THE BREAKFAST.
Every one has felt, some time or other, that when the first warmth of
indignation against a loved object begins to cool, the recollection of
a thousand tender reminiscences comes floating in to soften and subdue
resentment; and that many an ebb and flow of fondness must take place
before the deep trace of love is washed from our remembrance. Thus it
was with Lady Adeline: there was a lurking weakness in her heart (if
the tenacity of true love can he called a weakness), which made her
loath to cast Lord Albert thence, even if he _were_ guilty, for the
moment, of deserting her.
Even in that case she thought he might be reclaimed. It was difficult,
it was impossible, to fathom the heart: who had a right to do so? and
with these thoughts she condemned herself as wrong and precipitate in
her judgment. The best, she conceived, that remained for her to do,
under her present painful circumstances, would be to retire to the
country, and await there the issue of his determination; but not to
brave him. Under the impression of these feelings, she lamented having
yielded her consent to be present at the breakfast.
"If I am to see him there," she exclaimed inwardly, "devoted to
another, what good end will it answer thus to add anguish to anguish?
And, at all events, Albert will think better of me if I avoid his
presence, and, by so doing, show how much I feel, and how little I am
desirous of prying into his conduct."
Lady Dunmelraise soon saw that such were the feelings of her daughter,
when, in the course of the day, a recurrence was made to the subject
of the breakfast; and it was with pleasure that she received a visit
from her sister, Lady Delamere, in the evening, from the hope that her
persuasions, joined to those which she had already availed herself of,
might have additional weight with Lady Adeline.
Many concurring circumstances had led both Lady Dunmelraise and Lady
Delamere to the conviction that Lord Albert was wholly undeserving of
such a treasure, and induced the suspicion that he perhaps enjoyed the
consciousness of being beloved by her daughter, while, at the same
time, he played with her feelings, and sacrificed them remorselessly
at the shrine of his own vanity. To impress their opinions upon her
Adeline's mind, Lady Dunmelraise conceived to be absolutely necessary,
with a view to wean her from her strong attachment: and so convinced
was she of the necessity of this measure, in order to restore Lady
Adeline to any thing like happiness, that much as it pained Lady
Dunmelraise to make her herself the witness of Lord Albert's desertion
and insincerity, yet she felt convinced that to do so would be at once
the kindest and most effectual measure.
In this she was confirmed by Lady Delamere; and with all the persuasion
of affection, and all the force of truth, they both represented the
matter in so strong a light to Lady Adeline, that she yielded her
feelings to their direction, saying,
"Well, dearest mamma and dearest aunt, make of me what you will, do
with me as you choose; but remember I am a poor automaton that can no
longer act or think for itself. I feel crushed, withered, wretched,
unable to do any thing but yield a passive obedience. In that I know I
am fulfilling my duty; and if I live, that thought must bring peace in
its train."
"_If_ you live!" exclaimed Lady Dunmelraise, shuddering, as she looked
earnestly at her altered countenance. "Dearest child! talk not thus:"
and as she pressed her to her breast, she felt that she must evermore
consider Lord Albert as the destroyer of her child's happiness. At
an early hour that evening, Lady Adeline retired to rest; and worn
out with the agitation of the day, yet calmed by the secret sense
of satisfaction which a fulfilment of duty and obedience to a loved
and loving parent never fails to produce, she fell into that sweet,
child-like sleep of innocence which is the balm of peace.
The morning came in lowering, and a few heavy drops of rain seemed to
announce the impending overthrow of the splendour of the _fête_; but
about midday the dark clouds broke away, and the sun came out clear
and bright, giving assurance of fair weather. By three o'clock, the
park, and the squares and streets in its immediate vicinity, presented
a gay sight in the splendid equipages that were waiting at the doors,
or driving to the destined scene of the rendezvous. Lady Adeline had
suffered herself to be attired in the dress her mother had prepared
for her, which was well adapted for the hour and scene, and at once
splendid, yet chastely beautiful: and as something of the natural
weakness of youth and vanity found a brief place even in the breast of
the ingenuous Adeline, a consciousness of her charms stole over her, as
she cast a rapid glance at her person reflected in her mirror, and she
thought with a feeling of something like renovated hope and pleasure;
"He may not deem me so beneath his attention." And then again a quick
return of reflection made her sigh; remembering how valueless the
affection is, how undeserving the name, which depends alone on personal
charms. But still a secret hope remained, that if she could once again
attract his regards, she might find the way to retain them on a sure
foundation.
As this hope, in despite of reason, took possession of her heart, it
tinged her cheek with a brighter hue, and gave an animation to her
whole appearance which even deceived those who loved her most. There
was a feeling of exultation in Lady Dunmelraise's breast, as she gazed
delightedly on this dear object of her solicitude; for conscious
that the gem within was as precious as the fair casket in which it
was enshrined, she thought that Lord Albert little knew his own true
interests in exchanging such a pearl of price for common merchandise;
and she was right.
When Lady Adeline arrived at Lady Louisa Blithewaite's, she found a
party assembled there, amongst whom were the Duke of Mercington and
Mr. Foley. The former was exceedingly struck with her appearance,
and manifested his admiration in a way not to be overlooked or
misunderstood, at the same time with all that delicacy which was due to
the person by whom it was excited. Lady Louisa Blithewaite received her
with marks of the greatest interest; and relieved the embarrassment she
felt on perceiving herself the object of general remark, by entering
immediately into discourse with her on various subjects connected with
the immediate object of their meeting.
As soon as the first awkwardness was passed, Lady Adeline recovered her
presence of mind, and joined in the conversation with that natural yet
cultivated understanding which is felt in touching on the most trivial
topics, as well as in discussing the most serious ones, and never fails
to win admiration and respect. Mr. Foley hovered around her, sometimes
leaning on the back of her chair, and affecting to speak to her with
the familiarity of intimacy; alluding to times and circumstances
of which the present company were ignorant, and endeavouring, by
this conduct, to wear the appearance of being an _attaché_ of Lady
Adeline's. But as she did not share in this intention, and her
conversation being directed equally to the different persons around,
his attempt was a failure.
It was impossible, at the present moment, but that Lady Adeline's
mind should be taken off from herself; and the bustle of arranging
how the parties should go, together with the constant and varied
homage she received from all present, but particularly from the Duke
of Mercington, which could not fail of being for the time gratifying,
all combined to produce that species of excitement which diffused an
animation and lustre over her features and manners altogether magical.
After much disquisition, it was finally arranged, that the Duke of
Mercington should accompany his sister and Lady Adeline in the same
carriage; and Mr. Foley, with evident mortification, was obliged to
attend another party. Nobody knew better than the duke how to render
himself agreeable when he chose it. There was a bland sunshine on his
countenance, and a kindness in his manner, which was a key to all
hearts; and on the present occasion he felt irresistibly impelled to
endeavour to please. Every word Lady Adeline spoke during the drive,
though her words were not many, and not directed to any subject
on which the stronger qualities of her mind could be called into
exercise, had yet so much originality in them, from that perfect
nature, unobscured by the factitious ways of the world, which makes
even the most trite and common things appear in a new light, that the
duke whispered to his sister, when they arrived at Avington Priory,
"She is perfection. I never met with such grace of mind."
On entering the gay, enchanted scene of the breakfast, all eyes were
directed towards Lady Adeline; and as the duke walked between her and
his sister, the envious whisper ran round, "Who is she? Who invited
her? How very odd she should be here!" but none durst openly find fault
with one whom the Duke of Mercington protected and countenanced. Lord
Gascoigne observed, as they walked in,
"So at last he is caught," to which Lord Baskerville maliciously
replied, "He may be caught--hem! but there are two words to that
bargain--a-hem! For my part, I would rather be the cobbler at the
corner of the street, who knows his stall's his own, than be in
the questionable position of any man, however great. I do not envy
him--hem!"
Mr. Foley continued to take every opportunity of affecting intimacy
with Lady Adeline; addressing her at every moment, asking her opinion
of the _fête_, of the arrangement, of the scene; and then passed
to observations upon the _superior_ beauty of Dunmelraise, and the
happiness of riding with her about that wild scenery: to all of which
she replied naturally, saying,
"They were perfectly different, and admitted of no comparison."
In this manner he endeavoured to create an appearance of greater
intimacy than belonged to common acquaintance; and then requested her,
if disengaged, to dance the first cotillon with him.
To this she agreed. But, in the meantime, the Duke of Mercington,
who had, with one of his _engouements_, selected Lady Adeline as
his favourite of the day, and therefore considered every other
person's approach an intrusion, being annoyed by Mr. Foley's constant
interruption of the conversation, proposed to his sister and Lady
Adeline, and their party, to go on the water. Although the duke could
not without positive rudeness exclude Mr. Foley as they entered the
boat, yet, by taking a seat on one side of Lady Adeline, and placing
his sister on the left, he secured something like a conversation
_suivie_, which he could not otherwise have done.
As they were embarking, the same junto of young men who had made their
remarks on the duke's party when he entered, now stood by the lake;
for the same system observed in Hyde Park, of arranging themselves
in line wherever there were women, in order, as Leslie Winyard said,
_pour se laisser admirer_, was adhered to on the present occasion. "His
grace," said Lord Baskerville, "seems to be really _épris_, and to be
meditating matrimony."
"Who is she?" again questioned Lord Gascoigne. "She must be something
quite new, for I never saw her before."
"Oh! she, you know," replied Lord Baskerville, who always affected to
know every body's story, "she is the girl that Lord Albert D'Esterre
was said to be engaged to, but who broke off the engagement from some
reason or other; probably because she had no intention of marrying a
field-preacher."
"It would have been a confounded pity if she had," growled Lord
Tonnerre. "She is a very beautiful creature. I should not care if I
married her myself."
"How very gallant you are become, Tonnerre," said Lord Boileau. "But,
Baskerville, you forget, in passing sentence on Lord Albert, that he
is become one of _us_, has cast his slough, and come out with a new
skin."
"Yes," replied Lord Gascoigne, "thanks to Lady Hamlet Vernon, he has
found out _que le diable n'est pas si noir_."
"I don't care," said Lord Baskerville, "what he has found out; but I
have found out that he is very disagreeable, and I never wish to have
him in my society--hem!"
"Pardon me," said Lord Gascoigne, "I think you are too severe to-day,
Basky. The man is well enough; mighty polite; makes a good bow; and is
well received by the ladies."
"Upon my word," observed Lord Tonnerre, "the women, now-a-days, are
all gone mad, I think, upon my word. I'd keep those under my care,
at least, in good order. One must have a tight hand upon the best
of them." At that moment, Lady Tenderden and Lady Glenmore arrived,
escorted by Mr. Leslie Winyard and two or three other young men. Every
body crowded round Lady Glenmore to pay her their court; hoped she
admired the _fête_ and the decorations: to all which she replied in the
affirmative with childish gaiety and delight.
"But you have not seen the bower, the beautiful bower," said Lord
Gascoigne; "allow me to conduct you thither."
"Oh! but first come and see my alcove _tout tapissé de jonquilles_;"
and they passed on, Lady Glenmore continuing to lean on Mr. Leslie
Winyard's arm, and tacitly rejecting the offer of Lord Gascoigne, in
that hurry of pleasure which leaves no capability for real enjoyment.
"Well," said Lord Baskerville, looking after Lady Glenmore, "I am of
the same opinion still. There is a sort of rude health and vulgar
jollity about that Lady Glenmore, hem! which she will never get rid of.
I wonder how Leslie Winyard can waste his time in that quarter."
"He does not _waste_ it, I can assure you," said Lord Boileau
significantly. "Remind me, Basky, to tell you a good story, of the
truth of which I myself am a witness. It happened on the night of _la
petite_ Georgina's party. I never looked so foolish in my life. I shall
never forget it."
"But the odd thing is," interrupted Lord Gascoigne, "that Glenmore, who
set out by being the most tenacious husband imaginable, is as quiet as
a mouse about it. How can you account for this, Tonnerre? Do you think
apathy is one of the fruits of marriage?"
"Why do you ask me the question, who have never tried? But this I am
certain of; I would keep my wife in order, if I were married to-morrow.
You had better ask Glenmore himself."
"So I will," said Lord Gascoigne, turning on his heel. "I will go look
for him for the purpose."
"What a cool hand Gascoigne is!" observed Lord Boileau, addressing Lord
Baskerville. "I would give the world to be like him."
"It might suit _you_."
"_Ehew!_" replied the latter, "but it wouldn't me;" and he walked
slowly away to join the Comtesse Leinsengen.
It was by this time pretty late in the afternoon, and the various
persons were beginning to draw together with a view to making up their
dinner _coteries_. Lord Albert and Lord Glenmore had been prevented,
as they anticipated they should, from setting out early by business.
The former had in consequence despatched a note to Lady Hamlet Vernon,
to let her know of his being detained beyond the hour she had named
for going to Avington Priory, but saying he would join her there;
and this had determined her to excuse herself from accompanying Lady
Glenmore's party, with whom she was to have gone; for, well aware of
all the circumstances attendant on Lady Adeline's being present at
the breakfast, she was particularly anxious to appear there herself
accompanied by Lord Albert D'Esterre.
Lady Hamlet Vernon, therefore, ordered her carriage a short time before
the hour named by Lord Albert for his departure; and having driven
slowly towards Avington Priory, she calculated the time so exactly,
that Lord Glenmore and Lord Albert overtook her on the road. They
kissed their hands to her as they passed, and she thought that Lord
Albert looked pleased in the idea that she might have waited for him.
Their carriages entered the gates of the Priory together; and having
alighted, Lady Hamlet Vernon took the offered arms of Lord Albert and
Lord Glenmore, and they proceeded in quest of Lady Glenmore and her
party, making inquiries, as they went, of every one if they had seen
her. Some said she was here, some there; and Lord Gascoigne, who now
approached, observed, that he had seen her last with Lady Tenderden,
Leslie Winyard, Raynham, Frank Ombre, &c. going towards Rosamond's
Bower. "But," continued he, "if one really wants to find any body in a
crowd, the way is, to sit down in one place. My advice, therefore, is
tranquilly to await their repassing; and you will have time enough to
see the lions afterwards." As he concluded this speech, he turned round
to Spencer Newcombe, and whispered in his ear, "I think Winyard owes me
one for this."
"Oh! a hundred, I should say; for
'Quand on est jeune, et gentillette,
On ne va pas au bois, fillette,
On ne va pas au bois pour rien.'"
Lady Hamlet Vernon, however, on this occasion, rather wished to see
than be seen, and deemed it more agreeable to walk about leaning
upon Lord Albert D'Esterre's arm, and therefore replied, "I have not
patience to sit still; let us rather have the amusement of looking for
Lady Glenmore;" and as she spoke, they moved on.
"That affair goes on well," remarked Lord Gascoigne, as his eye
followed Lord Albert and Lady Hamlet Vernon.
"Yes," said Mr. Spencer Newcombe, "she is a clever woman; _elle pique
ses attachés_. I give her credit for having angled so dexterously. A
little while, and D'Esterre will be well landed."
While these persons thus passed their kindly comments, Lord Albert,
Lord Glenmore, and Lady Hamlet Vernon walked about the gardens, and
after a search of some time found Lady Tenderden, Lady Glenmore, and
their party, who were laughing and talking gaily in the alcove _tapissé
de jonquilles_. Mr. Leslie Winyard was playing with one of the long
ribands that pended from Lady Glenmore's hat, and she seemed listening
complacently to his conversation. The moment, however, that she beheld
Lord Glenmore, she darted towards him, her face beaming with pleasure,
and passing her arm through his, and looking up fondly in his face,
said something in a low voice, to which he replied with answering
tenderness; and as she continued to hang upon his arm, expressing her
admiration of the _fête_, he appeared to enter into her delight, and to
be as much amused as herself.
"What perfection of duplicity!" whispered Lord Boileau to Lord
Tonnerre, as they entered the alcove together, and witnessed this
meeting.
"And what a wide swallow _he_ has," replied the other; while Mr. Leslie
Winyard, mortified at the interruption which Lord Glenmore's arrival
had occasioned, but at the same time too much master of his art to
evince his _real_ feeling, endeavoured to show himself satisfied with
the semblance of a secret understanding between himself and Lady
Glenmore as to her conduct towards her husband.
"What perfection of duplicity!" repeated Lord Boileau, as he observed
what passed, and as Mr. Winyard, approaching Lord Glenmore, addressed
him in easy, familiar terms, making himself appear to be, as in all
similar cases, and _selon tous les règles depuis tous les temps,
l'ami de la maison_, and equally necessary to both parties. The whole
scene did not pass unobserved by Lord Albert, who recollected what
observations had been made before, by some of the same party, on Lady
Glenmore at the drawing-room; and he felt he despised those who could
thus lightly tamper with the honour of the man whose notice they
courted, whose society they affected to like, and to whose intimacy
they endeavoured to aspire. But it was a subject on which he could
only think. Miserably, our best friends are frequently precluded, from
circumstances, from being of the least use to us.
After a short interval, passed in visiting the different objects of
beauty and interest in the gardens of the Priory, the hour arrived for
assembling the guests under the marquees where the _déjeûner dinatoire_
was prepared; and Lord and Lady Glenmore, with their party, adjourned
thither. The Leinsengen, Baskerville, Boileau, and Lady De Chere, were
already placed when they arrived; but all made way for them, and in
the _mêlée_ of the moment Mr. Leslie Winyard succeeded in securing his
post by the side of Lady Glenmore. After the first clamour of voices
had subsided, every one spoke to his neighbour only; and Mr. Leslie
Winyard availed himself of this opportunity to engross Lady Glenmore's
attention in every possible way. Lady Boileau, who was seated opposite
and rather _desœuvré_, amused herself by remarking every glance and
every little attention which Mr. Winyard addressed to Lady Glenmore;
and whispered to the Comtesse Leinsengen, "_Ça va grand train_,"
indicating by a look those of whom she spoke.
"O dat is always de way in dis country: either _des dragonnes de
vertu_, or else, _tête baissé_, you give de _grand scandale_. 'Tis
noting new; 'tis _à votre ordinaire. Ça fait pitié_, but it cannot be
help. _Toujours des grandes passions_, which end in de run away, de
food for de newspapers; and den _sauve qui peut_, and de woman is left
to sink or swim, _que vous êtes maladroites, vous autres Angloises_."
"Pardon me, dear comtesse," said Lord Gascoigne, joining in the
conversation, and speaking in the tone of satire with which he
sometimes lashed the foibles of the day, "pardon me, comtesse, not
always: there are many who, a little while after their _écarté_, have
retired from the scene in order to return to it with a fresh title
and fresh fame. It only depends upon the rank that is held by the
_préféré_. It is true, were he as handsome as Adonis, and as seducing
as Love himself, that would be no excuse; but if he has wealth, power,
title, the affair passes through a regular process of _sous entendu_,
and then all is smooth again, _et on passe à des nouvelles amours_."
"Very true," rejoined the Comtesse Leinsengen sharply; "and so much for
your boasted London _morale_."
"Pray, however, remember, comtesse, that London is not England, nor
England London; although, in regard to foreign capitals, that inference
might once have held good, and Paris could be justly said to be all
France. But our system of politics, as well as of private life, is one
which no foreigner ever did or ever will understand."
The Comtesse Leinsengen gave her accustomed shrug, turned away before
Lord Gascoigne had finished speaking, and the whole party soon after
broke up, the ladies retiring into the house to change their dress and
prepare for the ball.
The dancing was already begun when Lady Glenmore's party entered the
ball-room. The whole glitter of the beautiful scene, the perfume
exhaled from the plants, which floated through the freshness of the
country air, all conspired to take the senses captive; and never did
Lady Glenmore look more brilliant, or appear in more joyous spirits.
There was an ingenuousness about her which enchanted even those
who had least of it themselves, and who thought that perfection of
manners consisted only in the refinement of art, to the exclusion of
all natural feeling. As she was led away to the dance by Mr. Leslie
Winyard, Lord Glenmore's eyes followed her, beaming with love and
admiration.
"_Elle est ravissante_," said Lady Tenderden.
Lord Glenmore evinced his assent to the truth of this remark by a
smile, which Lady Tenderden was willing that those around should
consider directed to herself; and she continued to keep Lord Glenmore
in conversation for some time, to improve an opinion, which it was
always her aim to maintain, of her possessing an influence over
him. Nor was the powerful charm of the scene, and the circumstances
attendant upon it, experienced alone by Lady Glenmore. Lady Hamlet
Vernon, in her turn, also acknowledged their influence. The
consciousness of the presence of the object of her love, and the
unalloyed confidence of the continuance of that enjoyment throughout
the evening, gave to her beauty an air of triumph and of joy, which,
had it sprung from an honest, innocent source, instead of being founded
on intrigue and artifice, would have possessed a power and a charm
which, as it was, her beauty missed. As she walked up the ball-room,
leaning on Lord Albert's arm, a crowd intervened between them and the
dancers; for every body had clustered together in one spot, attracted
by some object which was hid from those at a distance.
Lord Albert heard on all sides exclamations of admiration on the beauty
and the grace of some person who was at this moment dancing. Their
curiosity was excited, and they pressed the more eagerly onwards; till,
arriving suddenly at an opening in the circle formed round the dancers,
Lord Albert perceived Lady Adeline Seymour immediately opposite to
him,--the attraction of all eyes, the object of the concentrated
admiration of the whole room. She was dancing with Mr. Foley;--dancing,
not with the affectation of drawling over the floor as though she were
doing penance, but with airiness and elasticity of spirit, tempered by
grace and feminine delicacy. Lady Adeline was not at first conscious
of his presence; while, as he stood rooted to the spot, he had leisure
to gaze upon her in mingled surprise and agitation before she perceived
him: but when she did, her eyes for a moment rested on his, with an
expression which, brief as the moment was, shook his very frame. It was
an agonized look of love and reproach; for not only did she see one
whom she now was forced to believe a rival in his affections leaning
fondly on Lord Albert's arm, but in the bosom of that rival the very
myrtle sprig which Lord Albert had taken from her at the drawing-room
with such seeming devotion. She identified it too well as being the
same; for in her bitterest agony, when she plucked it on the morning
of the Court, she had told over every leaf and every flower; and
connecting each of them with some allusion to past days, and again
feeling it to be the medium of a returning act of fondness, how could
_she_ forget, or mistake it for any other myrtle? As Lady Adeline now
beheld this corroborating evidence of Lord Albert's cruelty and deceit,
the colour glowed and faded in rapid alternation on her cheek; she
seemed lost in thought; her footsteps became unsteady, and ready to
sink under her; and it was a moment or two before Mr. Foley, holding
her hand, could succeed in drawing her attention. She appeared to gaze
at him like one whose senses had fled: then, as if making an effort to
recal them, she stepped forward to continue the dance: but the buoyancy
of her motion was gone; her late gossamer footstep seemed exchanged for
one of lead; her eyes sought the ground; and when it was her turn to go
back to her place, she remained in the middle of the circle till again
rendered conscious of her mistake by the other parties advancing.
In this pause of the dance Lady Adeline had an opportunity of
recovering her presence of mind; and, calling to her aid the just
indignation which Lord Albert's conduct inspired, she felt herself
armed against the tenderer feelings; and by what she construed his
treachery and desertion, she was enabled to steel her heart to every
soft emotion, and not afford greater triumph to her rival, or greater
gratification to his self-love, by betraying any marks of sensibility.
This idea, together with what she owed her mother, whose feelings she
well knew would be deeply wounded if through weakness she made any
public disclosure of her suffering, enabled Lady Adeline to rally her
spirits sufficiently to go through her painful part with apparent ease
and indifference; and so completely did she obtain the mastery over
herself, that perhaps no one, save Lady Hamlet Vernon, was conscious of
the workings of that breast, the peace of which she was perfidiously
destroying. Lord Albert even was a stranger to what she endured; for,
blind to the errors of his own conduct, he of course became blinded
to their consequence, and never attributed Lady Adeline's behaviour
towards him to the natural result of his own in respect to her. It is
ever thus:--we look not to our errors as the cause of the misfortunes
which befall us, and the pains and penalties to which we are doomed.
From the moment Lord Albert first beheld Mr. Foley dancing with Lady
Adeline, he had remained transfixed to the spot. And how can language
render by its slow process the thousand rapid feelings which gush
simultaneously from the heart, and seem to pass through the mind at the
same moment? Jealousy, indignation, scorn (though love in ambush was
concealed beneath these bitter passions), alternately distracted him.
The mother and daughter he alike accused of subtilty and subterfuge.
He recalled to mind Lady Dunmelraise's manner to him; her words
especially, and her expression, on the subject of the breakfast;
Adeline's feigned indifference to it, now contrasted with her actual
presence there, dancing with Mr. Foley. All these circumstances seemed
to confirm the fatal truth; and disappointed love and mortified
vanity, and a sense of having been deceived, juggled, contemned, were
struggling at one and the same moment for ascendancy in his bosom. In
this state of mind, the time, the place, the whole scene, save only
this one prominent feature of interest, were to him as though they
existed not. As the dance drew to a close, he asked himself what line
of conduct he should pursue. Should he speak to Lady Adeline in a
language of reproach? should he give utterance to his feelings in a few
brief words of overwhelming import? No, he would not; it was beneath
him. And if she _was_ unworthy, and had forgotten what was due to him
and to _herself_, _he_ would never forget what was due to _her_. Could
he address Adeline with calm indifference?--impossible!--his heart
would not second the deception.
While he stood thus lost in thought, like one bereft of sense, the
workings of his soul were not unheeded by her who leant on his arm
the while. She felt that this very instant was the critical point of
all her hopes, and she almost unconsciously pressed the arm on which
she rested closer to her breast. Her respiration was broken; her
eyes wandered in quick succession on Lord Albert and Lady Adeline
alternately; and though she dared not propose to move from the spot
where they stood, yet to remain there was torture. At last the dance,
which had appeared to her interminable, ended; and Lady Adeline passed
on with Mr. Foley, without taking any notice of Lord Albert whatever,
as though she saw him not.
Lady Hamlet once more felt that she could breathe again, when she no
longer beheld the object of her fears before her, and without any
mutual recognition of each other having passed between Lord Albert and
Lady Adeline. Fresh hopes revived in her breast. She now ventured to
address the former in a tone of tremulous gentleness.
"Shall we not walk about in the garden? it is very hot here." He
started, looking at her as a man awakening from a dream; and as he
suffered himself to be led whither she would, he continued to muse
in silence on all that had passed: then suddenly murmured, in a
half-broken sentence,
"I _will_ see Adeline; I will see her _to-morrow_." Lady Hamlet knew
too well from this what must be the purpose he was revolving, and the
fervency of his still remaining attachment for Lady Adeline. An icy
chill withered her heart as she thought of the possible result of
that interview, which the words that had involuntarily escaped him
too surely predicted. But deeply skilled in the human heart, she did
not attempt to say any thing to dissuade him at that moment from his
purpose, nor did she venture to make any allusion whatever to Lady
Adeline; for she was well aware that all interference would not only
be fruitless, but might hazard the very object nearest her heart.
Besides, Lord Albert had never suffered himself to pronounce Lady
Adeline's name, even when, in the many conversations which he had held
with Lady Hamlet Vernon, she had been covertly alluded to; neither had
Lady Hamlet Vernon dared openly to touch upon his attachment to Lady
Adeline, since their first interview after the visit at Restormel, when
in the fervency of her feelings, and the plenitude of her despair, she
said,
"Lady Adeline will never make you happy."
From the constrained and painful situation in which she now found
herself placed, when silence was scarcely to be borne, and yet to
break it was perilous, she was relieved by the approach of Mr. Spencer
Newcombe, Lord Raynham, and Lord Glenmore; and glad to arrest them by
way of saying something, asked if they had seen Lady Glenmore.
"Yes," replied Lord Raynham. "I left her some time ago enjoying that
most enviable amusement, which only demands strength of wind and limb,
and spares all the wear and tear of brains that graver cares demand.
I wish it were the fashion for men of my age to make _girouettes_ and
_pirouettes_, and cut _entrès_. Grown gentlemen _are_ taught to dance,
and I have long had serious thoughts of learning _incog._"
"I hope you will let your intimate friends at least enjoy your first
_début_," cried Mr. Spencer Newcombe. "But, after all, you know,
Raynham, that _girouettes_ and _pirouettes_ belong equally to the dance
of life as to the dance of the ball-room; and we are none of us quite
ignorant of these, though some of us make them more gracefully than
others."
Lord Raynham had a way of not hearing when it did not suit him to hear;
and having no impromptu _fait à loisir_ ready at that moment, by way of
reply, he passed on, apparently insensible to the sting, which he was
much better skilled in knowing how to inflict than how to receive.
"I think," said Lord Glenmore, "that at all events Georgina must have
had enough of that enviable amusement, as Raynham calls it, by this
time; and that if we do not go in quest of her, we shall not be
together at supper." So saying, he sought her first among the dancers;
but passed on, inquiring, as he went, if any one had seen her. Some
replied one thing, some another; and many answered in a pointed manner,
which, however, was unobserved by him, for it was contrary to Lord
Glenmore's nature to entertain a doubt of those whom he once loved and
esteemed. Being wearied of seeking Lady Glenmore, and concluding she
had gone to the refreshment-room, he sat down by Lady Tenderden, whose
vanity was always gratified in every opportunity of keeping up the
remembrance of a past juvenile gossip in the eyes of the world.
In the meanwhile, Lady Glenmore, who had been overcome by the heat of
the ball-room, had been easily prevailed upon to seek the refreshing
coolness of the terraces; and having walked about some time, entered
the conservatory, and sat down for a moment to inhale the perfume of
the flowers and plants, and to enjoy the tranquillity it afforded
from the noise and bustle of the dancers. Here Mr. Leslie Winyard
beguiled the hour, and interested Lady Glenmore by reciting various
passages from various poets, analogous to the spirit of the place, and
then passing from these to the theme of such feelings as the lines
he quoted were calculated to inspire. He dwelt with eloquence on the
imperfection and little refinement of all attachments of the present
day, expatiated on that homage which ought to be paid to woman, and
which, as he spoke, he seemed to imply was willingly paid by himself to
her.
There was an inebriating danger in this address, which Lady Glenmore
was too young and too pure to see; and she listened complacently
and unsuspectingly to the perilous flattery, forgetting how the
moments flew, and unconscious of the impropriety of her remaining so
long absent from the general circle, and in a place so remote from
observation. Nor was she aware of the appearance which might attach to
her, till a whisper fell on her ear, and, startling, made her arise
hastily from her seat. It proceeded from Lord Gascoigne and Lord
Baskerville, who stood behind some orange-trees.
"Basky," said the latter, arresting his companion by the arm, "we
are _de trop_ here," directing his attention to the spot where Lady
Glenmore and Mr. Leslie Winyard were.
"Upon my word," replied Lord Baskerville, "this is worth all the _fête_
put together."
"Hush!" said the latter distinctly; "let us be off: it is not fair."
Lady Glenmore looked round, but saw no one: it aroused her, however, to
a recollection of the length of time that she had been sitting there,
and moving forward on the instant, she said,
"We must return to the ball-room."
Mr. Leslie Winyard would willingly have detained her, but he felt that
it was injudicious to press her to remain when she seemed to have taken
alarm; and having himself heard the voices, which he believed to have
occasioned Lady Glenmore's sudden departure, he was conscious that some
curious intruders had witnessed the fact of his _tête-à-tête_; and he
consoled himself for its interruption with the idea that its fame would
soon be spread abroad, and in colours far more glowing than the reality.
When Lady Glenmore returned to the ball-room, she saw her husband in
the midst of Lady Tenderden's _coterie_, enjoying that easy flow of
spirits, which, tempered with elegance and refinement of fancy, marked
peculiarly the charm of his society. As she approached, he arose
and took her hand, and with an expression of pleasure drew her arm
through his, as though he had found all that he wanted to complete
his enjoyment of the pleasure of the scene. Lady Glenmore, too, seemed
delighted; while some of those who witnessed this meeting exchanged
significant looks, and whispered remarks upon the cunning duplicity of
the one, and the consummate _bonhommie_ of the duped.
"It is the best thing," said Lord Baskerville, "that I have seen this
many a day:" and by Lord Tonnerre, Lord Boileau, and the rest of that
knot of persons, Lady Glenmore was pronounced to be the cleverest woman
in the world, her husband the greatest fool, and Leslie Winyard the
most fortunate of men.
All this while Lord Albert had been close at Lady Hamlet Vernon's side,
mute, and apparently insensible to every thing around. Once only did
Lady Adeline pass before him; but he could not be deaf to the lavish
encomiums he heard repeated on all sides, of the beauty and the grace
of her who was to have been his own, but who was now lost to him, he
feared, for ever; and all these things, and the sad contrast of the
past and of the present, aggravated the bitterness of his soul.
The last glimpse he caught of her was on her leaving the Priory, when
she was leaning on the arm of Mr. Foley, accompanied by Lady Louisa
Blithewaite. Her spirits, wound up for some time to a factitious
spring, had given way at last, and she could no longer keep up
the deception. Languid, inanimate, almost unable to stand, she
thought that she had done all which Lady Dunmelraise could demand;
and, under the plea of excessive fatigue, she easily prevailed on
Lady Louisa Blithewaite not to await the end of the _fête_, but to
return to town. The general homage she had received, and the very
particular _dévouement_ of the Duke of Mercington, might, under other
circumstances, have been powerful stimulants to the vanity of any young
mind; but one absorbing passion is the best _natural_ preservative
against the follies of the world, and the heartlessness of vanity; for
the incense of flattery palls upon a heart that is deeply engaged, and
which scorns all praise that is not uttered by the lips of the one
object of its devotion.
Before Lady Adeline reached town, the morning light streaked the
horizon; and she felt that this rising of day, with its accompaniment
of vernal airs, and twittering birds, and sparkling dew-drops, and
all the gladness of an awakened creation, were but a mocking contrast
to the setting sun of her hopes, the mournful notes of sorrow which
rung in her ears, and the deadness of that affection which she had
once thought could suffer no diminution or decay. The chilling damp
of disappointed love clung around her heart and withered every hope,
rendering her wholly spiritless, and unable to converse; and when she
arrived at Lady Dunmelraise's door, she took a hasty leave of Lady
Louisa Blithewaite, and stealing as noiselessly as she could to her
apartment, she courted the silence of reflection, but not the calm of
sleep.