Alfred arrived at Cheltenham at an early hour in the morning. On
repairing to Lady Arden's villa, however, he found that the family had
already gone to the walks.
That Caroline was probably there also was his first thought; his next,
that Willoughby perhaps at that very moment walked beside her as her
received lover. He certainly dreaded to behold realized the picture his
imagination had formed. Yet a strange restless feeling, a sort of
desperation, blended with a faint hope that he might be quite wrong,
impelled him to turn his footsteps towards Montpelier.
It chanced that the band which had paused for one of the usual
intervals, recommenced just at the moment. It would be utterly
impossible to describe the universal thrill which, on hearing the
well-known sounds, took possession of Alfred's whole frame, the rush of
associations, numerous, various, vivid, yet so cruelly contrasted with
his present feelings.
He wandered on, and entering what may be termed _the_ walk, beheld close
to him, but in the act of turning, Caroline and Lady Palliser, with
Willoughby in attendance. He had seen Caroline's countenance for one
moment, but none of the party had seen him. Their backs being now
towards him he followed within a few paces, endeavouring to summon
resolution for the necessary task of joining and speaking to them.
Willoughby it was evident had no eyes for any object but his fair
companion, towards whom he turned and addressed with an eagerness which
precluded the possibility of his ever once looking before him, much less
over his shoulder. Caroline of course turned her head from time to time
towards Willoughby to reply. She wore the memorable close bonnet of
white sarsenet which Alfred had thought so becoming. The morning he had
first seen her wear it became present to memory, while imagination
vividly pourtrayed within its own beautifying sanctuary that vision of
loveliness which it now seemed to be the peculiar privilege of another
to behold, as once it had been his, sheltered from the common gaze, and
beautiful for him alone.
Lady Arden's party also was close before him, but his agitation, instead
of being at all composed by the time he reached the front of the
pump-room, was so much increased, that while the ranks of fashion were
wheeling to the right or left, to turn down the prescribed limit, he
found a convenient screen behind the crimson velvet pelisse of Lady
Whaleworthy who chanced to be near, and a moment after, turning off by a
cross walk, he made his way home. On the plea to the servant who
admitted him, of fatigue after his journey, he sought the shelter of his
own apartment; where, while he was supposed to have retired to bed and
slept, he sat strengthening and preparing his mind by meditation for a
meeting with his brother, and endeavouring to resolve what should be the
tenor of his own conduct.
He had been but a very short time shut into his room, his mind still in
much too perturbed a state for society, when he heard the family party
coming in below. He could distinguish Willoughby's step cross the hall
and hastily ascend the stairs, but he had not yet resolution to admit
him; he therefore bolted his door without noise, and remained quite
still. He heard Willoughby turn the handle of the lock gently, and after
pausing a moment retire. "They have told him of my arrival, and with his
wonted kindness, poor fellow, he is impatient to see me," thought
Alfred. "And if he is destined," he added, after a pause, "to a better,
a brighter lot than mine, shall I wantonly embitter his happiness by
allowing him to perceive that the confirmation of hope to him will be
the sealing of despair to me? No, no, I will be more generous, he shall
see me firm, collected--if possible cheerful. Nay, that he is happy,
surely ought to be, and as surely is, a source of rejoicing to me. Would
this admit of a question were his happiness derived from any other
source?--Certainly not! What perverted feeling, then, can it be to which
I yield?--Selfishness! yes, selfishness the most aimless, the most
degraded! For shame! for shame! I must cast it from me and be a man."
As he formed this resolve he rose from his seat and stood erect. After a
few seconds he hastily decided on descending to the breakfast-room, lest
Willoughby should again seek him; for he felt that he should have more
self-command in the full family circle, than were his heart just at this
moment subjected to the probing of his affectionate brother's anxiety in
a private interview.
Alfred, too amiable not to be a general favourite, was received by every
individual of the party with the most entire cordiality, except, indeed,
Geoffery, who had no good will for any one.
Willoughby, by the manner of shaking hands, and a look which accompanied
the action, implied a kind and even anxious enquiry into the state of
his brother's feelings, which it cost Alfred an effort to parry. He did
so, however, though with an air of rather overdone carelessness.
Willoughby, deeply interested in believing him sincere, and himself not
a very keen observer, was more than satisfied--he was delighted. And by
the time breakfast was concluded, so well had Alfred, aided by a
feverish excitement, acted the part of cheerfulness and even gaiety,
that Willoughby now looked forward to the coming evening with unmixed
pleasure. It was the one fixed for a splendid ball at Lady Arden's, and
Lady Caroline Montague was already engaged to open it with him.
The ball was so far a fortunate circumstance for our hero, for his
sisters could think of little else, which prevented their bantering him
in the unmerciful manner they might else have done about forsaking his
post. Mrs. Dorothea Arden, who after being at the walks with the young
people, always breakfasted with the family party, was so anxious on this
particular morning to see that meal concluded--having many arrangements
to recommend to her nieces, that she too made but one remark on the
painful topic, merely saying, as she rose from table; "Well, I am glad,
Alfred, you have returned in time not to allow your beautiful heiress to
be run away with. Willoughby has been paying fierce love in that quarter
I assure you. However, I should hope that with his ninety thousand
a-year of his own, he has no serious intention of interfering with your
making so desirable a match."
Mrs. Dorothea had effected her exit by the time she finished her speech,
so that fortunately no answer was required. An awkward silence however
followed; for though all the ladies had by this time departed in various
directions, Geoffery's presence precluded any thing like confidential
conversation between the brothers.
By our constant mention of Geoffery, it may be supposed he lived with
the Arden family, and it must be confessed that he found it both
convenient and agreeable to do so in a great measure; he had, however, a
nominal home at a hotel. For the last few moments Alfred had yielded to
a reverie of no very agreeable nature, the result of which was, a
conclusion arrived at with inward dismay: namely, that if he would avoid
calling down a universal clamour of remark both upon himself and Lady
Caroline, he must continue on friendly, and apparently intimate terms
both with Lady Palliser and her daughter, and for this purpose pay to
both every polite attention which intimacy claims; and still more that
the exertion, however painful, must be made at once.
Accordingly, with as much ease of manner as he could assume, he proposed
to Willoughby and Geoffery that they should accompany him in a morning
visit to Jessamine Bower.
"I suppose you forgot to ask Mrs. Dorothea's permission before you fall
in love," murmured Geoffery aside to Willoughby, as they passed out;
"how absurd it is of aunts and mothers to suppose that they are to
dictate to young men in these matters; but women love to hear themselves
talk."