The evening was closing, when Laura proceeded on her way. She had
outstaid her purposed time, and from every bush by the path side she
expected to see Hargrave steal upon her; in every gust of the chill
November wind she thought she heard his footstep. She passed the last
cottages connected with Norwood. The evening fires glanced cheerfully
through the casements, and the voice of rustic merriment came softened
on the ear. 'Amiable De Courcy!' thought Laura. 'The meanest of his
dependents finds comfort in his protection, while the being on whom I
have lavished the affection which might have rejoiced that worthy heart,
makes himself an object of dread, even to her whom he pretends to love.'
She reached home, however, without interruption, and was going to join
Lady Pelham in the sitting-room; when happening to pass a looking-glass,
she observed that her eyes still bore traces of the tears she had been
shedding, and, in dread of the merciless raillery of her aunt, she
retired to her own room. There, with an undefined feeling of
despondence, she sat down to re-consider her conversation with De
Courcy.
Never was task more easy, or more unprofitable. She remembered every
word that De Courcy had uttered; remembered the very tone, look, and
gesture with which they were spoken. She recollected too all that she
had said in reply; but she could by no means unravel the confused
effects of the scene upon her own mind. She certainly pitied her lover
to a very painful degree. 'Poor De Courcy!' said she, accompanying the
half-whisper with a heavy sigh. But having, in the course of half an
hour's rumination, repeated this soliloquy about twenty times, she began
to recollect that De Courcy had borne his disappointment with
considerable philosophy, and appeared to derive no small comfort from
the prospect of an intercourse of mere friendship. This fortunate
recollection, however, not immediately relieving her, she endeavoured to
account for her depression by laying hold of a vague idea which was
floating in her mind, that she had not on this occasion acted as she
ought. Friendships between young persons of different sexes were
proverbial fomenters of the tender passion; and though she was herself
in perfect safety, was it right to expose to such hazard the peace of De
Courcy? Was it generous, was it even honourable to increase the
difficulties of his self-conquest, by admitting him to the intimacy of
friendship? It was true he had voluntarily sought the post of danger:
but then he was under the dominion of an influence which did not allow
him to weigh consequences; and was it not unpardonable in her, who was
in full possession of herself, to sanction, to aid his imprudence? Yet
how could she have rejected a friendship which did her so much honour?
the friendship of the man whom her father had so loved and respected! of
the man to whom her father had wished to see her connected by the
closest ties! the man to whom she owed obligations never to be repaid?
Alas! how had she acknowledged these obligations? By suffering the most
amiable of mankind to sport with his affections, while she had weakly
thrown away her own. But the mischief was not yet totally irremediable;
and dazzled by the romantic generosity of sacrificing her highest
earthly joy to the restoration of her benefactor's quiet, she snatched a
pen intending to retract her promise. An obsolete notion of decorum was
for once favourable to a lover, and Laura saw the impropriety of writing
to De Courcy. Besides, it occurred to her that she might withdraw into
Scotland, without formally announcing the reason of her retreat; and
thus leave herself at liberty to receive De Courcy as a friend whenever
discretion should warrant this indulgence. After her most magnanimous
resolves however, feeling her mind as confused and comfortless as
before, she determined to obtain the benefit of impartial counsel, and
changed the destination of the paper on which she had already written
'My dear friend,' from De Courcy to Mrs Douglas.
With all her native candour and singleness of heart did Laura detail her
case to the monitress of her youth. To reveal De Courcy's name was
contrary to her principles; but she described his situation, his mode of
life, and domestic habits. She enlarged upon his character, her
obligations to him, and the regret which, for his sake, she felt, that
particular circumstances rendered her incapable of such an attachment as
was necessary to conjugal happiness. She mentioned her compliance with
her lover's request of a continuance of their former intimacy; confessed
her doubts of the propriety of her concession; and entreated Mrs
Douglas's explicit opinion on the past, as well as her directions for
the future.
Her mind thus unburdened, she was less perplexed and uneasy; and the
next morning cheerfully commenced her journey, pleasing herself with the
prospect of being released from the harassing attendance of Hargrave. On
the evening of the second day the travellers reached Grosvenor Street;
and the unsuspecting Laura, with renewed sentiments of gratitude to her
aunt, revisited the dwelling which had received her when she could claim
no other shelter.
Her annuity having now become due, Laura, soon after her arrival in
town, one day borrowed Lady Pelham's chariot, that she might go to
receive the money, and purchase some necessary additions to her
wardrobe. Remembering, however, the inconveniencies to which she had
been subjected by her imprudence in leaving herself without money, she
regulated her disbursements by the strictest economy; determined to
reserve a sum, which, besides a little gift to her cousin, might defray
the expences of a journey to Scotland.
Her way chancing to lie through Holborn, a recollection of the
civilities of her old landlady, induced her to stop and inquire for Mrs
Dawkins. The good woman almost compelled her to alight; overwhelmed her
with welcomes, and asked a hundred questions in a breath, giving in
return a very detailed account of all her family affairs. She informed
Laura, that Miss Julia, having lately read the life of a heroine who in
the capacity of a governess captivated the heart of a great lord, had
been seized with the desire to seek adventures under a similar
character; but finding that recommendations for experience were
necessary to her admission into any family of rank, she had condescended
to serve her apprenticeship in the tuition of the daughters of an
eminent cowfeeder. The good woman expressed great compassion for the
pupils of so incompetent a teacher, from whom they could learn nothing
useful. 'But that was,' she observed, 'their father's look out, and in
the mean time, it was so far well that July was doing something towards
her keeping.' After a visit of some length Laura wished to be gone, but
her hostess would not suspend her eloquence long enough to suffer her to
take leave. She was at last obliged to interrupt the harangue; and
breaking from her indefatigable entertainer, hurried home, not a little
alarmed lest her stay should expose her on her return home to oratory
of a different kind. Lady Pelham, however, received her most graciously,
examined all her purchases, and enquired very particularly into the cost
of each. She calculated the amount, and the balance of the annuity
remaining in Laura's possession. 'Five and thirty pounds!' she
exclaimed--'what in the world, Laura, will you do with so much money?'
'Perhaps five and thirty different things,' answered Laura, smiling; 'I
have never had, nor ever shall have, half so much money as I could
spend.' 'Oh you extravagant thing!' cried Lady Pelham patting her cheek.
'But take care that some one does not save you the trouble of spending
it. You should be very sure of the locks of your drawers. You had better
let me put your treasures into my bureau.' Laura was about to comply,
when recollecting that there might be some awkwardness in asking her
aunt for the money while she concealed its intended destination, she
thanked Lady Pelham, but said she supposed it would be perfectly safe in
her own custody; and then, as usual, avoided impending altercation by
hastening out of the room. She thought Lady Pelham looked displeased;
but as that was a necessary effect of the slightest contradiction, she
saw it without violent concern; and the next time they met, her Ladyship
was again all smiles and courtesy.
Three days, 'three wondrous days', all was sunshine and serenity. Lady
Pelham was the most ingenious, the most amusing, the most fascinating of
woman-kind. 'What a pity,' thought Laura, 'that my aunt's spirits are so
fluctuating! How delightful she can be when she pleases!' In the midst
of these brilliant hours, Lady Pelham one morning ran into the room
where Laura was at work--'Here's a poor fellow,' said she, with a look
and voice all compassion, 'who has sent me his account, and says he must
go to jail if it is not paid instantly. But it is quite impossible for
me to get the money till tomorrow.' 'To jail!' cried Laura,
shocked--'What is the amount?' 'Forty pounds,' said Lady Pelham, 'and I
have not above ten in the house.' 'Take mine,' cried Laura, hastening to
bring it. Lady Pelham stopped her. 'No, my dear good girl,' said she, 'I
wont take away your little store, perhaps you may want it yourself.' 'Oh
no,' said Laura, 'I cannot want it, pray let me bring it.' 'The poor man
has a large family,' said Lady Pelham, 'but indeed I am very unwilling
to take--' Her Ladyship spared further regrets, for Laura was out of
hearing. She returned in a moment with the whole of her wealth, out of
which, Lady Pelham, after some further hesitation, was prevailed upon
to take thirty pounds; a robbery to which she averred that she would
never have consented, but for the wretched situation of an innocent
family, and her own certainty of repaying the debt in a day or two at
farthest. Several days, however, passed away, and Lady Pelham made no
mention of discharging her debt. Laura wondered a little that her aunt
should forget a promise so lately and so voluntarily given; but her
attention was entirely diverted from the subject by the following letter
from Mrs Douglas.
'You see, my dear Laura, I lose no time in answering your
letter, though, for the first time, I answer you with some
perplexity. The weight which you have always kindly allowed to
my opinion, makes me at all times give it with timidity; but
that is not the only reason of my present hesitation. I confess
that in spite of the apparent frankness and perspicuity with
which you have written, I am not able exactly to comprehend
you. You describe a man of respectable abilities, of amiable
dispositions, of sound principles, and engaging manners. You
profess that such qualities, aided by intimacy, have secured
your cordial friendship, while obligations beyond return have
enlivened this friendship by the warmest gratitude. But, just
as I am about to conclude that all this has produced its
natural effect, and to prepare my congratulations for a happy
occasion, you kill my expectations with a dismal sentence,
expressing your regrets for having been obliged to reject the
addresses of this excellent person. Now this might have been
intelligible enough, supposing you were pre-occupied by a
stronger attachment. But so far from this, you declare yourself
absolutely incapable of any exclusive affection, or of such a
regard as is necessary to any degree of happiness in the
conjugal state. I know not, my dear Laura, what ideas you may
entertain of the fervency suitable to wedded love; but, had you
been less peremptory, I should have thought it not unlikely to
spring from a young woman's "most cordial esteem" and "warmest
gratitude" towards a young man with "expressive black eyes,"
and "the most benevolent smile in the world."
'From the tenor of your letter, as well as from some
expressions you have formerly dropped, I am led to conjecture
that you think an extravagant passion necessary to the
happiness of married life. You will smile at the expression;
but if it offends you, change it for any other descriptive of a
feeling beyond tender friendship, and you will find the
substitute nearly synonymous with the original. Now this idea
appears to me rather erroneous; and I cannot help thinking that
calm, dispassionate affection, at least on the side of the
lady, promises more permanent comfort.
'All male writers on the subject of love, so far as my little
knowledge extends, represent possession as the infallible cure
of passion. A very unattractive picture, it must be confessed,
of the love of that lordly sex! but they themselves being the
painters, the deformity is a pledge of the resemblance, and I
own my small experience furnishes no instance to contradict
their testimony. Taking its truth then for granted, I need not
inquire whether the passions of our own sex be equally
fleeting. If they be, the enamoured pair soon find themselves
at best in the same situation with those who marry from sober
sentiments of regard; that is, obliged to seek happiness in the
esteem, the confidence, the forbearance of each other. But if,
in the female breast, the fervours of passion be less
transient, I need not describe to you the sufferings of
feminine sensibility under half-returned ardour, nor the stings
of feminine pride under the unnatural and mortifying
transference of the arts of courtship. I trust, my dear child,
that should you even make a marriage of passion, your
self-command will enable you to smother its last embers in your
own bosom, while your prudence will improve the short advantage
which is conferred by its empire in that of your husband, to
lay the foundation of an affection more tender than friendship,
more lasting than love.
'Again, it is surely of the utmost consequence to the felicity
of wedded life, that a just and temperate estimate be formed of
the character of him to whose temper we must accommodate
ourselves; whose caprices we must endure; whose failings we
must pardon, whether the discord burst upon us in thunder, or
steal on amid harmonies which render it imperceptible, perhaps
half-pleasing. Small chance is there that passion should view
with the calm extenuating eye of reason the faults which it
suddenly detects in the god of its idolatry. The once fervent
votary of the idol, finding it unworthy of his worship,
neglects the useful purposes to which he might apply the gold
which it contains.
'I have other reasons for thinking that passion is at best
unnecessary to conjugal happiness; but even if I should make
you a proselyte to my opinion, the conviction would, in the
present case, probably come too late. Such a man as you
describe will probably be satisfied with the answer he has
received. He will certainly never importune you, nor poorly
attempt to extort from your pity what he could not win from
your love. His attachment will soon subside into a friendly
regard for you, or be diverted into another channel by virtues
similar to those which first attracted him. I only wish, my
dear Laura, that after this change takes place, the
"circumstances" may remain in force which render you "for ever
incapable of repaying him with a love like his own." If you are
sure that these circumstances are decisive, I foresee no evil
which can result from your cultivating a friendship so
honourable and advantageous to you, as that of a man of letters
and a Christian; whose conversation may improve your mind, and
whose experience may supply that knowledge of the world which
is rarely attainable by women in the more private walks of
life.
'To him I should suppose that no danger could arise from such
an intercourse. We are all apt to over-rate the strength and
durability of the attachments we excite. I believe the truth
is, that in a vigorous, well-governed, and actively employed
mind, love rarely becomes that resistless tyrant which vanity
and romances represent him. His empire is divided by the love
of fame or the desire of usefulness, the eagerness of research
or the triumph of discovery. But even solitude, idleness, and
imagination cannot long support his dominion without the
assistance of hope; and I take it for granted from your tried
honour and generosity, that your answer has been too explicit
to leave your lover in any doubt that your sentence is final.
'I own I could have wished, that the virtues of my ever dear
Laura had found in the sacred characters of wife and mother a
larger field than a state of celibacy can afford; but I have no
fear that your happiness or respectability should ever depend
upon outward circumstances. I have no doubt that moderate
wishes and useful employments will diffuse cheerfulness in the
loneliest dwelling, while piety will people it with guests from
heaven.
'Thus, my beloved child, I have given my opinion with all the
freedom you can desire. I have written a volume rather than a
letter. The passion for giving advice long survives that which
is the subject of our correspondence; but to shew you that I
can lay some restraint on an old woman's rage for admonition, I
will not add another line except that which assures you that I
am, with all a mother's love, and all a friend's esteem,
'Your affectionate
'E. DOUGLAS.'
Laura read this letter often, and pondered it deeply. Though she could
not deny that it contained some truths, she was not satisfied with the
doctrine deduced from them. She remembered that Mrs Douglas was the most
affectionate of wives; and concluded that in one solitary instance her
judgment had been at variance with her practice; and that, having
herself made a marriage of love, she was not an adequate judge of the
disadvantages attending a more dispassionate connection. Some passages
too she could well have spared; but as these were prophetic rather than
monitory, they required little consideration; and after the second
reading, Laura generally omitted them in the perusal of her friend's
epistle. Upon the whole, however, it gave her pleasure. Her conscience
was relieved by obtaining the sanction of Mrs Douglas to her promised
intimacy with De Courcy, and already she looked forward to the time when
it should be renewed.
Since her arrival in town, her aunt, all kindness and complacency, had
scarcely named Hargrave; and, with the sanguine temper of youth, Laura
hoped that she had at last exhausted the perseverance of her
persecutors. This fruitful source of strife removed, she thought she
could without much difficulty submit to the casual fits of caprice to
which Lady Pelham was subject; and considering that her aunt, with all
her faults, was still her most natural protector, and her house her most
proper abode, she began to lay aside thoughts of removing immediately to
Scotland, and to look towards Walbourne as her permanent home.
In the meantime she promised herself that the approaching winter would
bring her both amusement and information. The capital, with all its
wonders, of which she had hitherto seen little, the endless diversity of
character which she expected its inhabitants to exhibit, the
conversation of the literary and the elegant, of wits, senators, and
statesmen, promised an inexhaustible fund of instruction and delight.
Nay, the patriotic heart of Laura beat high with the hope of meeting
some of those heroes who, undaunted by disaster, where all but honour is
lost maintain the honour of Britain, or who, with happier fortune, guide
the triumphant navies of our native land. She was yet to learn how
little of character appears through the varnish of fashionable manners,
and how little a hero or a statesman at a rout differs from a mere man
of fashion in the same situation.
Lady Pelham seemed inclined to furnish her with all the opportunities
of observation which she could desire, introducing her to every visitor
of distinction, and procuring for her the particular attention of two
ladies of high rank, who constantly invited her to share in the gaieties
of the season. But Laura, instructed in the value of time, and feeling
herself accountable for its employment, stopped far short of the
dissipation of her companions. She had long since established a
criterion by which to judge of the innocence of her pleasure, accounting
every amusement, from which she returned to her duties with an exhausted
frame, languid spirits, or distracted attention, to be at best
dangerous, and contrary to all rational ends of recreation. Of
entertainments which she had never before witnessed, curiosity generally
induced her for once to partake; but she found few that could stand her
test; and to those which failed in the trial, she returned as seldom as
possible.
One species alone, if it deserves to be classed with entertainments, she
was unwillingly obliged to except from her rule. From card-parties Laura
always returned fatigued both in mind and body; while present at them
she had scarcely any other wish than to escape; and she quitted them
unfit for any thing but rest. Lady Pelham, however, sometimes made it a
point that her niece should accompany her to these parties; and, though
she never asked Laura to play, was occasionally at pains to interest her
in the game, by calling her to her side, appealing to her against
ill-fortune, or exacting her congratulations in success. A few of these
parties excepted, Laura's time passed pleasantly. Though the calm of her
aunt's temper was now and then disturbed by short gusts of anger, it
returned as lightly as it fled; and the subject, fertile in endless
chiding, seemed almost forgotten.
A fortnight had passed in this sort of quiet, when one morning Lady
Pelham proposed to carry Laura to see the Marquis of --'s superb
collection of pictures. Laura, obliged by her aunt's attention to her
prevailing taste, eagerly accepted the proposal, and hastened to equip
herself for the excursion. Light of heart, she was returning to the
drawing-room to wait till the carriage drew up, when, on entering, the
first object she beheld was Colonel Hargrave, seated confidentially by
the side of Lady Pelham.
Laura, turning sick with vexation, shrunk back; and, bewailing the
departure of her short-lived quiet, returned, half angry, half
sorrowful, to her own room. She had little time, however, to indulge her
chagrin, for Lady Pelham almost immediately sent to her to let her know
that the carriage waited. Disconcerted, and almost out of humour, Laura
had tossed aside her bonnet, and was about to retract her consent to go,
when, recollecting that the plan had been proposed on her account,
without any apparent motive unless to oblige her, she thought her aunt
would have just reason to complain of such an ungracious rejection of
her civility.
'Besides, it is like a spoiled child,' thought she, 'to quarrel with any
amusement, because one disagreeable circumstance attends it;' and,
readjusting her bonnet, she joined Lady Pelham, not without a secret
hope that Hargrave might not be of the party. The hope deceived her. He
was ready to hand her into the carriage, and to take his seat by her
side.
Her sanguine expectations thus put to flight, the habitual complacency
of Laura's countenance suffered a sudden eclipse. She answered almost
peevishly to Hargrave's inquiries for her health; and so complete was
her vexation, that it was long ere she observed how much his manner
towards her was changed. He whispered no extravagancies in her ear;
offered her no officious attentions; and seized no opportunities of
addressing her, but such as were consistent with politeness and respect.
He divided his assiduities not unequally between her and Lady Pelham;
and even without any apparent reluctance, permitted a genteel young man,
to whom the ladies curtsied in passing, to share in his office of
escort, and almost to monopolize Laura's conversation. Having
accompanied the ladies home, he left them immediately, refusing Lady
Pelham's invitation to dinner; and Laura, no less pleased than surprised
at this unexpected turn, wished him good morning more graciously than
she had of late spoken to him.
The next day he dined in Grosvenor Street, and the same propriety of
manner continued. The following evening Laura again met with him in a
large party. He did not distinguish her particularly from any of her
fair competitors. Laura was delighted. She was convinced that he had at
last resolved to abandon his fruitless pursuit; but what had so suddenly
wrought this happy change, she could not divine.
He did not visit Lady Pelham daily, yet it so happened that Laura saw
him every day, and still he was consistent. Laura scarcely doubted, yet
durst scarcely trust her good fortune.
The violent passions of Hargrave, however, in some degree unfitted him
for a deceiver; and sometimes the fiery glance of impatience, of
admiration, or of jealousy, belied the serenity of his manner. Laura
did not fail to remark this; but she possessed the happy faculty of
explaining every ambiguity in human conduct, in a way favourable to the
actor,--a faculty which, though it sometimes exposed her to mistake and
vexation, was, upon the whole, at once a happiness and a virtue. She
concluded that Hargrave, determined to persecute her no further, was
striving to overcome his passion; that the appearances she had remarked
were only the struggles which he could not wholly suppress; and she felt
herself grateful to him for making the attempt,--the more grateful from
her idea of its difficulty.
With her natural singleness of heart, she one day mentioned to Lady
Pelham the change in Hargrave's behaviour. 'I suppose,' added she
smiling, 'that, finding he can make nothing more of me, he is resolved
to lay me under obligation by leaving me at peace, having first
contrived to make me sensible of its full value.' Lady Pelham was a
better dissembler than Colonel Hargrave; and scarcely did a change of
colour announce the deception, while, in a tone of assumed anger, she
answered by reproaching her niece with having at last accomplished her
purpose, and driven her lover to despair. Yet Lady Pelham was aware that
Hargrave had not a thought of relinquishing his pursuit. His new-found
self-command was merely intended to throw Laura off her guard, that Lady
Pelham might have an opportunity of executing a scheme which Lambert had
conceived, to entangle Laura beyond the possibility of escape.
Many an action, harmless in itself, is seen, by a discerning bystander,
to have in it 'nature that in time will venom breed, though no teeth for
the present.' It happened that Lambert, while at Walbourne, had once
seen Laura engaged in a party at chess; and her bent brow and flushed
cheek, her palpitating bosom, her trembling hand, her eagerness for
victory, above all, her pleasure in success, restrained but not
concealed, inspired him with an idea that play might be made subservient
to the designs of his friend; designs which he was the more disposed to
promote, because, for the present, they occupied Hargrave to the
exclusion of that folly of which Lambert had so well availed himself.
It was Lambert's proposal that he should himself engage Laura in play;
and having won from her, by means which he could always command, that he
should transfer the debt to Hargrave. The scheme was seconded by Lady
Pelham, and, in part, acquiesced in by Hargrave. But though he could
consent to degrade the woman whom he intended for his wife, he could
not endure that any other than himself should be the instrument of her
degradation; and, sickening at the shackles which the love of gaming had
imposed upon himself, he positively refused to accede to that part of
the plan, which proposed to make Laura's entanglement with him the
branch of a habit previously formed. Besides, the formation of a habit,
especially one so contrary to previous bias, was a work of time; and a
strategem of tedious execution did not suit the impatience of Hargrave's
temper. He consented, however, to adopt a more summary modification of
the same artifice. It was intended that Laura should at first be induced
to play for a stake too small to alarm her, yet sufficiently great to
make success desirable; that she should at first be allowed to win; that
the stake should be increased until she should lose a sum which it might
incommode her to part with; and then that the stale cheat of gamblers,
hope of retrieving her loss, should be pressed on her as a motive for
venturing nearer to destruction.
The chief obstacle to the execution of this honourable enterprise lay in
the first step, the difficulty of persuading Laura to play for any sum
which could be at all important to her. For obviating this, Lady Pelham
trusted to the diffidence, the extreme timidity, the abhorrence of
notoriety, which nature strengthened by education had made a leading
feature in the character of Laura. Her Ladyship determined that the
first essay should be made in a large company, in the presence of
persons of rank, of fame, of talent, of every qualification which could
augment the awe almost amounting to horror, with which Laura shrunk from
the gaze of numbers.
Partly from a craving for a confident, partly in hope of securing
assistance, Lady Pelham communicated her intention to the honourable Mrs
Clermont, a dashing widow of five-and-thirty. The piercing black eyes,
the loud voice, the free manner, and good-humoured assurance of this
lady, had inspired Laura with a kind of dread, which had not yielded to
the advances which the widow condescended to make. Lady Pelham judged it
most favourable to her righteous purpose, that the first attempt should
be made in the house of Mrs Clermont, rather than in her own; both
because that lady's higher circle of acquaintance could command a more
imposing assemblage of visitors; and because this arrangement would
leave her Ladyship more at liberty to watch the success of her scheme,
than she could be where she was necessarily occupied as mistress of the
ceremonies.
The appointed evening came, and Lady Pelham, though with the utmost
kindness of manner, insisted upon Laura's attendance. Laura would rather
have been excused; yet, not to interrupt a humour so harmonious, she
consented to go. Lady Pelham was all complacency. She condescended to
preside at her niece's toilette, and obliged her to complete her dress
by wearing for that evening a superb diamond aigrette, one of the
ornaments of her own earlier years. Laura strenuously resisted this
addition to her attire, accounting it wholly unsuitable to her
situation; but her aunt would take no denial, and the affair was not
worthy of a more serious refusal. This important concern adjusted, Lady
Pelham viewed her niece with triumphant admiration. She burst forth into
praises of her beauty, declaring, that she had never seen her look half
so lovely. Yet, with skilful malice, she contrived to awaken Laura's
natural bashfulness, by saying, as they were alighting at Mrs Clermont's
door, 'Now my dear don't mortify me to-night by any of your Scotch
_gaucheries_. Remember every eye will be turned upon you.' 'Heaven
forbid,' thought Laura, and timidly followed her aunt to a couch where
she took her seat.
For a while Lady Pelham's words seemed prophetic, and Laura could not
raise her eyes without meeting the gaze of admiration or of scrutiny;
but the rooms began to be crowded by the great and the gay, and Laura
was relieved from her vexatious distinction. Lady Pelham did not long
suffer her to enjoy her release, but rising, proposed that they should
walk. Though Laura felt in her own majestic stature a very unenviable
claim to notice, a claim rendered more conspicuous by the contrast
offered in the figure of her companion, she could not with politeness
refuse to accompany her aunt, and giving Lady Pelham her arm, they began
their round.
Laura, little acquainted with the ease which prevails in town parties,
could not help wondering at the nonchalance of Mrs Clermont, who,
leaving her guests to entertain themselves as they chose, was lounging
on a sofa playing piquet with Colonel Hargrave. 'Mrs Clermont at
piquet,' said Lady Pelham. 'Come Laura, piquet is the only civilized
kind of game you play. You shall take a lesson;' and she led her niece
forwards through a circle of misses, who, in hopes of catching the
attention of the handsome Colonel Hargrave, were tittering and talking
nonsense most laboriously. This action naturally drew the eyes of all
upon Laura, and Lady Pelham, who expected to find useful engines in her
timidity and embarrassment, did not fail to make her remark the notice
which she excited. From this notice Laura would have escaped, by
seating herself near Mrs Clermont; but Lady Pelham perceiving her
intention, placed herself there without ceremony, so as to occupy the
only remaining seats, leaving Laura standing alone, shrinking at the
consciousness of her conspicuous situation. No one was near her to whom
she could address herself, and her only resource was bending down to
overlook Mrs Clermont's game.
She had kept her station long enough to be fully sensible of its
awkwardness, when Mrs Clermont, suddenly starting up, exclaimed, 'Bless
me! I had quite forgotten that I promised to make a loo-table for the
Dutchess. Do, my dear Miss Montreville, take my hand for half an hour.'
'Excuse me, Madam,' said Laura, drawing back, 'I play so ill.' 'Nay,
Laura,' interrupted Lady Pelham, 'your teacher is concerned to maintain
your skill, and I insist on it that you play admirably.' 'Had not your
Ladyship better play?' 'Oh no, my dear; I join the loo-table.' 'Come,'
said Mrs Clermont, offering Laura the seat she had just quitted, 'I will
take no excuse; so sit down, and success attend you!' The seat presented
Laura with an inviting opportunity of turning her back upon her
inspectors, she was averse from refusing such a trifling request, and
rather willing to give Hargrave a proof that she was not insensible to
the late improvement in his behaviour. She therefore quietly took the
place assigned her, while the trio exchanged smiles of congratulation on
the facility with which she had fallen into the snare.
Something, however, yet remained to be arranged, and Lady Pelham and her
hostess still kept their stations by her side. While dividing the cards,
Laura recollected having observed that, in town, every game seemed
played for money; and she asked her antagonist what was to be the stake.
He of course referred that point to her own decision; but Laura, in
profound ignorance of the arcana of card-tables, blushed, hesitated, and
looked at Lady Pelham and Mrs Clermont for instructions. 'We don't play
high in this house, my dear,' said Mrs Clermont, 'Colonel Hargrave and I
were only playing guineas.' 'Laura is only a beginner,' said Lady
Pelham, 'and perhaps half a guinea'--Laura interrupted her aunt by
rising and deliberately collecting the cards, 'Colonel Hargrave will
excuse me,' said she. 'That is far too great a stake for me.' 'Don't be
absurd, my dear,' said Lady Pelham, touching Laura's sleeve, and
affecting to whisper; 'why should not you play as other people do?'
Laura not thinking this a proper time to explain her conscientious
scruples, merely answered, that she could not afford it; and, more
embarrassed than before, would have glided away, but neither of her
guards would permit her to pass. 'You need not mind what you stake with
Hargrave,' said Lady Pelham apart; 'you play so much better than he that
you will infallibly win.' 'That does not at all alter the case,'
returned Laura. 'It would be as unpleasant to me to win Colonel
Hargrave's money as to lose my own.' 'Whatever stake Miss Montreville
chooses must be equally agreeable to me,' said Colonel Hargrave; but
Laura observed that the smile which accompanied these words had in it
more of sarcasm than of complacency. 'I should be sorry, Sir,' said she,
'that you lowered your play on my account. Perhaps some of these young
ladies,' continued she, looking round to the talkative circle
behind--'Be quiet, Laura,' interrupted Lady Pelham, again in an under
tone; 'you will make yourself the town-talk with your fooleries.' 'I
hope not,' returned Laura, calmly; 'but if I do, there is no help;
little inconveniencies must be submitted to for the sake of doing
right.' 'Lord, Miss Montreville,' cried Mrs Clermont aloud, 'what odd
notions you have! Who would mind playing for half a guinea. It is
nothing; absolutely nothing. It would not buy a pocket handkerchief.' It
would buy a week's food for a poor family, thought Laura; and she was
confirmed in her resolution; but not willing to expose this reason to
ridicule, and a little displeased that Mrs Clermont should take the
liberty of urging her, she coolly, yet modestly replied, 'That such
matters must greatly depend on the opinions and circumstances of the
parties concerned, of which they were themselves the best judges.' 'I
insist on your playing,' said Lady Pelham, in an angry half-whisper. 'If
you will make yourself ridiculous, let it be when I am not by to share
in the ridicule.' 'Excuse me, Madam, for to-night,' returned Laura,
pleadingly. 'Before another evening I will give you reasons which I am
sure will satisfy you.' 'I am sure,' said Hargrave, darting a very
significant look towards Laura, 'if Miss Montreville, instead of cards,
prefers allowing me to attend her in your absence, I shall gain
infinitely by the exchange.' Laura, to whom his glance made this hint
very intelligible, reddened; and, saying she would by no means interrupt
his amusement, was again turning to seek a substitute among her
tittering neighbours, when Mrs Clermont prevented her, by calling out to
a lady at a considerable distance. 'My dear Dutchess, do have the
goodness to come hither, and talk to this whimsical beauty of ours. She
is seized with an economical fit, and has taken it into her pretty
little head that I am quite a gambler because I fix her stake at
half-a-guinea.' 'What may not youth and beauty do!' said her Grace,
looking at Laura with a smile half-sly half-insinuating. 'When I was the
Miss Montreville of my day, I too might have led the fashion of playing
for pence, though now I dare not venture even to countenance it.' The
mere circumstance of rank could never discompose Laura; and, rather
taking encouragement from the charming though faded countenance of the
speaker, she replied, 'But, in consideration of having no pretensions to
lead the fashion, may I not claim exemption from following it?' 'Oh, by
no means,' said her Grace. 'When once you have entered the world of
fashion, you must either be the daring leader or the humble follower. If
you choose the first, you must defy the opinions of all other people;
and, if the last, you must have a suitable indifference for your own.'
'A gentle intimation,' returned Laura, 'that in the world of fashion I
am quite out of place, since nothing but my own opinion is more awful to
me than that of others.' 'Miss Montreville,' said Lady Pelham, with an
aspect of vinegar, 'we all await your pleasure.' 'Pray, Madam,' answered
Laura, 'do not let me detain you a moment; I shall easily dispose of
myself.' 'Take up your cards this instant, and let us have no more of
these airs,' said Lady Pelham, now without affectation whispering, in
order to conceal from her elegant companions the wrath which was,
however, distinctly written in her countenance.
It now occurred to Laura as strange, that so much trouble should be
taken to prevail upon her to play for more than she inclined. Hargrave,
though he had pretended to release her, still kept his seat, and his
language had tended rather to embarrass than relieve her. Mrs Clermont
had interfered further than Laura thought either necessary or proper;
and Lady Pelham was eager to carry her point. Laura saw that there was
something in all this which she did not comprehend; and, looking up to
seek an explanation in the faces of her companions, she perceived that
the whole trio seemed waiting her decision with looks of various
interest. The piercing black eyes of Mrs Clermont were fixed upon her
with an expression of sly curiosity. Hargrave hastily withdrew a
sidelong glance of anxious expectation; while Lady Pelham's face was
flushed with angry impatience of delay. 'Has your Ladyship any
particular reason for wishing that I should play for a higher stake than
I think right?' said Laura, fixing on her aunt a look of calm scrutiny.
Too much out of humour to be completely on her guard, Lady Pelham's
colour deepened several shades, while she answered, 'I child! what
should make you think so?' 'I don't know,' said Laura. 'People sometimes
try to _convince_ from mere love of victory; but they seldom take the
trouble to _persuade_ without some other motive.' 'Any friend,' said
Lady Pelham, recollecting herself, 'would find motive enough for what I
have done, in the absurd appearance of these littlenesses to the world,
and the odium that deservedly falls on a young miser.' 'Nay, Lady
Pelham,' said the Dutchess, 'this is far too severe. Come,' added she,
beckoning to Laura, with a gracious smile, 'you shall sit by me, that I
may endeavour to enlarge your conceptions on the subject of
card-playing.'
Laura, thus encouraged, instantly begged her aunt's permission to pass.
Lady Pelham could not decently refuse; and, venting her rage, by
pinching Laura's arm till the blood came, and muttering through her
clenched teeth, 'obstinate wretch,' she suffered her niece to escape.
Laura did not condescend to bestow any notice upon this assault, but,
pulling her glove over her wounded arm, took refuge beside the Dutchess.
The fascinating manners of a high-bred woman of fashion, and the
respectful attentions offered to her whom the Dutchess distinguished by
her particular countenance, made the rest of the evening pass agreeably,
in spite of the evident ill-humour of Lady Pelham. Her ladyship
restrained the further expression of her rage till Laura and she were on
their way home; when it burst out in reproaches of the parsimony,
obstinacy, and perverseness which had appeared in her niece's refusal to
play. Laura listened to her in silence; sensible, that while Lady
Pelham's passion overpowered the voice of her own reason, it was vain to
expect that she should hear reason from another. But, next day, when she
judged that her aunt had had time to grow cool, she took occasion to
resume the subject; and explained, with such firmness and precision, her
principles in regard to the uses of money and the accountableness of its
possessors, that Lady Pelham laid aside thoughts of entangling her by
means of play; since it was vain to expect that she would commit to the
power of chance that which she habitually considered as the sacred
deposit of a father, and specially destined for the support and comfort
of his children.