Time passed, and the children of either house exhibited those gradual
changes which are scarcely perceptible to a parent's eye, under which they
so constantly remain. The young men exchanged school for college; the
girls, under the protecting guardianship of their mothers, were taken into
public; and a new sense of care, on a new ground, pervaded those anxious
hearts, which beat but for their beloved offspring, and which were perhaps
most solicitous for them, at the time they were indulging the innocent and
artless gaiety natural to their age.
As Edmund Harewood had ever been a thoughtful youth, and possessed talents
which were likely to render his study of the law beneficial both to himself
and the community, Mr. Harewood changed his opinion as to the profession he
intended him to pursue, and directed him to prepare for the bar, to the
entire satisfaction of the young man.
Charles had for some time evinced a great desire to enter the army; but as
his mother could not conquer her feelings, so far as to permit it, he was
at length induced to resign the scheme entirely; but his anxiety to travel
continuing as strong as ever, Mr. Harewood promised, if possible, to
procure him some situation in life which would allow him to indulge his
wishes, consistent with his duty; but this was conceded on the express
terms of his diligent application to study; and as he perceived himself
the positive necessity of becoming a good linguist, he applied himself to
learning the modern languages with great assiduity.
Ellen grew up a pretty girl, but her figure was diminutive, and the
gentleness and docility which had been ever her happiest characteristic,
diffused a charm of feminine softness over her whole person, which was to
many very attractive, though not striking. The equanimity of her temper
had the effect of perpetuating that smooth and dimpled description of
countenance which is peculiar to childhood; so that, although a year older
than Matilda, she appeared younger; and when they were seen together among
strangers, she was considered as a younger sister, supported by the kind
attentions of her superior; for Matilda, although very modest, was
dignified, and her person, being elegant and tall, confirmed the idea.
In a short time, Mrs. Hanson received several offers from men of fortune
for Matilda, all of which were politely but positively refused; for the
poor girl always showed a decided dread of leaving her mother, and very
justly observed, that a very intimate acquaintance was necessary between
persons who bound themselves to so sacred and indissoluble a connection
as marriage; and although naturally too generous and ingenuous to suspect
others of acting from unworthy motives, she was yet aware that a young
woman who has a large fortune in her own disposal, and who has neither
father nor brother to investigate the private character of those who
address her, has need of a more than ordinary share of prudence, and will
be wise in delaying a consent which deprives her of all control over the
wealth of which Providence has appointed her steward.
Although thus wise in her decision on this important point, and ever
assigning reasons which showed how utterly unbiassed her affections were
towards the candidates for her favour, yet Matilda did not always act with
equal wisdom; she was excessively fond of dancing, and as she acquitted
herself with uncommon grace, perhaps vanity furnished her with an
additional motive for her desire to partake this amusement more frequently
than it suited her mamma; and once she accepted an invitation to a private
ball, when Mrs. Weston was her chaperon. Waltzing was introduced, and
Matilda, though by no means pleased with the general style of the dance,
was struck with certain movements which she thought graceful, and the day
following began to practise them with her young _protégée_.
"I think you waltz very well," said Mrs. Weston.
"I soon should do so, I dare say, if I practised it; but as it was new to
me, I durst not venture last night, although I made a kind of half promise
to Sir Theodore Branson, that I would do it the very next time we met."
"Do you call that waltzing?" said Mrs. Hanson, laying down her netting; "it
appears to me to be more the work of the hands than the feet a great deal;
and you go round and round, child, very foolishly, till one grows giddy to
look at you--so, so--well, and what, do the gentlemen stand by to grow
giddy too?"
"Dear mamma, the gentlemen waltz with the ladies; I said, you know, that
Sir Theodore wished me to do it, but I refused."
"You did perfectly right; I should have been much hurt if you had waltzed
with any man."
"It is very fashionable, mother."
"More the pity; but I am sure I need no argument against it to you,
Matilda."
"Indeed, mamma, I see nothing against it--I think it very graceful; and I
am sure, if you had seen Lady Emma Lovell last night, you would have
thought so too."
"My admiration of her person would not for a moment have changed my
opinion of her conduct. I see beautiful women, who expose their persons in
a manner I decidedly condemn (as I know, Matilda, you do likewise); looking
at them as fine _statues_, I may admire the work of the great Artificer;
but the moment I consider them as _women_ filling a respectable place in
society, the wives and daughters of men of rank and probity, and, what is
still stronger, women professing, at least nominally, to be members of the
Christian church, I turn from them with disgust and sorrow; and though I
sincerely despise all affectation of more exalted purity than others, I yet
will never hesitate to give my voice against a folly so unworthy of my sex,
and which can be only tolerated by women whose vanity has destroyed that
delicacy which is our best recommendation."
Matilda applied all her mother said to waltzing, and thought it was equally
just with the strictures she herself felt true, with regard to the mode of
dress adopted by some whom she met in public. Ellen and herself were ever
well, and even fashionably, dressed; but yet they avoided the fault they
condemned: for some time, the sisterly affection which really subsisted
between them, induced them to appear in similar dresses; but as Matilda
rose to womanhood, a fear lest Ellen should be induced to expense, added
to some jokes that were passed upon her respecting Charles, induced her to
forego this plan, and Ellen had too much good sense to pursue it further;
and, as the acquaintance of Mrs. Hanson increased, Matilda was necessarily
led into parties where Ellen could not meet her; so that they became in
some degree divided in person, but their attachment remained the same. Mrs.
Hanson was desirous that her daughter should take a more extensive view of
society than was necessary for Ellen; she dreaded an early marriage for
her, although she thought it desirable to bring her into society, being
persuaded that young women of large fortune too frequently are rendered
unhappy in the marriage state, by being dazzled at their first outset in
life by the novelty, and gaiety of the scene around them, which leads them
to expect a continuance of the same brilliant career, incompatible with the
duties of that state into which they incautiously plunge; whereas a short
time passed in life, would show them the inefficacy of trifling amusement
and splendid show to procure real satisfaction, and lead them to
investigate those circumstances in the minds and situations of their
admirers, most likely to ensure their future felicity, and most consonant
with their real wants and wishes. The judicious mother saw, with the truest
pleasure, that the well-turned mind of her daughter ever pointed to the
scenes of simple enjoyment and virtuous intelligence which illumined her
early years; but, in her peculiar situation, she was aware that Matilda,
to a certain degree, should adopt the apostle's advice--"Try all things,
cleave to that which is good."
On the other hand, Mr. and Mrs. Harewood, as the young people advanced
towards maturity, had felt it a point of delicacy, however sincere and
ardent their friendship might be, in a slight degree to abstain from that
intimate and daily intercourse which had so long and happily subsisted
between the families. The days were past when Charles could romp with, or
Edmund instruct, Matilda; and although they held the same rank in society,
yet as the noble fortune of Matilda (increased materially by the retired
way in which her mother lived during her infancy) entitled her to marry a
nobleman, Mr. Harewood did not choose that the presence of his sons should
cause reports which might prevent her from receiving offers of this nature.
He was attached to Matilda, as if she had indeed been his child, but he was
too independent, as well as too honest, to render either his present
affection, or his past services, the medium of increasing the general
regard Matilda had manifested for both his sons into a decided predilection
for either: nor was he aware that either of the young men had for her that
peculiar attachment which a man ought to feel for a wife. Edmund was wrapt
_apparently_ in a profession which is in its own nature absorbing, and
Charles appeared too eager to travel to have any tendency to early
marriage.
About a week after the foregoing conversation had taken place between
Matilda and her mother, the former went again to a ball, with a lady of
rank, who engaged to be her guardian for the night, as Mrs. Hanson and Mrs.
Weston had both caught severe colds, from being out late together.
Lady Araminta Montague, the conductor of Matilda for the evening, was a
fashionable and showy woman, who never appeared in public without being
surrounded by all those who affected to be considered persons of taste, and
fitted to move in the first style. She was now sought with more than common
avidity, on account of her attractive companion, whom she endeavoured to
show off in the happiest manner, by leading the light conversation of the
moment to subjects familiar to Matilda's observation, or likely to draw
from her those remarks in which the ability and talent she possessed would
be naturally, yet strikingly, displayed. Of this species of kindness
Matilda was wholly unconscious, as it was one which her own friends had
never adopted; when, therefore, she found herself the universal centre of
attraction in the room, it was no wonder that her spirits were unusually
elated, and her vanity took the lead; so that when the sprightly dance
added its intoxicating powers, and her mind was entranced by the pleasure
of the moment, she forgot the resolutions and opinions formed in a wiser
hour.
When the first two country-dances were over, several parties began, as on
the preceding night, to form into couples for the purpose of waltzing, at
that time a novelty in this country; and while Matilda was looking at them,
to her surprise, Sir Theodore Branson just entered the room, and asked the
honour of her hand, which he almost claimed as a promise.
This young gentleman was considered the handsomest man, and the most
elegant dancer, in the circles of fashion. That he was at once a shallow
coxcomb and an encroaching acquaintance, unfortunately did not prevent many
young ladies from desiring him as a partner; and when Matilda perceived
the leer of envy, and the pause of observation directed towards her, she
half gave him her hand, being conscious that her own figure and style of
dancing would be superior to any other of the candidates for admiration
that had preceded her; yet she paused, remembering her mother's words, and,
with a kind of anxious, fearful gaze, that fell like a veil over the
exultation and gaiety of her features, she looked an appeal to the lady
who was her guide, or ought to have been.
"Really, my dear, I don't know what to say; but as the thing is new, if
you are not quite _au fait_, you will be pardoned, and Sir Theodore is so
admirable a partner, I really think you may venture to try."
Matilda, in a calmer moment, would have seen how totally distinct her
ladyship's fears were from those of her mother; but the flutter of her
spirits, the demands of her vanity, and the address of her partner,
combined to hurry her forward, and she found herself in the midst of the
group before she was aware: it was then too late to recede: the motion for
a short time restored her spirits; but as the arm of Sir Theodore encircled
her waist, deep confusion overwhelmed her, she blushed to a degree that was
absolutely painful; and though unable, in the hurry of the motion, to
entertain a positive reflection, yet a thousand thoughts seemed to press
at once for admittance, all tinged with self-reproach; and at length,
unable to endure them, she suddenly laid her hand upon her forehead, and
ran, or rather reeled, to her seat.
As it was the nature of the dance to produce the sensation of dizziness,
this circumstance excited no particular attention, and her partner merely
rallied her upon it, with that air of _badinage_ young men now-a-days
pretty generally adopt. Every word he uttered was distressing to Matilda,
who felt as if she were insulted by his freedom, and had degraded herself
too far to enjoy the right of resenting it; her native pride, however,
contending with her self-condemnation, she removed her hand from her eyes,
in order to give him a look which would repel his impertinence, and, to her
utter astonishment, saw three gentlemen standing before, and looking
earnestly upon her; two of these were her friends, Edmund and Charles
Harewood.
The moment she looked up, the first withdrew, but Charles and the stranger
advanced; they did not, however, find it very easy to approach her, guarded
as she was by the officious Sir Theodore; but as Charles was not easily
balked in any intention he had formed, he succeeded in inquiring after her
health, and introducing his friend Mr. Belmont to her.
"I am very glad--I mean I did not know you were here," said Matilda
confusedly.
"Mr. Belmont introduced us. We only arrived from Oxford yesterday, and
Ellen, being very anxious that Mr. Belmont should see you, proposed our
coming hither."
A little relieved from observing that Edmund still did not join them, under
whose eye she felt that she should have shrunk, Matilda ventured to look at
Mr. Belmont, recollecting that she had frequently heard him mentioned as
the friend of both the brothers, during their residence at Oxford, and that
he had been the visitant of the family the preceding winter, when she was
on an excursion to Bath; she knew that he was highly esteemed by the
family, and, aware in what a favourable point of view their affection for
her would lead them to represent her, the idea that her first introduction
had taken place at a moment which, of all others, she most regretted, was
really insupportable to her.
Lady Araminta endeavoured, by her praise, to remove the chagrin which her
ingenuous countenance (ever the faithful harbinger of her thoughts)
betrayed so plainly--"I assure you, my dear," said she, "that for some
time you performed very prettily; didn't you think so, Mr. Harewood?"
"Pardon me, my lady, from differing with you--I have seen a country actress
do it much better: indeed I said so at the moment--Belmont knows I did; and
my brother observed that----"
At this moment the country-dance was recommenced, and Matilda was hurried
away, although her solicitude to hear what Edmund said amounted to misery;
but as Charles was addressing Lady Araminta, not her, it was impossible to
ask; besides, no small portion of anger at Edmund mingled with her
anxiety--he had never yet approached her. She knew indeed that his ideas of
feminine decorum were rigid; but still he had no right to resent her
conduct, or he might have told her as a friend, as he used to do, wherein
she erred. As these thoughts struck upon her mind, he passed her in the
dance, and made her a profound bow of recognition; she watched to the
bottom, and perceived him engaged in earnest conversation with a very
lovely young person, whom she remembered as one of those who refused to
waltz; again her heart smote her, yet her anger was the most predominant
emotion, and she felt as if Edmund Harewood had injured her beyond
forgiveness.
The waltzing recommenced, but the very name of it was now hateful to
Matilda, and she hastily entreated Lady Araminta to order her carriage.
Charles was near; accustomed to read her thoughts, he advanced to offer his
hand to lead her down stairs--"You are not well, Matilda," said he,
tenderly--"at least not comfortable--I am sure you are not."
Matilda replied only by a smothered sigh.
"They tell me," continued Charles, "that you are about to marry Sir
Theodore Branson?"
"'Tis false," said Matilda, quickly, her bosom evidently palpitating with
shame and anger.
"Then how could you think of waltzing with him? I am sure neither Edmund
nor myself would have dared (brothers as we once deemed ourselves) to have
taken--but--really I beg pardon, Miss Hanson; while I condemn another, I
intrude too far myself."
Matilda was just stepping into the carriage; she turned her eyes on
Charles--they were full of tears, tears such as he had seen in her
repentant eyes in early days; he was affected with them--he felt that the
latter part of his speech had hurt her--that she was not the fashionable
belle, but still the good girl he must love and admire.--"Then," cried he,
eagerly, "you will not marry that sprig of a baronet--eh, Matilda?"
"I will not _indeed_."
"And do you not mean to waltz again?"
"No; I was a fool once, but----"
The carriage drove off, and Charles returned with a light heart to the
ball-room; but that of Edmund was very heavy, and the friends shortly left
the gay scene, and returned to Mr. Harewood's.