Lady Westhope sighed, and Mr. Wroxholme, who had by this time heard

and seen somewhat more of his host, felt that poor Lady Westhope spoke

as one who had suffered from the absence of these qualities in her

husband.

CHAPTER V.

Ever still must I adore thee:

Though wide seas between us roll,

Each fond thought shall hover o'er thee,

And thine image fill my soul.

Morning breaking o'er the ocean

Will thine opening graces wear,

And with evening's last devotion

I will breathe thy name in prayer.

_Unpublished Poems._

Upon leaving Cransley, Captain De Molton had hastened to town. He there

found his father, who having left the rest of the family at Brighton,

had also repaired to London for the purpose of effecting the proposed

exchange.

Lord Cumberworth was preparing to enter a hackney-coach, which waited

to carry him to Brookes's, where he meant to dine and to solace himself

with a quiet game at tolerably high whist, when he was startled at the

unexpected appearance of his son.

"Why, Francis!" he exclaimed, "I thought you were gone to Cransley for

a fortnight! What brings you here?"

"I wished to see you, father, and to talk to you seriously concerning

my prospects in life. You are come up about my exchange, are you not?"

"Yes--and I hope I shall be able to settle it all comfortably. Your

mother has been in one of her nervous ways at the bare thoughts of your

going to India."

"I think I ought to go, father."

"Why! which way does the wind blow now? Why the d--l did you not tell

me so sooner? They have all been pestering me to come to town, and

to leave no stone unturned to save you from this banishment, as you

all called it; and now I have taken the trouble of coming, you change

your mind! Upon my word, this is very inconsiderate. But, after all,

I myself do not like your going into such an unhealthy climate, and I

would rather keep you at home if I could. If you are to go into danger,

let it be where some honour and renown are to be obtained. There is no

glory in dying of a liver complaint, as yellow as a guinea."

"I am very sorry, my dear father, to have given you so much

unnecessary trouble, but I have fully made up my mind to sail with my

regiment."

"And pray, Master Francis, what has worked this wondrous revolution in

your mind?"

"Why, father, to tell you the truth, happiness is out of the question

for me; and therefore I had rather do whatever will make me least

burthensome to my family, and also take me out of the way for a time."

"And why do you want to lie perdue? You have not been running in debt,

have you?"

"No, father; I am too well aware what are your circumstances."

"Not a scrape? eh, my boy!"--and Lord Cumberworth, whose morals were

not puritanical, smiled. "It can't be Lady Westhope, she is such a

prude. You have not been playing the fool, I hope?" continued Lord

Cumberworth, putting more of parental gravity into his countenance.

"I have been guilty of nothing wrong in deed or thought," replied De

Molton with seriousness.

"Egad! but there's a woman in question though," replied Lord

Cumberworth. "You are not in any danger of marrying?" and his face

really assumed an expression of sincere alarm.

"Not exactly, father; but I am unfortunately attached to a person who

is on the eve of marriage with another."

"Thank heaven that is all!" exclaimed Lord Cumberworth. "Remember one

thing, Frank--a man is never thoroughly undone till he is married."

De Molton remained silent. His father's tone of feeling was so little

in unison with his own, that he wished to say no more upon the subject

than was absolutely necessary.

"Does the girl like you, my boy?" added Lord Cumberworth.

De Molton was somewhat perplexed how to answer, but he said, "I told

you, father, she was going to be married to another man."

"Ah! but women have married a rich man, when they have been in love

with a poor man, before now. And you are a d----sh handsome fellow, and

more like me than any of my children. Well, don't look so sheepish,

like a bashful maiden yourself. Is the girl in love with you?"

"I conclude not," resolutely answered De Molton.

"Have you told her you are in love with her?"

"Why, yes, I have."

"And she was not angry, eh? Come, I suppose your nice sense of honour

will allow you to say whether she is very much in love with her future

husband or not?"

"I should say she esteemed him highly, but was not precisely in love

with him," was De Molton's guarded reply.

"Wheugh--gh--gh!" with an elevation of the eye-brows, and a sound that

ended in something like a whistle, was the response produced by this

last communication of his son's. "You had better go, my boy. I see

how it is: if you stay, we shall have the marriage broken off and the

d--l to pay. Ah! well I am sorry to part with you, but you had better

go--we will do no more about the exchange. But I am as hungry as a

hound--I have eat nothing since I left Brighton. There is no dinner

in the house--nothing in it but the old housemaid: we can't roast

her--she would be tougher than Pedrillo. Let's be off to Brookes's. By

the by, you don't belong to Brookes's: I remember you said it was too

expensive, when George wanted to get you put up. Well, you can eat your

dinner at your Junior United Service Club; and we will meet here, at

home, at ten o'clock, and talk matters over quietly."

Lord Cumberworth got into his hackney-coach, and De Molton walked off

to his club, to snatch a hasty morsel, and return to South Audley

Street, there to ruminate sadly upon his future fate until his father

should join him. There was much of bitterness in his reflections. He

could not help repining at the unequal distribution of fortune, and

thinking it hard that the happiness of two beings should be wrecked

for lack of that contemptible thing, money. He almost doubted whether

he was acting rightly by Lady Blanche in abandoning her when she had

all but acknowledged her love for him. And yet, what could he do? His

worldly pelf consisted but of his pay, and the very moderate allowance

his father was able to make him. He had nothing to look to. His

father's property was entailed upon the eldest son--his circumstances

were embarrassed--he had been obliged to let Cumberworth Hall, and

lived principally in London, making an occasional excursion to some

watering-place: there was no chance of his saving money, and there

were twelve of them to divide the fifty thousand pounds settled on

younger children. Lady Blanche certainly had no dislike to Glenrith,

or she would never have accepted him: and who could know Glenrith,

and not learn to value and to love his kind feelings and singleness

of heart? The more he reflected, the more strengthened he was in his

purpose. When he was far away, she would assuredly forget the slight

prepossession she had entertained for him, and she would soon give her

whole heart to Glenrith. When he had brought his reasonings to this

most desirable point, he found it infinitely more painful than any

other view of the subject.

His father returned about ten o'clock, and after arranging to write

immediately to the person with whom they had been in treaty for the

exchange, and to lose no time in procuring the proper stock of articles

necessary for the voyage, as there was a possibility of the regiment

sailing within a fortnight, they agreed to leave London the following

afternoon, and to join the rest of the family at Brighton.

"Well, cheer up, my boy!" said Lord Cumberworth, as he bade his son

good night. "There is no use in fretting--there are more pretty girls

than one in the world, and you are not the first sentimental young man

who has been crossed in love. _Il en faut passer par là._ We have all

been crossed in love in our time. I, myself, was very much smitten with

another woman when I married your mother; but I saw that my marrying

Helen was out of the question, and so I did what they all wished

me to do, and it answered just as well. Your mother is a very good

woman, Frank, and I am very fond of her. So cheer up, my boy--never

be down-hearted! You will forget your Dulcinea long before you cross

the line." He was closing the door, when he turned back again to

say,--"Frank, you look for all the world as if you were younger brother

to the knight of La Mancha--_el cavaliere de la triste figura_,--with

your pale cheeks and your high forehead. I would not be a skill of wine

or a windmill in your way for something!"

The good-humoured but unsentimental father chuckled at his own joke,

and went off to bed so relieved that his son would be secured from the

impending danger, that it quite reconciled him to his departure.

When they arrived at Brighton late the following evening, poor Lady

Cumberworth was in despair at the prospect of her pet, her darling, the

most affectionate, the most considerate, the most dutiful of all her

children, running all the risks consequent upon a banishment to India;

"not only," as she said, "braving perils by sea and perils by land, but

those of climate and disease."

"There are worse perils in England, Mary," replied her husband with a

knowing wink. "Perils by eyes are the most dangerous for handsome young

fellows! Depend upon it, he is far safer in the other hemisphere; for

peril by marriage is the worst of all--that is to say, when a man has

nothing, and never can have anything as long as lives."

De Molton shrunk at hearing his attachment alluded to among all the

family circle; though to his dear gentle mother he could have opened

his whole heart, and to most of his sisters individually also. The

eldest was grown a little starch, and the youngest was rather too young

and giddy; but the four middle ones had plenty of romance in them, and

would have listened to his tale with tears in their eyes. To any one of

them in a tête-à-tête he might have spoken his feelings; but to have

twelve curious, wondering, though kind eyes, turn upon him at once, was

peculiarly unpleasant to a sensitive and reserved man.

Lady Cumberworth saw his distress, and hastened to say, "We were just

going to bed when you arrived. I shall carry Frank off to have a quiet

gossip with him; so good night, girls!"

De Molton followed his mother, and in her found a sympathizing

listener--one who entered into all his difficulties, and who was

ready to love poor Blanche for appreciating her own dear Frank as he

deserved. But she saw that, deeply as his affections were engaged,

their union was impracticable; and she was obliged, though most

reluctantly, to confess that a temporary absence, and entire change of

scene, were likely to spare his feelings and principles many a trial.

Lady Cumberworth entreated her husband not to annoy poor Frank by any

allusion to his unfortunate attachment.

"Lord bless the fellow!" exclaimed Lord Cumberworth, "I never meant to

annoy him! I know he is d--shly in love, and that is all I said! And I

only said, he could not marry, and that he knows well enough!"

"He is unhappy, and we must refrain from remarks that wound his

delicacy just now."

"Delicacy--fiddlestick! You always did spoil that boy--and you will

make him as full of feelings, and nerves, and refinement, as the most

fanciful woman of you all!"

The young ladies also met in a nocturnal synod. "What is this love of

Frank's?" exclaimed Mary.

"How papa made him blush!" said Laura.

"And is he really going to India?" asked Charlotte.

"Who is the girl?" inquired Emily.

"And why could not mamma talk to him before us, I wonder?" added

Katherine, the youngest, who was rather pert.

"When you are a little older, you will know that people do not like

to discuss _les affaires du cœur en pleine salle_," answered Jane the

eldest; and with a dignified air she retired to bed.

"I suppose Jane wishes to persuade us she has some love affairs of her

own, though we know nothing about them," continued the merry Katherine:

"she has preserved a most dignified mystery upon the subject, ever

since I have been grown up."

After a few more questions which could elicit no answers, seeing that

all parties were equally in the dark, the sisters separated for the

night, and all found the repose they sought except Lady Cumberworth,

who acutely felt the approaching separation from her son, and still

more the pain that darling son was doomed to endure.

Lady Cumberworth was not one who considered the sufferings of lovers as

matter for sport;--she had been fervently attached in her early youth,

and the object of that attachment had been snatched from her by death.

On her side, as well as on her husband's, their marriage had been one

of reason and of expediency. But she had made him an excellent wife,

had borne him a large family, and they had always been a happy and

affectionate couple--happier, perhaps, than if one of the parties, and

only one, had felt more warmly.

In a fortnight from the time De Molton joined his family at Brighton,

he tore himself from the arms of his sisters, and, lastly, from the

long, speechless, close embrace of his mother, to whose more sad and

sacred affection all instinctively yielded the parting caress.

He sailed with his regiment, and we will leave him for a while, losing

the sense of all his romantic and high-wrought sensibilities in the

absorbing sufferings often endured in the Bay of Biscay.

CHAPTER VI.

No te falterà otra Dama

Hermosa y de galan talle,

Que te quiera, y tu la quieras

Porque lo mereces Zayde.

_Spanish Romance._

The visit of the Falkinghams at Cransley had now lasted more than ten

days. Blanche ardently wished to be at home again. She felt wretched,

hypocritical, and guilty. She found herself so uncomfortable where she

was, that she imagined any change must be for the better. When they

left Cransley, Lord Glenrith was to pay his parents a visit of a few

days, and then to join them at Temple Loseley; after which they were

all to proceed to London for the purpose of procuring the wedding

paraphernalia.

Lady Blanche's depression became so evident, that even Lord Glenrith,

although not an acute observer, could not avoid perceiving it. He

was exceedingly flattered, and attributed it all to his approaching

absence. He kindly consoled her. "I shall soon be with you again,

Blanche. I love my father and mother dearly; but just now I do not

think even they can succeed in keeping me above three days away from

you. I hate the thought of leaving you, but it will be such a pleasure

to meet again!--will it not, dearest Blanche? I think it will almost

make up for the pain of parting; and then I suppose, I need not leave

you any more. So we have nothing but joy before us." And he wondered

his betrothed did not appear to be more consoled by this prospect.

He has handed them all into their travelling barouche, and he

has thrown himself into his britska, and they have left Cransley

in opposite directions. All the rest of the party had previously

dispersed--all but Mr. Wroxholme, and he was going to town the next

day. As he and Lady Westhope stood upon the steps watching the receding

vehicles, they could not help communicating to each other their fears

concerning the approaching marriage. Lady Westhope was exceedingly out

of spirits at poor Blanche's prospects, and Mr. Wroxholme entered into

her feelings, with all the delicacy of a person with good heart and

good taste.

As their barouche rolled smoothly along, Lord and Lady Falkingham fell

into deep and earnest conversation: Blanche sat in the back seat,

absorbed in her own meditations. The road lay through an open, hilly,

and heathy country, watered by small rivulets, on the immediate banks

of which were sometimes seen a solitary cottage, and, close around, a

small patch of cultivated ground. It was a mild watery day, with little

positive rain, but one in which the shifting lights and gleams of

pale sunshine give a purple hue to the heathy hill-side, and a bright

yellow to the green meadow, or the mossy swamp. Her eyes mechanically

watched the varying hues, and at length fixed themselves upon a lonely

turf-roofed hut in the valley below. "How peaceful must be existence in

such a hut!" she thought within herself; "no worldly considerations,

no aspirations after rank and situation, can there interfere with

the affections. A strong arm and a willing mind are all that are

required to authorize the peasant lover to seek the hand of his peasant

mistress. Personal, individual qualities alone are considered,--not

the adventitious recommendations of fortune. How much happier must be

that rank of life, where love, and love alone, leads to an union which

is to endure as long as life itself! Oh! if I could, in honour and

in respectability, become the wife of De Molton, how willingly would

I resign every luxury to which I have been born, and live in that

very cottage, unnoticed and unknown! I think I could gladly perform

even the household drudgery: I could feed the chickens and sweep the

brick floor, and pile up the blazing faggots, and prepare my husband's

evening meal--if that husband were De Molton!"

She gazed upon the cottage as long as it remained in sight, and almost

felt as if she left a place that was endeared to her by habit, when a

turn in the road concealed it from her view.

It may be much questioned whether Lady Blanche's view of the various

conditions of life were a correct one, and whether there may not exist

as much, or more, disinterested love in the higher orders than in the

lower.

But her thoughts continued, "And feeling thus, shall I promise entire,

undivided, eternal love to another man? Has not my life been an enacted

lie for the last fortnight? Can I make up my mind to continue for

years and years this unceasing duplicity? I thought De Molton's image

would have faded from my mind--I thought I should each day have become

more attached to Lord Glenrith. I hear of so many happy wives who did

not marry for love! But is this the case? No! his image rises to my

mind's eye more frequently than ever, and I find my soul recoil more,

every day, from poor dear Lord Glenrith's tenderness. I shall behave

ill to him in breaking off the marriage, and I shall be called a jilt;

but shall I not behave more ill to him by marrying him, when I feel

as I now do? I will tell him the whole truth myself! It is a horrid

alternative, but I cannot--I cannot marry him!"

The day after their arrival at home Lady Blanche communicated to

her mother the resolution she had formed. Lady Falkingham was

thunderstruck. Blanche had continued for the last week to admit

of Lord Glenrith's attentions, and had never again alluded to her

attachment, so that Lady Falkingham had convinced herself the childish

affair had passed from her mind. She was inexpressibly grieved at the

information; but she was a woman of principle, and could not insist

upon her daughter's marrying, while a passion, which would become

criminal, retained full possession of her breast. Lord Falkingham,

as might be expected, was very indignant--perhaps more so at first

than his wife had been; but when the first ebullition of anger was

past, he was sooner able to resume his usual bearing towards his

daughter. The days are passed, when any measures, beyond argument and

persuasion, can be put into practice to force an unwilling bride to

the altar; and argument and persuasion were of no avail with one who

unequivocally declared that she had tried in vain to subdue her love

for De Molton--that her efforts to return Lord Glenrith's affection

were totally unavailing, and that, if she found herself his wife, she

should be utterly miserable.

Two days had elapsed from Lord Glenrith's departure for his father's.

On the third he was expected at Temple Loseley. There was no cross

post; there was no time to write; and, indeed, Blanche thought she had

rather tell him the whole truth herself, as she could better exonerate

his friend from any blame, by word of mouth, than by letter.

Never did three persons await the coming of a gay and gallant

bridegroom with more uncomfortable feelings. At the appointed moment

on the third day he arrived, beaming with honest joy. After the first

greeting, he slipped upon the finger of his love, with an attempt at

sentimental mystery, a ring containing his own hair. He also brought

from his mother the family diamonds, which, she said, would infinitely

better grace the blooming young bride than the sober matron. Lord

Glenrith exhibited them with some pride and great delight;--pride at

the family glories--delight at offering them to Blanche.

Never were diamonds received so awkwardly, and with so little apparent

gratitude.

"Why, Blanche! you do not seem to care about the diamonds," he said, in

rather a mortified tone.

"Indeed I am very, very grateful to Lady Wentnor for her constant, her

unmerited kindness to me--so much more than I deserve!"

"You are very modest, my dear Blanche! Well! I hope it is that you

are so glad to see me, you cannot think about the diamonds; and if

that is the case I will forgive you, and so will my mother too, I dare

say. I have been told many women love their diamonds better than their

husbands: that will not be your case, I trust, or you will care very

little for me." He hurried off to dress for dinner, a little put out by

the reception he had met with.

The dinner was most distressing. Lord Glenrith began, in the innocence

of his heart, to tell them everything he had done, every arrangement

that had been made, and how Lord and Lady Wentnor meant to visit

Leamington for a few weeks, and to relinquish Wentnor Castle to them

for their honeymoon; but he found his audience so cold, that he in his

turn became chilled and daunted.

As they left the dining-room, Lady Blanche summoned all her courage,

and said, "I wish to speak to you presently in the breakfast-room."

The die was cast! She must now tell him all. She seized her mother's

arm as they crossed the hall. "O, mamma! what a task I have to perform!

How could I ever accept poor dear Lord Glenrith, and plunge myself into

this dreadful difficulty?"

"My dear, say rather, 'How could I let myself fall in love with a man

whom it is utterly impossible I should marry?'--that would be more to

the purpose. But it is too late now: there is no use in retrospection!"

It was not many minutes before they heard the dining-room doors open.

Lady Blanche rushed into the breakfast-room adjoining, and in two

seconds Lord Glenrith followed her. He saw something unusual had

occurred, and he felt uneasy, but his mind never glanced towards what

awaited him. "Well, Blanche, what in the world have you to say to

me?" and he seated himself on the sofa by her side. "How glad I am we

are once more quietly here, and no longer surrounded by simpering,

quizzing acquaintances!" And there seemed a considerable danger of his

attempting to put his arm round her waist. If he did meditate such a

thing, his intentions were by no means carried into effect, for she

started up to take her reticule off the table, and re-seated herself at

the opposite side of the fireplace in an arm-chair.

"Lord Glenrith," she said, "I have something upon my mind which has

made me very miserable of late."

"Miserable!--you miserable, and I not know it! What can I do, dearest

Blanche? You know I would go through fire and water to serve you."

"Do not speak so kindly to me,--you make what I have to say more

painful, more difficult. I deserve nothing from you but hatred and

contempt."

"What are you talking about? Are you in your right senses?"

"Scarcely, I believe; for any other woman would think herself the

happiest and most fortunate of creatures in marrying you; and if I was

to do so, I should be both wicked and wretched!"

"Not marry me, Blanche!--you are dreaming. What can all this mean? It

is very unpleasant, though you cannot mean what you are now saying."

"Indeed I do mean what I say; and you cannot know how much I have

suffered in coming to this conclusion."

"This is strange--this is unaccountable!" and he passed his hands over

his eyes, as if to make sure he was awake. "Have I done anything to

change your opinion of me? I am not aware of having been wanting in any

way--and I am sure, Blanche, I have loved you truly and sincerely."

A tear glistened in his eye. "Tell me what I have done, and I will

correct my fault. You are only saying this to try me; and if so, let

me tell you that it is a very foolish jest, and one entirely unworthy

of you." The colour mounted into his face, and he looked for a moment

extremely angry.

"No! Lord Glenrith, this is no jest! I am in sober, serious, most

sad earnest. Your conduct towards me has been from the beginning ten

thousand times better than I deserved; but I should be treating you

shamefully if I were to marry you when my heart--is another's."

"Your heart another's! Did you say so? Your heart another's! Then why,

on earth, did you accept me?"

"Well may you ask that question, and well may I blush to answer it! I

thought my affection was unrequited, and I esteemed you. My parents

thought more highly of you than of any one. I believed I should soon

prefer you to the one person I had loved, as much as I already did to

all common acquaintances; and it was not till I found my affection was

not unrequited, that I became aware of the depth and strength of my own

attachment. I have been miserable ever since, and all I can now do is

to tell you the honest truth."

Lord Glenrith sat with his eyes fixed on the ground. "This is a

cruel blow!" he said at last; "I have not deserved this from you,

Lady Blanche. And who is the favoured object? By heaven, it must be

De Molton! I remember his countenance at dinner the day he was at

Cransley--how pale he looked, and how continually he strove to catch

a view of you by the épergne; and every time he met my eye, he looked

in another direction! I am born to be made a fool of--to be deceived

by the friend I have loved from childhood, and by the woman to whom I

would fain have devoted all the rest of my existence!" He hid his face

in his hands.

"Blame me, Lord Glenrith, for I deserve your reproaches; but your

friend has never deceived you: Captain De Molton has always considered

you more than himself."

"Then it is De Molton! These are the actions dictated by his high-flown

notions of honour! A plain, matter-of-fact man would never have proved

such a shabby fellow!"

"Captain De Molton shabby!" The word "shabby" sounded strangely on her

ear when coupled with the name of De Molton. She would have answered

Lord Glenrith angrily, if the consciousness of how deeply she had

wronged him had not checked her speech; but she could rather have

forgiven his calling her lover a black-hearted villain, than a "shabby

fellow."--"Lord Glenrith," she repeated, "you wrong your friend. He

carefully concealed from me his feelings till--till----"

"Till you had promised to marry me!"

"Till he fancied the avowal of them could not endanger your happiness,

or, as he imagined, mine. When he took leave of me at Cransley, he

showed some emotion, which caused him to reproach himself for betraying

feelings he had long concealed. Then first I learned he did experience

any feelings which he wished to conceal, and this discovery produced a

revolution in my mind which appalled me. I strove to blind myself as to

the nature of my sentiments, I strove to conquer them,--in vain; and

now, what can I do, but throw myself on your mercy, and implore you

to forgive me for having ever accepted the devotion of an honest man,

whose affection I could not requite as it deserved!" She held out her

hand to him.

"Oh, Blanche! you break my heart!" and he kissed the hand which she did

not withdraw: she felt a tear fall upon it. Her very soul seemed to

melt towards the kind being to whom she was giving so much pain.

"Believe me, Lord Glenrith, when I tell you, that every sentiment of

esteem, respect, and gratitude--every sentiment which my reason can

command, is yours; and that I esteem and respect you too highly to

wish you married to a wife who cannot give you her whole heart. In a

short time you will forget a person who has caused you nothing but

disappointment and annoyance; and you will find many, many girls who

will esteem themselves fortunate in being allowed to devote to you

their first affections. You will soon rejoice in the liberty I now

restore to you. While I have nothing in store for me but contempt

and ridicule, you will find, with some one far superior to me in all

respects, happiness, which I must not hope for."

"Never, Blanche, never!--I shall never marry!" And Lord Glenrith

conscientiously believed what he uttered.

"Before we part, tell me that you forgive Captain De Molton, and that

you believe me when I assure you, that he never intended to interfere

with your interests."

"Yes," he said, "I do believe you, and I will try to forgive De Molton."

Everything was said. Blanche felt that their return to the drawing-room

was very awkward, but there was no other course to pursue. She led the

way to the door--there was nothing left for Lord Glenrith but to follow

after. He felt that something of ridicule always attached itself to his

position; but at the same time he felt injured, and he tried to put a

certain resolute and dignified air into his walk. He looked flushed and

heated, his eye glanced suspiciously and uneasily from side to side,

but he attempted to assume an unembarrassed deportment.

CHAPTER VII.

The smile that on thy lips erewhile

So kindly wont to play--

That could each idle care beguile

Of Love's first golden day,--

Now, when lone Fancy rules the hour,

At evening's lingering close,

Comes o'er my soul with mightier power,

To soothe my real woes.

_Unpublished Poems._

Lord and Lady Falkingham were seated, one on each side of the

fireplace, awaiting the result of the conference which was taking place

in the apartment within. They had been pathetically lamenting the

folly with which Blanche was resolved to throw away the most desirable

establishment in the world; and they had been indulging in unpleasant

anticipations of what the world would say when it was known that a

daughter of theirs was an avowed jilt. The door of the breakfast-room

opened, and Blanche entered: Lord Glenrith followed close behind. Lady

Falkingham perceived, at a glance, that the unacknowledged hope, which

she had still cherished, of Lord Glenrith's eloquence prevailing at the

last, was doomed to annihilation!

During their absence the tea had been brought in, and the urn was

smoking and boiling upon the table. Lady Blanche sat down before it,

and rejoiced in her mother's old-fashioned fancy for having the tea

made in the drawing-room.

Lady Falkingham and her daughter took the earliest opportunity of

retiring for the night. Lord Glenrith lighted their candles, and opened

the door for them. As they passed, Lady Falkingham pressed his hand

with an expressive look of sorrow and of regret. Lady Blanche held out

hers, and uttered in a low voice,--"We part friends!" He took her hand,

and turned away.

When the door was closed, Lord Falkingham addressed him:--

"I am afraid, Glenrith, you have had a very unpleasant conversation

with my daughter. I need not tell you how much my wife and myself

regret the foolish fancy the girl has taken into her head. But what can

we do? We cannot, in justice to you, urge her to fulfil her engagement."

"I should be the last man to wish Lady Blanche's affections to be

controlled; and I hope I know sufficiently what is due to myself, not

to wish any woman to be forced into a marriage with me."

After a few more words of regret and kindness on the part of Lord

Falkingham, they also parted for the night.

The next morning all the jewels and trinkets which he had presented

to Blanche were restored to him, and before the family were assembled

round the breakfast-table he was several miles on his road to Wentnor

Castle.

Lord Glenrith felt his disappointment keenly, for he loved Blanche.

He felt his mortification keenly; for although not vain (if by vanity

we understand a desire to show off in the eyes of others), still he

entertained no mean opinion of himself. He had never in his life

before met with anything but success. He had been accustomed to the

admiring affection of his parents, the devotion of his dependants, the

good-fellowship of his equals, the attention of his inferiors; and

he had been early warned by his mother to be guarded in his manner

towards young ladies, lest he should excite hopes which he could not

realise--hopes which he found them, generally speaking, only too ready

to entertain. Astonishment, therefore, almost equalled the other

emotions to which we have alluded. He turned and turned in his head how

he should break to his parents the result of the preceding evening's

conversation, and he felt that he equally dreaded their pity, and their

indignation.

By degrees, as he got farther from Temple Loseley and nearer to Wentnor

Castle, he found his love and his grief diminish, and his mortification

and disappointment increase, till, by the time he reached the lodge, he

thought he could have endured the latter, provided the publicity of his

engagement had not exposed him, while writhing under the former, to the

pity, the stare, and the jest, of great and small, rich and poor, old

and young.

Blanche's first sensation, upon retiring to her room, was that of

relief and freedom. She felt as though a weight of guilt and deceit

was removed from her bosom, and she resolved she would now indulge

herself in thinking of De Molton as much as she pleased. But the

mortified expression of Lord Glenrith's countenance would rise up to

her mind's eye; and she found herself more occupied with him, and less

with the image of De Molton, than at any other moment since their

meeting at Cransley. She scarcely knew, whether satisfaction at having

now done that which was decidedly honest, sincere, and unworldly, or

self-reproach for having so wronged Lord Glenrith by ever entering into

an engagement with him, ought to preponderate,--and, upon the whole,

she found herself less happy than she expected.

The ensuing weeks passed drearily enough. Lady Falkingham was under

the necessity of announcing to her friends and relations that her

daughter's marriage was broken off; an occupation which did not raise

her spirits, or smooth her temper. Of course the true reason could not

be openly divulged, or all hope must be relinquished of Blanche's ever

forming any other alliance. It is strange, but it is an undoubted fact,

that a girl loses half her attraction if her maiden affections are

supposed to have been in any degree touched; while there is a peculiar

charm attached to the idea of a widow, although it may be presumed she

has known what it is to inspire, and to experience, all the emotions

attendant upon love.

Blanche herself wrote to her sisters; and as she felt that her

rejection of Lord Glenrith bound her fate in some measure to that of

Captain De Molton, she made no mystery of the prepossession which

had rendered her incapable of doing justice to Lord Glenrith's good

qualities.

She had scarcely despatched these letters, when she read in the

newspapers the departure of De Molton with his regiment for the

East Indies. He had sailed the very day of her final interview with

Lord Glenrith. She experienced a blank sensation nearly allied to

mortification; forgetting what were the motives which induced him to

seek safety and repose in another hemisphere.

Still, when she rejected Lord Glenrith, she did not quite anticipate

that there was to be an end of everything. She had not precisely looked

forward to sitting down quietly in deep retirement with her father

and mother, till the arrival of another spring should summon them to

London, there to be dragged the weary round of insipid entertainments,

without the hope or the possibility of seeing the only face she wished

to see. Her home was no longer what it had been. Lord Falkingham's

vanity was mortified in the daughter of whom he had hitherto been

exceedingly proud. Lady Falkingham, although not absolutely unkind,

was cold and reserved, and never encouraged her to speak of feelings,

which she always treated as a silly, unreasonable, youthful whim.

On all occasions, the attachments of young people were spoken of in

a slighting and contemptuous manner, which confirmed Blanche in her

resolution to prove, that hers was not a passing fancy--but a real,

sincere, and respectable attachment.

Captain De Molton, after a prosperous voyage, had arrived at Calcutta

just about the time when the meeting of parliament called Lord

Falkingham to London; and Blanche with pain and disgust saw the

bracelets, the trinkets, the jewels, which her various friends had

given her upon her expected nuptials, packed up to adorn her person

during the ensuing season. She felt she never could bring herself to

wear these tokens; for although it had been impossible to return any,

except those which had been presented by Lord Glenrith's family, it

seemed to her as if they had all been obtained under false pretences.

De Molton had struggled hard to bring his mind to a state of calm

acquiescence in his fate. He had tried to accustom himself to the idea

of Lady Blanche as the wife of Lord Glenrith; he had used all possible

means to divert his thoughts from his unfortunate passion; he had

occupied himself during his voyage with studying some of the Eastern

languages, with learning everything connected with Eastern warfare;

and although the renown to be gained in India at the expense of health,

if not of life, falls far short of that gained in an European campaign,

still he resolved that Fame should now become his mistress.

He had not been more than three weeks at Calcutta, when a letter

reached him from his mother, which overturned all the good resolutions

he had formed, and rendered him almost incapable of profiting by the

opportunities which now offered themselves of perfecting his knowledge

of Hindostanee or Sanscrit, or of putting in practice the tactics he

had studied.

His mother informed him that the marriage between Lord Glenrith and

Lady Blanche de Vaux was suddenly broken off, and that no cause was

assigned for the event except that the lady "had changed her mind."

She tried to persuade him that the case was as hopeless as ever

for himself, and she resisted the temptation of telling him it was

whispered that a preference for himself was the true cause of the

rupture. Although she longed to communicate what she knew must give

him pleasure, even she was aware that it would be weakness and folly

to keep alive a passion to which no prosperous termination could be

anticipated.

Her intelligence, however, was sufficient to inspire De Molton with an

ardent desire to return to England. Lady Blanche was free: honour no

longer called upon him to avoid her; on the contrary, honour seemed to

demand that he should now profess his anxiety to devote himself to her

for life; and he bitterly lamented having so rashly banished himself

from his native land. Yet, upon his first arrival in India, he could

not in decency apply for leave of absence. He suffered tortures of

perplexity, doubt, and anxiety. At one time, he thought he would write

to Lady Blanche, and regularly make her an offer of himself and of his

fortunes. Then he shrank from doing so; for what were the fortunes

he was able to offer her? and, moreover, such a proceeding would be

assuming that it was for his sake she had broken off her marriage with

Lord Glenrith,--a conclusion he had in fact no right to draw.

The news contained in his mother's letter was already six months old.

Before his answer could reach England, another six months must have

elapsed. What events might not have taken place in that time! Lady

Blanche would have passed through another season in London: with her

beauty, she must have been surrounded by admirers. It was possible,

nay probable, that his letter might find her married, or on the eve of

marriage with some one else. How ridiculous then would his conceited

assumption appear in her eyes! No--he would wait, at all events, for

further information; at the same time fully resolved to let slip

no opportunity of returning home, when he might easily judge for

himself whether an offer on his part would or would not be esteemed

presumption.--Then again he thought, if for his sake Glenrith had

indeed been rejected, how cold and how ungrateful must he appear, not

instantly to avail himself of the chance afforded him.--Fortunately

for him, his thoughts were necessarily in some measure withdrawn from

his own annoyances, by his regiment being marched up the country, and

by being engaged in some slight but animating skirmishes with the

Pindarries.

The prospect of active service rendered his applying for leave of

absence absolutely out of the question. All doubt upon that subject

was thereby set at rest. It also seemed to set at rest the question

whether he should or should not address Lady Blanche herself:--it was

impossible to hint at her plighting her troth to him in a foreign land,

from which he might never return, or of her keeping herself disengaged

in the hope, at some future indefinite period, of following the drum

with him from country quarter to country quarter.

He relieved his mind by writing to his mother a full statement of

his perplexed feelings, and by imploring her, if possible, to convey

them to Lady Blanche; and having done so, he resolutely bent all his

energies to the discharge of his professional duties; while his heart

beat high with the cheering hope of returning to her feet, his name

coupled with deeds of valour, and illustrated by feats of military

prowess.

CHAPTER VIII.

The soote season that bud and bloom forth brings

With greene hath cladde the hyll, and eke the dale;

The nightingall with feathers new she sings,

The turtle to her mate hath told the tale.

Lord Surrey.

The "soote season" had arrived, and the Falkingham family were in

London. Lady Blanche's heart sank within her at the prospect of the

wearisome pleasures in which she would be forced to join. She shrank

also from the idea of being looked upon in the light of a jilt.

Though Lady Falkingham, by her system of education, had not been

able to subdue the natural warmth of Lady Blanche's feelings, or her

somewhat head-long indulgence of them, she had succeeded in inspiring

her with her own horror of being subject to the animadversions or the

ridicule of the world, and Lady Blanche felt, more keenly than most

girls, what is considered as a disgrace by all who have been well

brought up.

She thought that the only mode of redeeming herself in the estimation

of others was to adopt manners the most reserved; and to justify,

by her scrupulous fidelity to the object for whom it was now pretty

generally understood she had rejected Lord Glenrith, the inconsistency

from which she could not clear herself.

Lady Falkingham, whose most ardent wish was to see her daughter

settled, was in a continual state of vexation at the distant and

chilling manner with which Blanche received the most common attentions.

There was truth in the charge her mother brought against her, of being

on the defensive, even before she was attacked: and though there is

nothing more attractive than the reserve which springs from innate

modesty, Lady Falkingham knew full well, that few things more offend

the self-love of men, and render them proof against the charms a woman

may really possess, than the reserve which seems to proceed from

contempt, or from a pre-determination to check their advances.

Blanche would gladly have passed her days in retirement, but her

parents believed that the only mode of effacing the impression made

by Captain De Molton was to place her in the society of others.

Moreover, to seclude herself entirely from the world, would be a tacit

acknowledgment of deserving blame. At all the usual places of amusement

they were consequently seen. But the calm brow of Lady Falkingham had

acquired a careful and discontented expression; and the bright glances

and glowing smile of Lady Blanche had given place to a cold and stately

pensiveness. She danced occasionally, but partners no longer disputed

the honour of her hand. She sometimes received compliments; nor did she

dislike them, for as she felt an internal dissatisfaction, she would

have enjoyed anything which tended to reconcile her to herself; but she

was so afraid of appearing to enjoy them, that she assumed a disdainful

manner which effectually prevented any recurrence of what appeared to

give offence.

With Lady Westhope alone did she find any comfort. To her she opened

her whole heart--with her she talked over each trifling incident which

had occurred during their visit to Paris--to her she repeated every

word De Molton had said--to her she dwelt on his looks, his manner, his

expression, in their last interview at Cransley. Lady Falkingham little

guessed that the cold, the discreet, the immaculate Lady Westhope,

could be a companion so little calculated to lead her daughter to a

reasonable and worldly view of her own prospects;--Lady Westhope, who,

unknown to herself, was every day acquiring a more thorough conviction,

that in mutual affection alone can a married woman expect to find

happiness. Blanche's conversations with Lady Westhope tended not only

to keep alive the impression produced at Paris; they also made her feel

still more pledged to adhere to the attachment which she professed.

It was about the middle of the season when Lord Glenrith arrived in

London. He and Lady Blanche occasionally met at public places, in large

and mixed society. Their first meeting was inexpressibly awkward. By

some untoward accident, they found themselves _vis-à-vis_ of each other

in a quadrille. Although good breeding might prompt the fourteen or

eighteen other people in the quadrille to withdraw their eyes from

the pair who had once been lovers, their attention could not fail to

be riveted upon them. They were to meet as friends; consequently,

they bowed when first they caught each other's eye; and both blushed

equally crimson. The rest of the time, they advanced and retreated,

performed their _queues de chat_ and their _dos-à-dos_, without raising

their eyes from the floor; but when poor Lord Glenrith was obliged in

the _pastorelle_ to figure before Lady Blanche as _cavalier seul_,

she felt ready to sink into the earth with distress on his account

as well as on her own. The effect which this position had upon Lord

Glenrith, and the degree to which his pride and his self-love suffered

under the gaze of others, may be deduced from the circumstance of his

having that night resolved he would not long be seen in the light of a

discarded lover, and of his having the very next day begun a series of

devoted attentions to the lovely daughter of the Duke of L----. Before

the London season drew to a close, the magnificent _trousseau_ of the

future Lady Glenrith was the general subject of conversation among

young ladies; and the beautiful horses and equipages of Lord Glenrith

that among young gentlemen.

Then came the morning when the narrow entrance to St. George's Church

was crammed with lovely bride's-maids, and weeping, smiling relations;

and the afternoon, when half the coachmen and footmen in the Park

appeared with gorgeous favours in their hats; and the evening, when

little morsels of tinsel ensconced in white satin ribbon were seen

pinned to the side, or stuck in the button-hole, of all the most

distinguished personages of both sexes.

Blanche and her affairs were utterly forgotten, and she heard on all

sides descriptions of the loveliness of the bride and the happiness of

the bridegroom.

In sober earnest, Blanche rejoiced that her anticipations with regard

to Lord Glenrith had been so soon realised; and if she could have

seen De Molton--if she could have heard him speak,--if she could have

received any communication from him,--if she could have indulged any

hope of ever herself knowing the happiness of reciprocal affection, she

would have utterly despised the frivolous grandeurs which excited such

a sensation in the London world.

But with her all seemed a blank. She had wished her story should be

forgotten,--and it was forgotten. No one seemed to remember that she

might have been in Lady Mary L.'s situation. She wished people to be

aware that, though she had jilted Lord Glenrith, she was no flirt;--and

she had succeeded! No one attempted to make love to her.

She was sitting with Lady Westhope, when Mr. Wroxholme, who had also

been paying a morning visit, took his leave. "I have just heard what

is to me a very melancholy piece of intelligence," said Lady Blanche.

"Mr. Wroxholme tells me Parliament will sit three weeks longer. I feel

so weary and so jaded with the joyless entertainments to which mamma

thinks it her duty to take me! She fancies I may thus forget; but she

is mistaken. My thoughts only recur the oftener to him from whom she

hopes to wean them. I think, when among a number of indifferent people,

one feels the want of the person with whom one would fain interchange

thoughts and feelings, even more acutely than in the retirement of

one's own home."

"That is only too true," answered Lady Westhope, with a sigh.

"This is to be alone--this, this is solitude."

"I like Mr. Wroxholme," rejoined Lady Blanche. "He looks as if he could

understand one. I always feel at my ease with him."

"I told you you would like him! For my part I think he is quite an

acquisition. I know no one who is _d'un plus doux commerce_. He has

so much tact, and he is particularly obliging! One has but to express

before him a wish for anything, and one is sure to find one's wish

gratified."

"And then he has another great merit in my eyes: he cannot endure Mr.

Stapleford."

"And I know of one more merit still," added Lady Westhope with a

smile--"he likes Captain De Molton. They were school-fellows, you know."

Mr. Wroxholme had been always interested for Lady Blanche and her

lover, and, with the tact for which he was supposed to be remarkable,

had from the first read her feelings. When her marriage had been broken

off, Lady Westhope had not scrupled to speak confidentially to a person

who had shown so much sympathy and kindness concerning her friend. Mr.

Wroxholme had warmly approved of Lady Blanche's disinterestedness, and,

naturally enough, had spoken his sentiments on the subject of worldly

marriages.

He seemed to consider congeniality of tempers, tastes, and opinions,

as the only objects to be sought in such a connexion; and there was

something to Lady Westhope's feelings singularly soothing and agreeable

in hearing such sentiments so warmly expressed, especially as her

strict notions of propriety could not take the alarm at a disprejudiced

observer merely giving an opinion upon the affairs of a third person.

All he said breathed a tone of high respect for the sex in general--a

generous horror of seeing a woman thrown away upon a man who was not

worthy of her, or who did not sufficiently value her, which could not

fail to be gratifying to a person who felt such to be her own case.

The indignation he felt at Lord Westhope's neglect of his wife, and

the pleasure she took in finding herself appreciated, might gradually

and unconsciously have led them both to entertain sentiments for which

both would have reproached themselves, had nothing occurred to arouse

them to a sense of their danger. An incident did however occur, which,

though trifling in itself, served to open the eyes of one who had no

wish to keep them wilfully closed.

CHAPTER IX.

Gentil parlar, in cui chiaro refulse

Con somma cortesia, somma onestate;

Fior di virtù; fontana di beltate;

Ch' ogni basso pensier del cor m'avulse.

Petrarca.

Lady Westhope's praises of Mr. Wroxholme, and her intimation of his

early intimacy with Captain De Molton, led Lady Blanche to talk to him

with more satisfaction than to any one else. When in conversation with

him, her countenance resumed some of its former animation; and they

frequently met, and always met with pleasure.

One evening Mr. Wroxholme had been recounting to Lady Blanche some

boyish prank at school, in which he had contrived to let her know that

De Molton had been engaged; she had been listening with an expression

of amusement, which had been succeeded by a look, half confusion, half

tenderness, on the incidental mention of De Molton's name, when Mr.

Stapleford remarked to Lady Westhope, "I think the conversation in

that recess seems to justify the report I heard yesterday."

"What report?" inquired Lady Westhope.

"Why, that Wroxholme might succeed in consoling Lady Blanche for the

loss of her penniless, as well as of her wealthy, lover."

"Oh, what an idea!" exclaimed Lady Westhope.

"I assure you the report is very general, and I think there can be no

doubt but that Wroxholme is very much in love."

"There never was so unfounded a notion! What could put it into

anybody's head?"

"Though no blue-stocking, I presume Lady Westhope knows enough of

optics to be aware that the rays of light reflected from objects

actually before us, passing through the different lenses of the eye,

are impressed upon the retina, and are, by some process beyond the

comprehension of us poor mortals, thence communicated to the brain: in

plain English, Lady Westhope has heard the old adage, that seeing is

believing."

His eyes, when he began to speak, were fixed upon Lady Blanche, who was

diligently picking to pieces the bouquet she held in her hand; (Mr.

Wroxholme was telling her what a good-hearted fellow Frank De Molton

was at school, and how kind he had been to a poor boy who had been run

over by a cart;) but as he finished his sentence, he withdrew his most

penetrating and disagreeable eyes from the couple, whose feelings he,

for once, misinterpreted, and let them fall gently and fixedly on Lady

Westhope.

"I can assure you, you are perfectly mistaken in this instance," Lady

Westhope replied with some quickness. "Lady Blanche is only likely to

be perseveringly, foolishly, constant; and as to Mr. Wroxholme's being

in love with her, it is quite out of the question."

"Why out of the question?" asked Mr. Stapleford, with the most

provoking matter-of-fact coolness.

Lady Westhope did not very well know why it was so; but she answered--

"Oh, he is not the sort of man to fall in love with Blanche."

"He is an odd sort of man, then, if it is out of the question for him

to fall in love with one of the handsomest girls in London, who plucks

off every leaf of a beautiful camellia while he is talking to her! A

prepossession in another quarter might steel a man's heart even against

such attractions as those I have alluded to; and I have no doubt Lady

Westhope is better versed in the mysterious workings of the human

heart than I can pretend to be. I must bow therefore to her superior

knowledge of the state of Mr. Wroxholme's affections;"--and, with a

supercilious bow, he joined a knot of politicians.

Lady Westhope felt prodigiously annoyed. She could not tell why she

disliked so much to hear that Mr. Wroxholme was in love with Lady

Blanche. There was no harm in it if he was. She looked upon him as a

man with whom a woman might be very happy; and, although not rich, he

had a competency. Why was she so certain he entertained no particular

preference for her friend? and why did she feel aggrieved at the

suspicion? It could not be that, at her age, after having passed

unscathed through all the trials of her youth, her own heart was in any

danger? What a humiliating, what a degrading surmise! She felt almost

ashamed of suspecting herself of such a weakness; one that she would

always have thought criminal, but that now would be ridiculous as well

as criminal. It was evident, however, that Mr. Stapleford did suspect

her of harbouring so ridiculous a prepossession, and she scrutinized

her own feelings with resolute accuracy.

The truth was, that she had been accustomed for some months to feel

herself the first object with Mr. Wroxholme; and although no words ever

passed which expressed, or implied, that such might be the case, it

was that consciousness which made her find his society so agreeable.

She had felt so secure that she was past the age when she need guard

her heart from tender impressions, that she had relaxed in her former

watchfulness; she had felt so strong in her virtue, that she had

not taken heed lest she might fall; and it was with a sense of deep

humiliation and self-abasement that she awoke to a conviction of her

weakness. She thenceforth resolved to keep strict watch and ward over

her inward feelings, as well as over her outward actions.

These resolutions were more easily taken than carried into effect: she

had no right to assume coldness towards a person who had never given

her the slightest cause of offence, who had never presumed upon the

intimate footing to which he had been admitted in the house.

How difficult is it, with the very best intentions, for a woman

who lives in the world to steer entirely clear of suspicion, or

misinterpretation, unless there exists between her and her husband a

frank and cordial understanding! If, with all her knowledge of the

world, Lady Westhope did not find it easy to shape her conduct so as

to be discreet without prudery, and cool without unkindness, it is not

surprising that the inexperienced should, without really deserving it,

occasionally lay themselves open to blame.

The subject of love is one which young ladies are not allowed to

discuss; at least, not with their elders. But how much have parents

to answer for, who, by their avoidance of the subject, leave the

responsibility of forming their daughters' minds on a point of such

vital importance, to the man whom they may chance to marry! How much

has the husband to answer for, who, by his neglect, his sternness, or

his profligate notions, fails to become the guardian of the virtue he

is bound to protect! Yet, by light conversation, by reporting gossiping

anecdotes, and witty though immoral jokes, how frequently does he treat

with levity, and make the subject of mirth and ridicule, errors, nay

crimes, which hitherto the girlish matron has scarcely ventured to

contemplate! Is it wonderful that the young mind should sometimes, when

it fancies it only throws off the shackles of old-fashioned prejudice,

discard at the same time the restraint of rigid principle? And the

husband who has thus contaminated the fountain whence the actions flow,

is surprised and indignant that the purity he once admired should have

given place to notions more resembling his own! Is it surprising that a

young creature, whose mind is thus deprived of ballast and of rudder,

should in the voyage of life fail to steer clear of shoals and hidden

reefs?

Fortunately, Lady Westhope had withstood the first trial,--that of

being early united to an unprincipled man; and she had now acquired

knowledge of the world, which enabled her to meet her present

difficulty.

She debated within herself whether talking to him freely concerning

marriage, and advising one, who appeared to entertain such exalted

notions of the happiness to be found in the wedded state, to enter

into it himself, might not be a good mode of proving how completely she

considered herself in the light of a friend, though of a kind friend

deeply interested in his welfare; but, upon the whole, she decided that

it was entering upon a dangerous topic. It might be construed into

the common artifice of coquettes to pique, or to lead to sentimental

conversation; and if, unknown to himself, he did entertain for her the

feelings she more than suspected, it might open his eyes to the true

nature of them, as Mr. Stapleford's insinuations had opened hers.

In her early youth she had made to herself a rule never to admit male

visitors in the morning: but, since she had approached the middle age,

she had gradually relaxed in the strictness of her prohibition; and

gentlemen now lounged on her sofas, and whipped their boots before

her fire, as freely as in any other house in London; and no one more

frequently than Mr. Wroxholme. These visits, in the first place, she

resolved to check; but she knew that an explanation was always a thing

to be most scrupulously avoided. By remaining late in her boudoir,

and denying herself to all persons equally, on the plea of not being

dressed; by seizing every opportunity of taking an early drive into the

country; she for some time succeeded in her object, without wounding

one whose only fault consisted in regarding her with respectful

partiality. When he did find her at home, she received him cordially,

and he was for the moment re-assured that she had not intentionally

avoided his society. When they met in public, though she spoke to

him but little, she carefully preserved the tone of friendliness and

intimacy.

Still, in the long run, gently and gradually as the change was made,

Mr. Wroxholme perceived that there was a change. He could not but

become aware that he was less frequently invited to dinner; and when

invited, that it was to large set parties, and not to the hasty repast

before the play, the friendly gathering of a few intimates; and he

could not but be struck with the numerous avocations and engagements

which so often prevented his finding Lady Westhope at home of a morning.

In the course of time, he became hurt and half angry. He had always

heard that fine ladies were apt to be capricious, and his pride was

wounded: he was a gentleman in mind, in manners, and in birth; and his

spirit rose at the bare suspicion of having been so sported with. He,

in his turn, avoided Lady Westhope, and this was the severest trial she

had yet met with.

They still, however, occasionally met; for both parties wished to

preserve the same demeanour towards the other. Mr. Wroxholme took an

opportunity of expatiating upon the meanness of those men who could

condescend to be toad-eaters and hangers-on of the great: "He had no

notion how any one with the feelings of a gentleman could endure being

take up, and set down, at pleasure;" and asserted, "that a man who

could submit to such treatment, amply deserved to meet with it!" There

was a tone of asperity in his mode of speaking which proved that his

was not a general observation on men and manners, but that he spoke

from personal feeling. She was inexpressibly hurt, and she determined

she would, by some means, let him know she was not one of the heartless

fine ladies to whom he alluded.

The evening before their departure for the country, she invited a few

friends to meet at her house; and, among others, Mr. Wroxholme. She had

formed no distinct plan; and yet she vaguely hoped she should be able

to undeceive him, and to correct the impression he had so erroneously

received of her late conduct.

Notwithstanding his wounded pride, he could not resist the temptation

to pass one more evening in her society.

The party was small, the conversation general: subjects of literature

were discussed; the novels of the day were naturally mentioned. From

them she easily led the discourse to the French novels of the day that

is passed, and she took the opportunity of remarking how just were

the little observations and reflections with which they were often

interspersed. Mr. Wroxholme added, that in knowledge of the smaller

workings of the human heart, he thought Madame de Genlis was scarcely

inferior to Madame de Staël.

"But none of Madame de Genlis's are equal in power to Delphine,"

replied Lady Westhope.

"Are you a great admirer of Delphine?" inquired some one.

"A great admirer of the eloquence and fire with which it is written;

and if the motto at the beginning is borne in mind, the truth of which

is forcibly exemplified by the fate of both the hero and heroine, I

think a great moral truth may be extracted from it; though I grant that

the charm thrown around immoral feelings might render it a dangerous

book for the young."

"And what is the motto?"

"'Que l'homme doit braver l'opinion, la femme s'y soumettre.' All

the miseries of Leonce and Delphine arise from their neither of them

following the maxim contained in the motto. How fortunate it is for

us women, that the opinion of the world, and virtue, always prescribe

the same line of conduct! There are many occasions in which it is

praise-worthy, nay, admirable, in a man to risk the censure of his

fellows; many in which he may act ill without risking it. But with us

it is quite different: it is seldom that we incur the condemnation of

our own consciences, or the disapprobation of others, if we avoid not

only what is really wrong, but that which may bear the semblance of

wrong."

"Well," interrupted a young man present, "I think it is enough for man,

or woman, to do what is right, and to leave appearances to take care of

themselves."

"I am glad it is a man, not a woman, who says so," resumed Lady

Westhope, smiling. "I am always grieved and alarmed when I hear a woman

speak with contempt of the opinion of the world: it argues in her

neither good feeling, cleverness, nor true courage. True courage (in

woman) consists in at once giving up what may be agreeable and innocent

in itself, rather than risk having one's good name called in question."

Mr. Wroxholme had listened with interest, for his attention had been

arrested by the earnestness with which Lady Westhope spoke. He suddenly

understood all that had previously puzzled him in her conduct. He

admired and respected her; and his wounded pride, his offended vanity,

were soothed.

When she bade him adieu, she expressed a hope that he would join

their Christmas party at Cransley; she did not invite him for

partridge-shooting in September, as she had done the previous year. He

felt that she meant to be kind, yet firm; and although the intervening

six months appeared to him immeasurably long in perspective, he had too

much principle himself to blame her, or to repine.

There was a cordiality in the respectful devotion with which Mr.

Wroxholme took his leave, which convinced Lady Westhope that he no

longer looked upon her as a capricious fine lady, but as a woman of

rigid, uncompromising virtue.

She felt, however, lowered in her own estimation when she could not

disguise from herself how great an effort it cost her to exercise this

same virtue; and she was indignant, almost disgusted, with herself

when she found her home cheerless, and her time unoccupied, upon her

arrival in the country. This very feeling roused her to shake off the

disgraceful weakness; and she resumed her wonted employments, and

strove to make to herself new ones.

CHAPTER X.

And words of small import, but tinged with gall,

Jar on the sense by their unkindly tone.

The morning greeting may sound harsh withal,

The evening benison a curse may own;

While oft a smile--a kindly look alone--

Born of compunction, falls right soothingly

On the sick heart, the past offence t' atone,

Ere word be spoke at all. As violets shy,

By their sweet breath betray where they are lurking nigh.

_Unpublished Poems._

The events of the last few weeks in London had also awakened Mr.

Wroxholme to the state of his own affections; and he no sooner admitted

to himself that he had been in danger of liking Lady Westhope too

well, than he rejoiced in the prudence and discretion with which she

had checked his growing preference, and felt grateful that he had been

preserved from the danger which beset him.

During the period when London is nearly deserted, and that the few who

are still detained in its dreary and dirty streets are naturally drawn

into habits of closer intimacy, he was much thrown with the daughter of

an eminent lawyer, with whom he often had professional intercourse.

He fancied a considerable resemblance to Lady Westhope's in the profile

of her nose: her complexion was of the same tone; and he perceived a

decided likeness in the setting on of the head.

When Christmas arrived Mr. Wroxholme wrote an excuse to the Westhopes,

informing them that he was on the eve of marriage with the daughter of

Sir H. B----, and that the arrangements attending this happy event must

detain him in London. He told Lady Westhope that his future bride bore

a strong resemblance to herself in outward appearance, and that he only

hoped she might take her as a pattern in more essential qualifications.

How did Lady Westhope feel upon the reception of this letter? She felt

exceedingly surprised, for experience only can teach woman how short a

time love can survive hope in the heart of man; but she felt satisfied,

nay relieved. She had for six months devoted herself to the performance

of her duties,--she had repelled every weak emotion. She rejoiced that

Mr. Wroxholme should be happy, she rejoiced that she would no longer be

called upon to keep strict watch and ward over her own heart, and she

was gratified by the manner in which he spoke of herself. The likeness

which he professed to discover in Miss B. was a balm to her vanity, and

prevented its obscuring her reason. She was therefore able to rejoice,

as her principles pointed out she ought to do, that they had escaped

all further trial.

While Lady Westhope was thus regaining tranquillity and self-esteem,

Blanche toiled through a long summer of very fine weather and the usual

country occupations,--through a long autumn and its shooting-parties.

She had to listen to the number of head of game killed at battues,

or to the merits of the young hounds or of the new huntsman; and she

conscientiously danced through the winter balls at the county town.

In some respects she gave great satisfaction to the neighbours. No

one could accuse her of showing the slightest preference for the most

distinguished young heir apparent over the most Tony Lumpkin-like

son of the most humble country 'squire, or the most penniless young

curate, who might summon courage to ask Lady Blanche De Vaux to dance.

Indeed, the more out-of-the-question the partner, the more gracious was

Blanche; so that the popularity of the house of Falkingham was greatly

on the increase. Unfortunately there was no son, or his chance of

being returned for the county would have been considerably augmented:

Lord Falkingham's family consisted only of daughters, among whom his

personal property would be divided; while his whole landed estate would

descend, with the title, to a nephew.

A second spring arrived. To London they went again. The brilliancy of

Lady Blanche's complexion was gone; her step had lost its elasticity,

her figure something of its roundness. The last month or two had been

to her a period of much uneasiness, much mortification.

She had calculated that the intelligence of her marriage having been

broken off, must have reached De Molton, and by this time she might

have received from him a passionate expression of his joy and his

devotion. Day after day elapsed and no letter arrived. It is impossible

to say whether, suffering the pangs of (as she imagined) unrequited

affection, she might not have found a remedy, as it were, in the very

excess of the disease, had not a circumstance occurred which again

excited hope.

Even in woman, love can seldom exist if completely deprived of aliment,

though it thrives upon the very smallest portion of sustenance

imaginable.

Blanche frequently met Lady Cumberworth and her daughters in society:

the very sight of De Molton's mother caused a tremor and an agitation

which roused her from the state of apathy into which she had fallen.

Moreover, she often perceived Lady Cumberworth's eyes fixed upon her

with a kind and motherly expression; and she even fancied she looked as

if she longed to speak to her, although they had never been regularly

introduced. Lady Falkingham watched with a jealous eye every symptom of

intercourse with Lady Cumberworth; and if they found themselves within

speaking distance of De Molton's mother, never failed to move to the

other side of the room.

One morning Lady Falkingham complained of a cold, and promulgated

at breakfast that she should not go to Mrs. Baltimore's party that

evening. Now Mrs. Baltimore was a relation and a particular friend of

Lady Cumberworth's. Blanche quickly replied, "Oh, do not run any risk

on my account, dear mamma! You know Lady Westhope can chaperon me."

"Bless me, Blanche!" exclaimed her father; "you, wishing to go out, and

your mother to stay at home! I am delighted to find young and old are

resuming their natural characteristics."

"Really, Blanche," said Lady Falkingham, "I think you are the most

perverse girl I ever knew. Every evening I am obliged to urge you to go

and dress, to drive you by force to the best parties in London; and the

one only night I would rather stay at home, you are seized with such a

fury of dissipation, that you wish to send all over the town to find

a chaperon! Nothing I dislike so much as that a girl should be hawked

about, one night with one person, and the next night with another!"

"But surely, mamma, sending to Lady Westhope is not sending all over

the town; and I was so long with her at Paris, that it is not like

going out with a stranger."

"Don't talk to me of Paris, Blanche, if you wish me to be able to eat

any breakfast; the sample she gave of her chaperonage there, is not

calculated to make me anxious to entrust you to her again!"

"Really, my dear, I think it is you who are rather perverse: you often

find fault with Blanche for wishing to shut herself up, and for not

exerting herself to recover her spirits, and now you check her when she

attempts to do what you so often urge. I have some business with Lord

Westhope this morning, and if I find Lady Westhope at home, I cannot

see any objection to my asking her to take Blanche to-night."

Lady Falkingham could say no more: she could not, before Blanche,

explain her objections to Mrs. Baltimore's party. She resolved,

however, to risk a fit of rheumatism, rather than allow her daughter to

elude her vigilant eye.

Lord Falkingham quickly settled the evening arrangements with Lady

Westhope, and as quickly took his leave, to avoid the formality of a

wedding visit from Mr. and Mrs. Wroxholme, who had just returned from

passing their honeymoon in the country.

Lady Westhope was exceedingly surprised to find Mrs. Wroxholme small

and slender, whereas she herself was tall, and was altogether a fine

woman rather than a pretty one. She was also surprised to find that

her mouth was wide, (though her teeth were so bright, and her smile

so sunny, that no one who spoke to her would be disposed to criticise

it too severely,) whereas Lady Westhope's was peculiarly small, and

classical in its form. The setting on of the head was concealed by the

winter apparel; and Lady Westhope was not sufficiently well acquainted

with her own profile, to be struck with any resemblance in Mrs.

Wroxholme's. She scarcely knew whether or not to be flattered at Mr.

Wroxholme's having fancied a likeness where so little existed; and yet

it proved that she had been present to his thoughts, and that he could

not admire any one without trying to discover in her a resemblance to

the person he had fixed upon as the type of female perfection.

Mr. Wroxholme looked the happiest of the happy. Mrs. Wroxholme was

modest without being awkward, and did not seem to be indisposed towards

her husband's friend, as is so frequently the case when the husband

has injudiciously praised, or the woman has a narrow mind or a jealous

disposition. On the contrary, she seemed disposed to take it upon

trust, that the person of whom her husband approved must be deserving

of esteem.

Lady Westhope was much pleased with all she saw of the bride in this

morning visit; and she was gratified by her evident inclination to

like, and her desire to be liked. When they were taking leave, she

took an opportunity of expressing to Mr. Wroxholme, how much she was

flattered at his having found any resemblance between so charming a

person as his young wife, and herself. Mr. Wroxholme looked surprised,

and wholly unconscious to what she could allude; then suddenly

recollecting himself--"Oh yes, so I did! I thought Emma very like you

when first I knew her; but I have not been so much struck with the

likeness of late."

The truth was, that since he had become so exceedingly in love with

his wife, as he now was, he had utterly forgotten what had at first

been to him her greatest attraction. With the generality of men, love,

when once over, leaves not a trace behind. With women, on the contrary,

a person whom they have once loved, or even one by whom they once

believed themselves to be sincerely loved, remains to them an object of

interest, though the sentiment itself may long have ceased to exist.

Lady Westhope felt almost abashed when she replied in an explanatory

tone--"I should not have had the vanity to make such a remark, if,

in announcing your marriage, you had not yourself mentioned the

resemblance."

Mrs. Wroxholme, who caught what was passing, said with such an air of

honesty, that she was "really distressed at hearing the comparison

made," and looked as if she sincerely thought Lady Westhope so much

handsomer than herself, that Lady Westhope felt gratitude towards the

wife, mixed with a momentary (it was but a momentary) emotion of pique

towards the husband.

To Lady Falkingham's infinite annoyance, her cold increased towards

the evening--she was threatened with the tooth-ache--the night was

extremely cold; she could not, without openly saying she would not

trust her daughter out of her sight, insist upon accompanying her to

Mrs. Baltimore's; neither was her illness such that she could make it a

pretext for keeping Blanche at home.

Meanwhile Blanche looked unusually animated at dinner, and her father

rejoiced exultingly to see her dark hazel eyes sparkle once more with

the rich lustre which was natural to them. Lady Falkingham, on the

contrary, was suffering, and uncomfortable, both in body and mind.

Her tone was querulous; and she found it impossible to agree either

with her husband or daughter upon any subject, whether of literature,

society, or politics. She felt provoked and oppressed by the

unaccountable spirits of both father and daughter.

Lord Falkingham had been trying to talk his wife into good-humour,

and, nothing daunted by the ill success which had as yet attended his

efforts, he proceeded: "I find Mapleton is quite sure of the county if

he stands next election."

"That is very odd!" said Lady Falkingham: "Mr. Evans told me that Mr.

Talpoys had eight hundred votes to spare."

"Well! Mapleton himself told me he had more than fifteen hundred to

spare."

"I do not believe Mr. Mapleton knows anything at all about the matter.

He believes what his agents tell him; and they wish him to persist

in his opposition to Mr. Talpoys, that they may make their own

perquisites."

"Mapleton must be a great fool if he is so taken in."

"I never heard he was clever," answered Lady Falkingham, with a

sarcastic smile.

"How pretty the new lamps look!" remarked Lady Blanche, who knew that

her father had a regard for Mr. Mapleton, and did not like to hear

him spoken of slightingly. "I think they give a most agreeable, soft

light,--do not you, mamma?"

"I cannot say I agree with you, my dear. To my mind, they are not near

so pretty as the old ones."

Lord Falkingham, who always felt a vague uneasiness whenever he saw his

wife look out of spirits, as he amiably termed and thought what others

might have deemed being out of humour, made another attempt to say

something agreeable.

"Is that pretty cap the handiwork of your new maid, my dear? If it is,

I think she is likely to suit you."

"My dear Lord Falkingham, you mean to be very complimentary, I

dare say; but it would be infinitely more complimentary if you had

recognised the old friend you have seen me wear half the winter at

Temple Loseley."

This was another failure; but he laughed at his own mistake, said he

evidently was not born to be a milliner, and remarked what a good

_vol-au-vent_ he was eating.

"I am glad you like it. I thought it very bad, I must confess, and had

meant to speak to the cook about it; but I will tell him you approve."

Lord Falkingham was provoked at last. He piqued himself upon his taste

in gastronomy, and did not at all like any one presuming to have a more

refined palate than his own. Little more was said.

Blanche counted the moments till Lady Westhope called for her, with

something of the same eagerness she would have done had it been De

Molton, instead of De Molton's mother, whom she expected to meet.

To her great joy, the first person she saw on entering the room was

Lady Cumberworth; and she felt, she knew not wherefore, that this

evening was big with events of the utmost importance.

CHAPTER XI.

So, bounding o'er the billows, ride our fleets,

To reach the land that owns the sacred name

Of _home_; and high among the shrouds brave hearts

Beat towards that home with strong tumultuous joy.

_Unpublished Poems._

Lady Blanche and Lady Cumberworth were at opposite ends of the room.

They were not acquainted with each other. Rubber after rubber

was played by the elder people; some of the younger won and lost

considerable sums at _écarté_. The evening wore away; Blanche's

high-wrought expectations seemed likely to end in nothing. "After all,"

she thought, "what did I expect? What was to happen? How foolish I

have been! Lady Cumberworth does not even turn her head my way." She

might have seen that a very charming young man was in deep conversation

with the fourth Miss De Molton; and Lady Cumberworth would not have

moved an inch, or even looked as if she could ever wish to move, as

long as this conversation lasted. When the charming young man had,

however, taken his leave to grace some more splendid assembly with his

presence, Lady Cumberworth changed her position, and crossed to the

side of the room where Lady Blanche stood. She was slightly acquainted

with Lady Westhope, and seated herself by her. Blanche's heart beat

quick--something would surely occur now.

Presently Lady Cumberworth begged Lady Westhope to introduce her to her

cousin, Lady Blanche; which common-place ceremony was performed in the

most common-place manner: but Lady Blanche's eyes were full of tears,

and she blushed to her very temples. Lady Cumberworth saw that her

darling son was as truly loved as ever, and, though she knew it would

be reckoned imprudent, she could not help ardently wishing to let her

know that De Molton was neither faithless nor indifferent. "After all,"

thought she, in the good-natured weakness of her heart, "it is evident

they are both so deeply attached, that they never can be happy if they

are separated. Lord Falkingham is rich--he has no son; if he chose to

provide for Lady Blanche, he could make them tolerably comfortable. I

must give the poor girl pleasure by letting her know what are Frank's

feelings; and then he will be so very happy if I tell him I have seen

his Blanche, and that she is constant!" She took the opportunity of

Lady Westhope's changing her position to draw nearer to Lady Blanche.

"Now," thought Blanche, "something is coming; Lady Cumberworth looks as

if she did not wish my cousin to hear."

Lady Cumberworth asked her "if she had been at the last ball at M.

House." Lady Blanche answered "Yes," and felt disappointed at so

unmeaning a question.

Lady Cumberworth did not know how to open the subject. "Were you much

amused?" she inquired.

"No! I did not think it was very gay," was Blanche's reply.

"I had a letter from my son in India the other day," continued Lady

Cumberworth, while Lady Blanche's heart seemed almost to stop its

pulsations from excess of emotion, "and he tells me the society of

Calcutta is very dull. He is gone up the country now, on an expedition

against some native chiefs."

Lady Blanche changed colour, and her eyes turned fearfully and

inquiringly on Lady Cumberworth, who proceeded:--"He soothes my

maternal fears by telling me that it is not a service of much danger;

but he adds, that while there is any active service to be expected, he

cannot, in honour, follow his own inclination, which would be to return

to England instantly. He seems very much to regret having gone to India

at all."

This was enough. Hope again danced in the heart of Lady Blanche; but

she dared not raise her eyes from the ground; she did not utter--she

could not think of anything which would not too openly commit her to a

person who was, in fact, a stranger. But Lady Cumberworth saw enough

to convince her that Frank's devotion was amply requited, and she

absolutely loved Lady Blanche. She was a kind, nay, a tender-hearted

woman. She never could resist doing the thing which she saw wished

by others, and many a lecture had she received from more sage and

worldly matrons for allowing her daughters to flirt uselessly, and for

permitting herself to be completely managed by them upon most subjects.

Several very imprudent marriages had been in question for the girls,

and had from her met with little discouragement. Fortunately Lord

Cumberworth's heart was not so soft, while his head was somewhat harder.

From this time, whenever Lady Blanche and Lady Cumberworth met, a few

words of cordial recognition passed between them. Lady Falkingham, to

avoid the necessity of being introduced, was either affectedly engaged

in earnest conversation with some one else, or statelily reared herself

to her full height, her eyes looking over, or beyond, Lady Cumberworth.

The greetings, consequently, became each evening shorter and more

constrained; but still they were sufficient to keep Blanche's mind

engaged with the idea of De Molton.

The letter which his mother wrote to him immediately after her

conversation with Lady Blanche, found him one sultry day lying in his

bungalow, exhausted both in body and mind. The expedition against the

Pindarries was over. He had distinguished himself by his eager and

ardent courage, and his previous study of the history and nature of the

country had enabled him to be of essential service to his commanding

officer. The novelty and excitement of this desultory warfare had

assisted to divert his thoughts from dwelling exclusively on the

subject of his unfortunate attachment; but that excitement was over.

The regiment was at present established in bungalows, near the borders

of the British possessions, and removed to a great distance from any

European society.

The weather was so oppressively hot, that, except for some hours about

sunrise, and for a few more in the evening, it was impossible that even

any military duty could take place.

The intervening space of time was generally passed by the officers

languidly stretched on mats, and gasping for breath. They were cut

off from all communication with any of their countrymen, and the

unhealthiness of the climate had wofully thinned the number of those

who had originally formed their small society. The few books possessed

by the party had been read and re-read a hundred times. An occasional

tiger-hunt before daybreak,--the exhilarating intelligence of a

crocodile having been seen on the bank of a neighbouring tank,--the

punishment of some native discovered in one of the thefts, which were

so often perpetrated and so seldom detected, or the death of another

comrade,--were the only events which occurred to vary the monotony of

De Molton's existence.

In the vacuity of such a life, the image of Blanche would rise before

his mind, more beautiful, more fascinating than ever; and he would pass

whole hours with his eyes fixed upon the blinds which the natives were

constantly watering to preserve some freshness in the atmosphere, while

his thoughts wandered far away from the melancholy and uninteresting

sights around him, to the festive and brilliant saloons of Paris, or to

the dimly-lighted stairs of the private-box entrance of Covent-Garden,

or to the long dinner-table at Cransley, with the épergne and its

projecting flowers,--or, dearer than all, to the library where he last

beheld her,--where he caught the expression of her countenance when

she said, "And do you then love me?"--to the library where she had

uttered the few words which had changed the whole tenour of both their

fates--"Why did you not tell me this sooner?"

He was feasting his memory on these precious recollections; he was

wondering whether she still remembered him, whether he should ever

return to England, whether he should find her free from any other

engagement--whether there was a possibility that she might ever

become his, or whether he was not flattering and deceiving himself in

attaching so much importance to these few words;--when he was roused

from his reveries by the arrival of despatches from Calcutta with

English letters, and his eyes were greeted by the sight of many a

well-known handwriting.

It is only those who have been in distant lands, far from all most dear

to them, who can judge of the mingled emotions of joy and fear with

which letters from home are received by the exile. The magic contained

in that word Home!--the thousand tender, delightful, and painful

feelings that crowd upon the soul! The anxiety with which the letters

are hastily examined to see that they are not sealed with black,--the

eagerness with which the one from the person nearest and dearest to

the heart is selected from all the rest,--the sickening agitation with

which it is torn open, and the nervous haste with which the eye glances

to the top of the page to look for the accustomed "All well," and the

glow of delight with which the comfortable words are hailed!

De Molton seized his mother's letter,--perused the assurances of the

welfare of his father, his brothers, his sisters, his uncles, his

aunts, his first cousins, and his second cousins! Nothing could be more

satisfactory than the report his mother gave of every branch of the

family, and yet he was not satisfied.

At length came the postscript; and there he found the name he had

been longing to see. There he found that Blanche was still free and

unfettered, that Blanche did not enjoy society, that Blanche still

blushed when she heard his name.

His impatience to return home now exceeded all bounds. Two years had

elapsed since he left England; there seemed little chance of any war in

which his services would be useful to his country, or in which he could

himself acquire fame.

He lost no time in negotiating his exchange into a regiment which was

shortly to sail for his native land; and towards the end of the third

spring from the time of his departure, he once more set foot on English

ground, and hastened to his father's house, with all the trepidation

and anxiety experienced by any one who arrives at a home from which the

last intelligence is nearly a year old.

CHAPTER XII.

Love mocks all sorrows but his own,

And damps each joy he does not yield.

_Unpublished Poems._

De Molton had the happiness of finding no chasm in the dear and

well-known family circle. He could look round and meet the beaming,

tearful, tender glance of his doting mother, the gay but kindly smile

of his father, the affectionate countenances of his sisters; and

he felt that the joy of reunion almost compensates for the pain of

separation, when the return is not embittered by the absence of any

familiar face.

Three years, however, had worked some changes in those around him.

His mother was thinner, her eyes were dimmer, her nose appeared

sharper, and she was altogether a smaller person than he had left

her. His father was fatter, and his head more bald. His elder sister

had acquired an air which bespoke the spinster of a certain age. His

youngest sister was wonderfully improved: but it was Charlotte, the

fourth, in whom he perceived the greatest alteration.

The very charming young man whose conversation Lady Cumberworth had

been so unwilling to interrupt, had at length made his proposals; and

Charlotte, whom her brother Frank remembered pale, and thin, and shy,

and dull, was grown rosy and blooming, with a peculiarly expressive

countenance, and singularly speaking eyes.

The moment De Molton could draw his mother aside, he questioned her

concerning Lady Blanche; and from her he learned that the Falkinghams

were still in London, that Lady Blanche was still unmarried, and that

she was supposed to have lately refused a most excellent and worthy

man.

De Molton's heart throbbed with joy which he did not attempt to conceal

from his mother; but the very hope, to which, in her tenderness, she

had not been able to resist ministering, alarmed her, now she witnessed

its excess, and she began to remind her son how impossible it was that

he should ever marry Lady Blanche, how improbable that the Falkinghams

should ever consent to such an union, and, even should they not oppose

it as strenuously as she anticipated, how impossible it was that he

should by any means muster an income sufficient to provide against

real, actual poverty.

But Lady Cumberworth's prudential reasonings came too late. Her son had

made up his mind that honour and gratitude now demanded the same line

of conduct as that prompted by inclination, and he resolved if, upon

the first interview which he could obtain with Lady Blanche, he had

reason to believe he still held the same place in her affections, that

he would brave all the frowns of fortune, and gladly, gaily, gallantly

encounter any degree of poverty, provided she were willing to share it

with him: if she were not willing to do so, she could but refuse him.

In vain did Lady Cumberworth use every argument she might have

recollected before she imprudently revived the hopes he had been

attempting to crush. De Molton, when once he had taken a resolution,

was immovable; and his mother, although frightened at what she had

assisted to bring about, could not help loving him the better for his

ardour, and her heart went with him, while she dreaded the reproaches

of others for having fomented what she ought to have repressed.

De Molton left a card at Lord Falkingham's the day after his arrival.

On returning from the morning drive, Blanche found it upon the table,

and she could not entirely check a faint exclamation. Her mother looked

at her with a stern and reproachful, but melancholy glance, which

suddenly drove back the colour already mounting to her cheeks. She felt

ready to faint; but she was ashamed to show such emotion before one

whose feelings were so little in unison with her own, and by a strong

effort she mastered herself. She would have given the world had Lady

Falkingham spoken, even to reproach her. This chilling silence was more

awful, more subduing, than any words which could be uttered.

She gladly seized the first excuse to retire to her own room, and

there to enjoy the delight of finding that her lover was in England,

safe, and faithful;--for she felt convinced he was faithful. She had

seen Lady Cumberworth only two days before. He was not then arrived.

His calling the very day after his return, before he had any printed

cards (for his name was only written, and, as she thought, written with

an unsteady hand), spoke volumes to her hopeful heart.

They dined out on that day; and, after their dinner, were to proceed

to a party at which Blanche thought it possible she might meet the

Cumberworths, and, consequently, De Molton.

If Lady Blanche's reputation for good manners had depended upon her

conduct on that memorable day, she would certainly have been reckoned

the least well-bred young lady who ever sat at "good men's feasts."

Three times did the master of the house ask her to drink wine before

she took any notice whatever of his request, and then she answered,

"Mutton, if you please." The servants were repeatedly obliged to touch

her sleeve with the silver dishes containing the _entrées_, before they

could induce her to turn round; and her next neighbour gave up the

point of leading her into anything like connected conversation; not,

however, till he had made many fruitless attempts to do so; for there

was an animation in her countenance, there was a fire in her eye, and a

blushing consciousness pervading her whole demeanour, which convinced

him it was not because she was either dull, or shy, or stupid, that it

was impossible to excite or to interest her.

It was with infinite vexation that Lady Falkingham remarked all these

symptoms. Not a word was spoken during their drive from the dinner

to the party. She knew Blanche's frank nature, and she knew, if once

the ice was broken, she would speak boldly and strongly all that Lady

Falkingham least wished to hear.

When they entered the assembly, the room was not full, and Blanche at

once saw that none of the Cumberworth family were there. Though she

ardently desired to see De Molton, yet she almost dreaded it. So many

eyes would be upon her, that she would willingly have postponed the

long-wished-for moment of meeting.

The rooms began to fill. She fancied a likeness in the hair of this

man, in the forehead of another: but no; when the crowd allowed her to

see the rest of the face, it was not De Molton.

At length the door opened wide, and she heard announced in a loud

voice, "Lady Cumberworth, the Miss De Moltons, and Captain De Molton."

Every thing swam before her eyes: she could scarcely distinguish Lady

Cumberworth's delicate and fragile, though faded beauty, as she entered

the apartment followed by three fine handsome girls, all taller and

larger than their mother. Behind them all, she at length perceived

the stately figure of De Molton; his face bronzed,--yes, and oldened

too,--but there was the same look of feeling and of dignity, although

he seemed to wish to glide unperceived into the room till his eager and

inquiring glance had ascertained whether his long-loved Lady Blanche

was present.

Their eyes met, and as instantly fell; but that one glance revealed

to each that, although so long separated, time had worked no change

in their feelings. In one second he was by her side--the crowd had

again closed in--Lady Blanche was seated while most of those around

were standing, and their meeting was more private than in many a less

crowded apartment.

But Lady Falkingham was by her daughter's side; both felt her cold

and searching eyes upon them, and both were unable to utter. Lady

Falkingham, after a somewhat lofty recognition of De Molton, made nor

sign nor movement which could encourage him to seat himself; and he

stood before them, growing every moment more and more shy, and feeling

himself more inconveniently tall than ever he did before.

Blanche, in a trembling voice, had asked him when he landed, and

inquired whether his voyage had been prosperous, to which questions

he had made some indistinct answers; when Lady Falkingham's attention

being for a moment withdrawn by some one on the other side, he asked

in a low voice whether he should find Lady Blanche at home the next

morning? She answered "she hoped so."

"I must see you," he added; "but not here--not thus!" Lady Falkingham

turned round, and he hurried away, leaving Blanche in a confused state

of perfect happiness.

He mingled among the crowd, and was soon overpowered with greetings

from numerous old acquaintances, and friendly congratulations upon his

safe return; but Lady Blanche was aware that his eye still turned

towards her, and that she was still in his thoughts.

She was romantic; her heart was formed for love; while, for nearly

three years, her taste for the romantic, and the warmth of her

attachment, had been nearly deprived of aliment. Since her last

definitive conversation with Lord Glenrith, she had had no delicate

distresses, no interesting persecutions, no occurrences of any kind.

This very blank had, to a person of her disposition, been a greater

trial than any more active trial would have been. Perhaps it was one

which her constancy might not have stood, if her rejection of Lord

Glenrith had not caused her pride, as well as her feelings, to be

engaged in preserving an undeviating fidelity to her absent lover. Be

that as it may, the pleasure of again knowing herself beloved, of again

meeting eyes which beamed softly upon hers, of being once more engaged

in all the pleasing agitations of a love-affair, was inexpressibly

delightful.

De Molton, on his part, returned home intoxicated with the rapturous

conviction that the beautiful, the admired Lady Blanche had for his

sake rejected many of the best matches in England; that among all the

temptations of the London world, and in spite of all the opposition

of her parents, she had enshrined his image in her heart of hearts.

The result was, that they were both desperately in love; and they both

wondered how they had endured existence during their long and hopeless

separation.

The next morning, De Molton called at an unusually early hour; but

Lady Falkingham, as a measure of precaution, had ordered the servants

to say--'not at home,' and he was refused admittance. He bit his lips,

and retired from the door with a flushed brow, but a more lofty bearing

even than usual. He returned home to indite a long and passionate

epistle to Lady Blanche, as passionate as might be expected from a

man who had loved long, fervently and hopelessly; who felt himself

presumptuous in offering himself, yet was conscious that his effusions

would not meet a cold and disdainful eye, but that they were addressed

to one who fully returned his affection.

At the same time he wrote to Lord Falkingham, giving a true and

undisguised account of his present situation and of his future

prospects; both of which were, it must be confessed, as unpromising

as can well be imagined. Yet, while he honestly detailed his own

unworthiness to match with such a person as Lady Blanche, there was

a proud humility pervading every line he wrote, which proved that,

although on the score of fortune he owned himself her inferior, he felt

conscious of being an honourable and high-minded man, her equal in

birth and situation, and one who would not brook being treated with any

want of consideration or respect.

Blanche received his letter with unalloyed delight. She read over

and over again the glowing expressions of devotion it contained, and

resolved that nothing short of the positive commands of both parents

should prevent her returning such an answer as might reward De Molton

for all he had suffered on her account.

With his letter in her hand, she hastened to her father's study,

in order to open the subject to him before her mother had had an

opportunity of influencing him against her wishes.

"Papa," she said, "I have had a letter!"

"So have I, my dear!" answered Lord Falkingham, who was sitting in his

leathern arm-chair, one foot on the fender, the other on a bar of the

grate, with one hand holding the open letter, with the other stroking

his eye-brows, as he often did when thinking deeply and unpleasantly.

"Papa, mine is from Captain De Molton," and she coloured a little,--but

it was only a little; for she was resolved, and not trembling. She knew

her father was aware of her attachment; and she did not experience the

confusion attendant on the first confession of a budding preference.

"So is mine," rejoined Lord Falkingham, "and very distressing it

is. Take it and read it, my dear Blanche, and you will perceive

that, knowing as I do how completely you return Captain De Molton's

affection, it is a communication which must exceedingly distress a

father's feelings!"

Blanche's countenance fell: she seized the letter; she fancied there

must be some difficulty, some objection on his part, to which he had

not alluded in his letter to her, and she devoured each line with

her eyes, dwelling with delight upon the expressions of devotion to

herself, on the impossibility he had experienced to drive her from his

mind; she admired the noble pride which pervaded the whole; she fully

appreciated the candour with which he entered upon the subject of his

poverty; and quickly glancing over the sums specified as his younger

brother's fortune, the amount of his pay, &c., as topics in which she

had no interest, and which were "papa's affair," she returned the

letter to her father with a pleased and animated countenance. "What

a beautiful letter, papa! There is nobody the least like him; nobody

so noble, so true, so constant!" and she clasped her hands earnestly;

"and I know, papa, you value such qualities a thousand times more than

riches!"

"Yes, my child, more than riches; but they will not do instead of a

competency. You have been brought up in luxury, and you are very little

calculated to make a poor man's wife."

"Oh, papa! you know that Lord Glenrith's splendour did not gratify

me the least. You know how indifferent I was to the diamonds; that I

never felt the least wish for his wife's beautiful _trousseau_, which

all the world was admiring; nor for the long-tailed roan horses; nor

for anything of the sort. I could be happy without those things; but,

papa, I could not--no, I could not live with a husband I did not

love:" she spoke with strong emotion: "and I never shall love any one

except Captain De Molton. So, if you forbid me to think of him, you

may rest assured I shall never marry as long as I live. I have proved

this is not a girlish fancy. It may be a first love; but it is not the

contemptible first love of every young lady which you and mamma despise

so much."

"Would to Heaven it were!" exclaimed Lord Falkingham. "Blanche, you

make me very unhappy, for I see nothing before you but a choice of

evils; no happiness, or much unhappiness."

"No, papa! not unhappiness. People cannot be unhappy when they are

truly attached, and when they are together. And indeed ours is a true

attachment. It has stood the test of time and of absence. It has

conquered all difficulties. If it was the passing fancy people can

be laughed out of, I should have been cured long ago. If I could not

forget Captain De Molton when I was uncertain whether he remembered

me or not, shall I forget him now, when I find that, among strangers,

in foreign lands, in another hemisphere, he has thought of me, and

me only; when, added to my admiration of his character, I must feel

gratitude for his constancy?"

"This is very perplexing," rejoined Lord Falkingham; "I wish the fellow

was not so very poor. He is an honest, straightforward gentleman,

though: he has no humbug about him: he does not try to make the best of

himself."

Blanche smiled through her tears, and looked up at her father with such

a proud exulting tenderness at hearing him speak in these terms of De

Molton, that his heart was touched, and, kissing her forehead, he said,

"Well, my child, I will do my best. If he can get his father to assist

him, and if we can make up anything like an income----"

"Remember, I despise riches, dear papa; I hate the very name of money."

"Yes, my love, yes; and so do a great many other people, who want the

things which cannot be got without money, as much as their neighbours

do. Well! I will see De Molton; I will talk to him."

At this moment Lady Falkingham entered. Blanche felt a little alarmed

at having first flown to her father in the tumult of her joy; but

still she was glad her father was not to receive his first impressions

upon the subject from her mother. Lady Falkingham looked surprised at

finding father and daughter together, with evident traces of agitation

visible on both their countenances. Lord Falkingham began:--

"My dear, I have just received this letter, and I have been talking to

Blanche very seriously upon the subject."

Lady Blanche was grateful to her father for so wording his sentence

that it might almost seem as if he had sent for her; for she now felt

that Lady Falkingham might be hurt, and perhaps with some reason, at

her first impulse having brought her to her father, rather than to her

mother, upon such an occasion. Lord Falkingham dwelt upon the serious

manner in which he had spoken to his daughter; for he knew his wife

would disapprove of his having allowed her to hope there was any chance

of his ultimate approbation.

Lady Falkingham took the letter, and after having perused its contents

with an unmoved countenance, she returned it, merely saying,--

"I think Captain De Molton is as presumptuous a young man as I ever

heard of. He cannot surely expect that Lady Blanche De Vaux is to

follow him in the baggage-waggon."

The colour forsook Blanche's cheek, but the next moment it rushed

again to her face, and her eyes flashed at hearing De Molton thus

spoken of. The few words her father had said in approbation of his

conduct had justified and sanctioned to her own mind her resolution

to abide by him through all opposition. Her father thought him noble

in soul, and worthy in character; he found no objection to him but

the want of contemptible worldly advantages; and she felt it was both

generous and consistent to persevere in her devotion.

Lord Falkingham, having once said he admired the manly candour of

De Molton's letter, was not disposed to agree with his wife; and

the severity of her remark made him adopt the side of the lovers

more decidedly than he might otherwise have done. "Nay, my dear," he

answered, "there is nothing presumptuous in the manner in which he

offers himself. He speaks most humbly of his own situation."

"It is the pride that apes humility. The very fact of proposing, is

presumption in itself."

"It might be, if he did not know that Blanche was in love with him;

but as he cannot doubt that fact, I must say I think the young man has

acted very properly in offering himself. We should think him cold and

calculating if he did otherwise."

"Certainly, if a girl throws herself at a man's head, proclaiming her

attachment to the sound of the trumpet, and making her _belle passion_

the talk of the town, it alters the case. I once thought it impossible

a daughter of mine should ever so degrade herself. But Blanche has long

been beyond my control."

Blanche was so indignant for De Molton, that, although deeply hurt

at what her mother said, she was not softened, and did not weep, as

she would otherwise have done. She had always fancied that if Lady

Falkingham had known more of De Molton, she would have perceived his

superiority to the rest of mankind; that, like Lady Westhope, she would

have admitted that he was formed to captivate the heart of woman, even

while she condemned the marriage as imprudent: but now that her mother

had read this touching and manly effusion, this epistle breathing the

very soul of honour and of loyalty to the lady of his love, she was

indeed astonished, disappointed, and mortified, at finding her still

unmoved; and for a time her heart shut itself up from one parent, while

it opened to the other.

"I think the best thing I can do," resumed Lord Falkingham, "is to have

some conversation with Lord Cumberworth, and see whether it is possible

to arrange anything."

"It is utterly impossible Lord Cumberworth can ever make Captain De

Molton a fit match for Blanche."

"But the girl says she can never marry anybody she does not love, and

that she can never love anybody except Captain De Molton."

"She has never tried," rejoined Lady Falkingham: "from the moment she

so foolishly rejected Lord Glenrith she has wilfully fostered her silly

predilection for this interesting penniless captain, though she has

seen how miserable her infatuation has made me. If she had not nurtured

it by every means in her power, it would have died away like other

young ladies' first loves."

There was a contemptuous expression thrown into these last words, which

roused all the heroine in Blanche.

"Mamma," she said, "I am very sorry I have made you unhappy; I am very

sorry to have given my father any uneasiness; but it is not in my power

to command my feelings. I can tell Captain De Molton that I will never

marry him without your consent; but I can never cease to love him, nor

can I ever love another. How can you say I have not tried to please

you, and to obey you! Did I not accept Lord Glenrith, and have I ever

ceased to repent having done so? If you command it, I will now refuse

Captain De Molton; but when I do so, I cannot attempt to conceal from

him that my affections are wholly his, that they have been his during

three years of absence, and that they will be his as long as I live."

"You see, my dear, that you will not manage Blanche in this way. The

truth is, the girl is desperately in love, and we must try to make the

best of it."

Blanche was glad that her father at length treated her attachment

with some respect, but she would greatly have preferred the phrase

'irrevocably attached,' to 'desperately in love.'

"Indeed, Lord Falkingham, if you encourage your daughter in these

high-flown notions, there is no use in my interfering, and I must make

up my mind to seeing her a beggar, and an unhappy beggar; for Blanche

is not formed to struggle with poverty; she has been accustomed to

every indulgence; every wish, every fancy has hitherto been gratified.

No young lady thinks it more indispensable to be perfectly well

dressed, no one is more alive to any want of refinement in those with

whom she lives. I know my own child; she will never be happy in the

style, and among the associates to whom she wilfully dooms herself."

Lady Falkingham wept, but her tears were not all tenderness; some

anger, some mortification were mixed with the feeling which prompted

them to flow.

Blanche felt all this, without knowing that she felt it, and was

somewhat shocked at her own want of filial piety in not being more

touched by the tears her mother shed over her.

This most unpleasant family colloquy ended by Lord Falkingham's writing

to Lord Cumberworth to request an interview, and by the mother and

daughter returning to the drawing-room, with less cordiality between

them than is usual in modern days, when mothers are oftener over

indulgent, than over severe.

CHAPTER XIII.

Je demeurai étourdie, muette, et confuse; ce qui étiat signe que

j'étais charmée.

Marivaux.

Blanche's life had not of late been a happy one, and in addition to the

natural wish of being united to the object of her love, she experienced

considerable anxiety to change her present mode of existence; and

having candidly avowed to her parents that she would not attempt to

conceal the state of her affections from De Molton, and having received

from them no prohibition to answer his letter, she retired to her own

room to indite a suitable reply.

She longed to be alone, and at length to communicate freely with the

person who had so long been master of her affections. She spread the

paper before her, she dipped the pen in the ink; and when she had

thus prepared herself, she found herself totally at a loss what to

say. She was going to write a love-letter:--how ought she to begin?

She had written, "Dear Captain De Molton:" she thought it looked very

common-place and cold; and she did not know how to proceed. It was

true they had been long and faithfully attached, but they had seen very

little of each other. Not more than half a dozen words of love had ever

passed between them, and those had passed three years before, so that

there were no habits of intimacy; and now it came to the point, she

felt inexpressibly shy at the thoughts of confessing her love in words

addressed to the object of it.

If a man is doubtful of the success of his suit, he should never

propose by letter. It is very easy to write the kindest, the

civilest, the prettiest, refusal in the world; whereas a gentle and

good-natured, or a timid person, finds it always difficult to utter,

in plain distinct words, to a man's face, "I do not like you; you

are disagreeable to me." The hesitation produced by the difficulty

of couching such sentiments in pretty language may be construed into

encouragement: silence is proverbially consent; and a woman may easily

become entangled, in cases where the feeling on her part does not

amount to positive dislike.

Blanche's epistle would, to the eyes of the indifferent, have appeared

a very stupid, ill-written letter. It was formal at first: as it

proceeded it almost too plainly expressed the warmth of her attachment;

she then professed her determination to abide by the decision of her

parents. In short it was not consistent,--it was not in keeping; but

De Molton thought it perfect. He perceived ardent feelings struggling

with maiden modesty and filial obedience, and he thought the eloquence

displayed in it might render it worthy a place among the effusions of a

Sappho or an Heloise.

The next morning Lord Cumberworth waited upon Lord Falkingham. He did

not like the idea of the marriage, for he feared he should be expected

to make some sacrifices for his son's happiness, and he was not a man

who was fond of making sacrifices. He had, however, an unfailing and

excellent excuse for never doing anything he disliked, in the number of

other sons and daughters who had an equal claim upon his parental care

and tenderness,--a tenderness which consisted in imperturbable good

humour, and in allowing them all the run of the house.

The two fathers were slightly acquainted; and Lord Cumberworth, seating

himself with an easy air by the fire, rubbed his hands several times

up and down his shins, and at length said with a half smile and a shake

of the head, "My dear Lord, this is a sad business of my son's and your

daughter's; I am very sorry for it, upon my soul!"

Lord Falkingham felt that he had more reason to regret it than Lord

Cumberworth, inasmuch as Blanche would have twelve thousand pounds

at his death, and De Molton would only come in for the eleventh part

of fifty thousand pounds at his father's death; inasmuch as Lord

Falkingham was an earl, and Lord Cumberworth only a baron. He looked a

little awful, and replied,

"Your Lordship cannot regret the circumstance more than I do."

"I have done my utmost to prevent it; I have told him from his boyhood

that a man is never undone till he is married. Just before he sailed,

I said, 'Frank, my boy, remember peril by marriage is the worst peril

a man can fall into.' But, as they say, every one must buy his own

experience; and when young people have taken a fancy into their heads,

we cannot preach them out of it. We cannot put old heads on young

shoulders, as you have found with your daughter, my Lord."

Lord Falkingham did not half like hearing Lord Cumberworth speak as if

Blanche was as resolute in her predilection as her lover was in his,

though it might be perfectly true that she was so.

"My daughter places herself in my hands, and has no idea of disobeying

my commands." Lord Cumberworth slightly elevated his eye-brows, and the

expression of his countenance did not betoken that he participated in

Lord Falkingham's reliance on his daughter's submission. "But as I know

her happiness is deeply concerned in this affair, I am anxious to do

every thing in my power to forward hers and Captain De Molton's wishes."

Lord Cumberworth's countenance brightened: he did not exactly know how

strictly Lord Falkingham's property was entailed upon his nephew, and

he drew his chair nearer to Lord Falkingham, hoping that his son was

going to make a better match than he had been aware of.

"That is exactly what I say; as their happiness is concerned, poor

young things, parents should strain a point, rather than see their

children pine, and pine, as poor Lady Blanche has done."

This was unpleasant to Lord Falkingham's pride and his delicacy: he

instinctively pushed his chair back as many inches as Lord Cumberworth

had advanced his. The good-humoured, but unrefined father of De Molton

was totally unsuspicious that he had at all offended, but on the

contrary flattered himself he was cleverly pushing his son's interests.

"After all, what do any of us wish but to see our children happy? I am

sure there is nothing I would not do that was compatible with my means."

"You are aware," resumed Lord Falkingham, "that my estates are all

entailed upon my nephew; but my personal property will be equally

divided among my four daughters, so that I shall be able to leave

to each twelve thousand pounds at my death. This sum I will give to

Blanche upon her marriage; and if you will make up Captain De Molton's

income equal to the interest of her fortune, I will consent to their

union, although by so doing I believe I am acting the part of a weakly

indulgent, rather than of a truly kind father."

Lord Cumberworth's countenance fell. He had imagined--he scarcely knew

what; and although nothing could be more fair than Lord Falkingham's

proposal, it fell infinitely short of what he had expected, and he

found himself not only unwilling, but unable, to do what was required

of him.

De Molton had hitherto lived upon his pay and an additional 100_l._ per

annum from his father. Lord Cumberworth was very little prepared to

make such an addition to the 100_l._ per annum, and replied evasively,

"that he would do all in his power,--but that he had duties towards

his other children,--that he could not exactly say,--that he would

communicate with his man of business,--that his daughter Charlotte's

marriage, and the expenses attendant upon it, did not render him

just then very flush of money, &c. &c." In short, he took his leave,

somewhat disappointed with Lord Falkingham, while the impression he

left upon Lord Falkingham's mind was by no means a favourable one.

Meanwhile, Lady Cumberworth, who could not endure to witness the

state of nervous excitement and agitation in which her darling Frank

paced the floor of her boudoir, resolved she would herself seek Lady

Falkingham. She felt sure she could so work upon her womanly and

maternal feelings as to win her over to the side of the lovers. She

accordingly ordered her carriage, and soon after Lord Cumberworth's

return from his momentous interview with Lord Falkingham, she found

herself at the same door.