ said Mrs. Dallington, in a low voice, but with an
expression of earnestness which Sir Lucius had never before remarked, ‘I
am in love, desperately in love, with one whom hitherto, in accordance
with your wishes, I have been driving into the arms of another.
Our views, our interests are opposite; but I wish to act fairly, if
possible; I wish to reconcile them; and it is for this purpose that I
have summoned you this morning.’
‘Arundel Dacre!’ said Sir Lucius, quietly, and he rapped his cane on his
boot. The blood-red spot again rose in his companion’s cheek.
There was silence for a moment. Sir Lucius would not disturb it, and
Mrs. Dallington again spoke.
‘St. James and the little Dacre have again met. You have my secret. I do
not ask your good services with Arundel, which I might at another time;
but you cannot expect me to work against myself. Depend, then, no longer
on my influence with May Dacre; for to be explicit, as we have always
been, most heartily should I rejoice to see her a duchess.’
‘The point, Bertha,’ said Sir Lucius, very quietly, ‘is not that I can
no longer count upon you as an ally; but I must, I perceive, reckon you
an opponent.’
‘Cannot we prevent this?’ asked Mrs. Dallington with energy.
‘I see no alternative,’ said Sir Lucius, shaking his head with great
unconcern. ‘Time will prove who will have to congratulate the other.’
‘My friend,’ said Mrs. Dallington, with briskness and decision, ‘no
affectation between us. Drop this assumed unconcern. You know, you know
well, that no incident could occur to you at this moment more mortifying
than the one I have communicated, which deranges your plans, and
probably may destroy your views. You cannot misconceive my motives in
making this not very agreeable communication. I might have pursued my
object without your knowledge and permission. In a word, I might have
betrayed you. But with me every consideration has yielded to friendship.
I cannot forget how often, and how successfully, we have combined. I
should grieve to see our ancient and glorious alliance annulled. I am
yet in hopes that we may both obtain our objects through its medium.’
‘I am not aware,’ said Sir Lucius, with more feeling, ‘that I have given
you any cause to complain of my want of candour. We are in a difficult
position. I have nothing to suggest, but I am ready to listen. You know
how ready I am to adopt all your suggestions; and I know how seldom you
have wanted an expedient.’
‘The little Dacre, then, must not marry her cousin; but we cannot
flatter ourselves that such a girl will not want to marry some one;
I have a conviction that this is her decisive season. She must be
occupied. In a word, Lucy, some one must be found.’
The Baronet started from his chair, and nearly knocked down a table.
‘Confound your tables, Bertha,’ said he, in a pettish tone; ‘I can never
consult in a room full of tables.’ He walked into the conservatory, and
she followed him. He seemed plunged in thought. They were again silent.
Suddenly he seized her hand and led her back to the sofa, on which they
both sat down.
‘My dear friend,’ he said, in a tone of agitated solemnity. ‘I will
conceal no longer from you what I have sometimes endeavoured to conceal
from myself: I love that girl to distraction.’ ‘You!’
‘Yes; to distraction. Ever since we first met her image has haunted me.
I endeavoured to crush a feeling which promised only to plunge me into
anxiety, and to distract my attention from my important objects; but
in vain, in vain. Her unexpected appearance yesterday has revived my
passion with triple fervour. I have passed a sleepless night, and rise
with the determination to obtain her.’
‘You know your own power, Lucius, better perhaps than I do, or the
world. We rank it high; none higher; yet, nevertheless, I look upon this
declaration as insanity.’
He raised her hand to his lips, and pressed it with delicate warmth, and
summoned his most insinuating tone. ‘With your aid, Bertha, I should not
despair!’
‘Lucy, I am your friend; perhaps your best friend: but these Dacres!
Would it were anyone but a Dacre! No, no, this cannot be.’
‘Bertha, you know me better than the world: I am a roué, and you are
my friend; but, believe me, I am not quite so vain as to indulge for
a moment in the idea that May Dacre should be aught to me but what all
might approve and all might honour. Yes, I intend her for my wife.’
‘Your wife! You are, indeed, premature.’
‘Not quite so premature as you perhaps imagine. Know, then, that the
great point is on the eve of achievement. Urged by the information which
Afy thinks she unconsciously obtains from Lachen, and harrowed by the
idea that I am about to tear her from England, she has appealed to the
Duke in a manner to which they were both unused. Hitherto her docile
temper has not permitted her to abuse her empire. Now she exerts
her power with an energy to which he believed her a stranger. He is
staggered by his situation. He at the same time repents having so rashly
engaged the feelings of a woman, and is flattered that he is so loved.
They have more than once consulted upon the expediency of an elopement.’
‘This is good news.’
‘O! Bertha, you must feel like me before you can estimate it. Yes!’
he clenched his fist with horrible energy, ‘there is no hell like a
detested wife!’
They were again silent; but when she thought that his emotion had
subsided, she again recalled their consideration to the object of their
interview.
‘You play a bold game, indeed; but it shall not fail from any deficiency
on my part. But how are we to proceed at present? Who is to interest the
feelings of the little Dacre at once?’
‘Who but her future husband? What I want you to do is this: we shall
call; but prepare the house to receive us not only as acquaintances, but
as desirable intimates. You know what to say. I have an idea that the
divine creature entertains no very unfavourable opinion of your obedient
slave; and with her temper I care not for what she will not probably
hear, the passing opinion of a third person. I stand at present, thanks
to Afy, very high with the public; and you know, although my life
has not the least altered, that my indiscretions have now a dash
of discretion in them; and a reformed rake, as all agree, is the
personification of morality. Prepare my way with the Dacres, and all
will go right. And as for this Arundel, I know him not; but you have
told me enough to make me consider him the most fortunate of men. As for
love between cousins, I laugh at it. A glance from you will extinguish
the feeble flame, as a sunbeam does a fire: and for the rest, the world
does me the honour to believe that, if Lucius Grafton be remarkable for
one thing more than another, it is for the influence he attains over
young minds. I will get acquainted with this boy; and, for once, let
love be unattended by doubt.’
Long was their counsel. The plans we have hinted at were analysed,
canvassed, weighed, and finally matured. They parted, after a long
morning, well aware of the difficulties which awaited their fulfilment,
but also full of hope.