In these days, people travel with so much safety, ease, and celerity,
that heroines have little chance of adventures on the road; and a
journey is now so common a thing, that, as Rosamond observed, the
most brilliant imagination has no hope of having wonders to relate.
To Rosamond’s mortification, Caroline and her brother reached London
without any event having occurred better worth recording than the loss
of an umbrella. They drove into town when it was nearly dark, just
before the lamps were lighted; Caroline, therefore, had little
satisfaction from the first view of the metropolis. She found Lady Jane
Granville in a small lodging in Clarges-street--the room dark--a smell
of smoke--the tea-equipage prepared--Lady Jane lying on a shabby-looking
sofa--drops and a smelling-bottle on a little table beside her. She
raised herself as Caroline entered, looked half pleased, half ashamed
to see her; and, stretching out her hand, said, in a complaining voice,
“Ah! my dear Caroline, are you really come? This is too good! Sadly
changed, you find--and every thing about me--Sit down, my dear--Keppel,
do let us have tea as soon as you can,” said Lady Jane.
“As soon as ever Eustace comes in, my lady,” answered Keppel, peevishly.
“In the mean time, for Heaven’s sake, allow us a little more light--I
cannot live without light. Come nearer to me, my dear Caroline, and tell
me how did you leave all our friends at the Hills?”
Whilst Caroline was answering her ladyship, more candles were brought,
and Lady Jane moved them on the table till she threw the light full on
Caroline’s face.
“Handsomer than ever! And altogether so _formed_. One would not think,
Alfred, she had been buried all this time in the country. Ah! perverse
child; why would not you come when I could have been of some use to
you--when, at least, I could, have received you as I ought? This is not
a fit place, you see; nor am I now in circumstances, or in a style of
life--Heigho!”
“Dr. Percy is not come yet,” resumed she. “This is his usual hour--and
I wrote a note to tell him that he would meet his sister Caroline
to-night.”
In all her ladyship said, in every look and motion, there was the same
nervous hurry and uneasiness. Dr. Percy arrived, and for a moment Lady
Jane forgot herself in sympathy with the pleasure the brother and
sister showed at meeting. Soon, however, she would have relapsed into
melancholy comparisons, but, that Dr. Percy checked the course of her
thoughts; and with the happy art, by which a physician of conversational
powers can amuse a nervous patient, he, without the aid of poppy or
mandragora, medicined her to rest, though not to sleep.
When Erasmus was alone with his sister, he observed that no permanent
amendment could be expected in Lady Jane’s health till her mind should
be at ease about her lawsuit. While this was undecided, her imagination
vacillated between the horror of neglected poverty, and the hopes of
recovering her former splendour and consideration. The lawsuit was not
to be decided for some weeks, and Caroline saw that all that could be
done in the mean time was as much as possible to soothe and amuse her
patient: however tiresome and difficult the task, she went through it
with the utmost cheerfulness and sweetness of temper. Day after day she
passed alone with Lady Jane, hearing her complaints, bodily and mental,
and listening to the eternally repeated history of her lawsuit. But
Caroline’s patience was ensured by a sense of gratitude, which, in her,
was not a sentimental phrase, but a motive for long endurance, still
more difficult than active exertion.
One half hour in the day, however, she was sure of being happy--the half
hour when her brother Erasmus paid his visit. Of Alfred she saw little,
for he was so much engaged with business, that a few minutes now and
then were all he could possibly spare from his professional duties. Mr.
Temple called. She was surprised to see him, for she thought he had
been on his way to the continent; but he told her that difficulties had
occurred, chiefly through the manoeuvres of Cunningham Falconer, and
that he did not know when there would be an end of these--that Lord
Oldborough was glad of the delay at present, because he wanted Mr.
Temple’s assistance, as the other secretary had been taken ill, and
his lordship had not yet fixed upon a confidential person to supply
his place. Of course, in these circumstances, Mr. Temple was so much
occupied, that Caroline saw very little of him; and she experienced what
thousands have observed, that, however people may wish to meet in great
towns, it is frequently impracticable, from small difficulties as to
time, distance, and connexions. Of Mr. Gresham, Caroline had hoped
that she should see a great deal--her brother Erasmus had long since
introduced him to Lady Jane Granville; and, notwithstanding his being a
merchant, her ladyship liked him. He was as much disposed as ever to
be friendly to the whole Percy family; and the moment he heard of
Caroline’s being in town, he hastened to see her, and showed all his
former affectionate regard in his countenance and manner. But his time
and his thoughts were now engrossed by an affair very near his heart,
which he was impatient to bring to a termination. As soon as this should
be accomplished, he was to set out for Amsterdam, where the concerns
of his late partner, old Mr. Panton, as his correspondents wrote,
imperiously demanded his presence.
This affair, which was so near Mr. Gresham’s heart, related to his dear
Constance. Alfred had alluded to it in one of his letters, and Erasmus
had begun to write the particulars to Rosamond; but he had not at
the time leisure to finish the letter, and afterwards burnt it, being
uncertain how the romance, as Alfred called it, might end. He therefore
thought it prudent to say nothing about it. The whole story was now told
to Caroline, and, briefly, was this.
After old Panton’s rage against Dr. Percy, in consequence of the
suspicion that his daughter was in love with him; after the strange
wig-scene, and the high words that followed, had driven Erasmus from the
house, Constance went to her father, and, intent upon doing justice to
Erasmus, at whatever hazard to herself, protested that he had not been
the cause of her refusal of Lord Roadster. To convince her father of
this, she confessed that her heart was not entirely disengaged--no
threats, no persuasion, could, however, draw from her the name of the
person whom she preferred: she knew that to name him would be only to
ruin his fortune--that her father never would consent to her marrying
him; nor had the object of her preference ever given her reason to think
that he felt any thing more for her than regard and respect. Old Panton,
the last man in the world to understand any delicacies, thought her
whole confession “_nonsense_:” the agitation and hesitation with which
it was made, and her eagerness to clear Dr. Percy’s credit, and to
reinstate him in her father’s favour, conspired to convince the old man
that his “own first original opinion was right.” Of this, indeed, he
seldom needed any additional circumstances to complete the conviction on
any occasion. During the remainder of his life he continued obstinate
in his error: “If she likes any body else, why can’t the girl name him?
Nonsense--that cursed Dr. Percy is the man, and he never shall be
the man.” In this belief old Panton died, and what is of much more
consequence, in this belief he made his will. On purpose to exclude
Dr. Percy, and in the hope of accomplishing his favourite purpose of
ennobling his descendants, he, in due legal form, inserted a clause
in his will, stating, “that he bequeathed his whole fortune (save his
wife’s dower) to his beloved daughter, upon condition, that within the
twelve calendar months next ensuing, after his decease, she, the said
Constance, should marry a man not below the rank of the son of a baron.
But in case she, the said Constance, should not marry within the said
twelve calendar months, or should marry any man below the rank of a
baron, then and after the expiration of said twelve calendar months, the
said fortune to go to his beloved wife, except an annuity of two hundred
pounds a year, to be paid thereout to his daughter Constance.” Mr.
Gresham was appointed sole executor to his will. As soon as it was
decently possible, after old Panton’s decease, Lord Roadster renewed his
suit to Constance, and was civilly but very steadily refused. Many other
suitors, coming within the description of persons favoured by the will,
presented themselves, but without success. Some making their application
to Constance herself, some endeavouring to win her favour through the
intercession of her guardian, Mr. Gresham--all in vain. Month after
month had passed away, and Mr. Gresham began to be much in dread,
and Mrs. Panton, the step-mother, somewhat in hopes, that the twelve
calendar months would elapse without the young lady’s having fulfilled
the terms prescribed by the will. Mr. Gresham, one morning, took his
fair ward apart, and began to talk to her seriously upon the subject.
He told her that he thought it impossible she should act from mere
perverseness or caprice, especially as, from her childhood upwards,
he had never seen in her any symptoms of an obstinate or capricious
disposition; therefore he was well convinced that she had some good
reason for refusing so many offers seemingly unexceptionable: he
was grieved to find that he had not sufficiently won or deserved her
confidence, to be trusted with the secret of her heart. Constance, who
revered and loved him with the most grateful tenderness, knelt before
him; and clasping his hand in hers, while tears rolled over her blushing
cheeks, endeavoured to speak, but could not for some moments. At last,
she assured him that delicacy, and the uncertainty in which she was
whether she was beloved, were the only causes which had hitherto
prevented her from speaking on this subject, even to him, who now stood
in the place of her father, and who had ever treated her with more than
a father’s kindness.
Mr. Gresham named Erasmus Percy.
“No.”
“Mr. Henry!”
“How was it possible that Mr. Gresham had never thought of him?”
Mr. Gresham had thought of him--had suspected that Mr. Henry’s love for
Constance had been the cause of his quitting England--had admired the
young man’s honourable silence and resolution--had recalled him from
Amsterdam, and he was now in London.
But young Henry, who knew nothing of Mr. Gresham’s favourable
disposition towards him, who had only commercial correspondence with
him, and knew little of his character, considered him merely as the
executor of Mr. Panton, and, with this idea, obeyed his summons home to
settle accounts. When they met, he was much surprised by Mr. Gresham’s
speaking, not of accounts, but of Constance. When Mr. Gresham told
him the terms of Mr. Panton’s will, far from appearing disappointed
or dejected, Mr. Henry’s face flushed with hope and joy. He instantly
confessed to her guardian that he loved Constance passionately; and that
now, when it could not be supposed he had mercenary views; now, when
no duty, no honour forbad him, he would try his fate. He spoke with a
spirit given by strong passion long repressed, and with a decision
of character which his modesty and reserve of manner had, till now,
prevented from appearing.
“Did he consider,” Mr. Gresham asked, “what he expected Miss Panton to
sacrifice for him?”
“Yes, fortune, not duty--duty he could never have asked her to
sacrifice; he could not have esteemed her if she _had_ sacrificed
duty. As to the rest,” added he, proudly, “Miss Panton is now to decide
between love and fortune.”
“This from the modest Mr. Henry! from whom, till this moment, I never
heard a syllable that savoured of presumption!” said Mr. Gresham.
Mr. Henry was silent--and stood with an air of proud determination.
Regardless of the surprise and attention with which Mr. Gresham
considered him during this silence, he thought for a few moments, and
asked, “Sir, when may I see Miss Panton?”
“And would you,” said Mr. Gresham, “if it were in your power, sir,
reduce the woman you love from opulence to poverty--to distress?”
“I have four hundred a year, Miss Panton has two--six hundred a year is
not poverty, sir. Distress--the woman I marry shall never know whilst I
have life and health. No, sir, this is not romance. Of my perseverance
in whatever I undertake, even when least congenial to my habits, you
have had proofs. Mr. Gresham, if Miss Panton approves of me, and if love
can make her happy, I fear not to assert to you, her guardian, that
I will make her happy. If she love me not, or,” added he, his whole
countenance changing from the expression of ardent love to that of cold
disdain, “or, if love be not in her mind superior to fortune, then
I have little to regret. Wealth and honours wait her command. But,”
resumed he, “the trial I will make--the hazard I will run. If I am
mistaken--if I am presumptuous--the humiliation be mine--the agony all
my own: my heart will bear it--or--break!”
“Heroics!” said Mr. Gresham. “Now let me ask--”
“Let me ask, sir--pardon me,” interrupted Mr. Henry--“Let me beg to see
Miss Panton.”
“Stay, listen to me, young man--”
“Young gentleman, sir, if you please.”
“Young gentleman, sir, if you please,” repeated Mr. Gresham, mildly;
“I can make allowance for all this--you were bred a soldier, jealous of
honour--but listen to me: there is one thing I must tell you before you
see Miss Panton--though I apprehend it may somewhat mortify you, as
it will interfere with your boast of disinterestedness and your vow
of poverty--Miss Panton I have from her cradle been in the habit of
considering partly as my own--my own child--and, as such, I have left
her in my will ten thousand pounds. As she will want this money
before my death, if she marries you, I must convert my legacy into a
marriage-portion, and you shall not, sir, have love without fortune,
whatever your heroics may think of it. Now go to your mistress, and keep
my secret.”
Young Henry was evidently more touched by this generosity than by this
bounty; and with a gentleness and humility the most feeling he said,
“How shall I thank you, sir, for bearing with me as you did?”
“Oh!” said Mr. Gresham, “old as I am, I know what it is to be in love,
and can conceive too what it is to fear that a guardian might be cross,
and that the executor and the partner of Mr. Panton might act like Mr.
Panton himself. Say no more--I understand it all, you see--Go to your
Constance.”
Even in the haughtiness and spirit this young man had shown, Mr. Gresham
saw the sincerity, strength, and disinterestedness of his affection;
and in Mr. Gresham’s estimation these were no trifling merits. We pass
over--shall we be forgiven?--the love scenes between Mr. Henry and
Constance. In these cases it is well when there is some sober friend
to look to the common sense of the thing, and in the midst of the
exaltation to do the necessary business of life. Mr. Gresham laid Mr.
Panton’s will before counsel learned in the law, took opinions from two
different counsel; from Alfred Percy, whose friendship was likely to
quicken his attention, and from another barrister of long standing,
who, being totally unconnected with the parties might probably give a
perfectly unbiassed and dispassionate advice. Both agreed that there was
no avoiding the clause in the will; that Miss Panton, if she married
a man below the rank of a baron’s son, must give up her fortune to her
step-mother at the end of twelve calendar months from the time of her
father’s decease; but both barristers gave it as their opinion, that
the income during those twelve months belonged to Constance: this was a
considerable sum, which, by Mr. Gresham’s advice, was to be vested with
the rest of Mr. Henry’s capital in the firm of the house of Panton and
Co. In consequence of Mr. Gresham’s earnest recommendation, and of his
own excellent conduct and ability, Mr. Henry was from this time joined
in the firm, and as one of the partners had a secure income proportioned
to his part of the capital, besides a share in the very advantageous
speculations in which the house was engaged. Mr. Gresham undertook
to supply Mr. Henry’s place at Amsterdam, whither he was under the
necessity of going. His house he would leave to Constance during his
absence. She had best begin by taking possession of it, and establish
herself there, he observed, that she might not have the inconvenience
and mortification of being turned out of her own at the end of the year.
“And if,” said he, “I should be able, when I return, to make Mr. Henry’s
residence with me agreeable to him, I shall hope he will not, while I
live, take my Constance quite away from me--I look to her as my chief
happiness in life.”
If Rosamond had heard the sigh which closed this speech, and if she had
seen the simplicity and delicacy of Mr. Gresham’s generosity on this
occasion, she would have reproached herself for refusing him, and would
almost have reasoned herself into the belief that she had done very
wrong not to marry him; but this belief would only, _could_ only, have
lasted till she should see Mr. Temple again: so that, upon the whole, it
was best for poor Mr. Gresham that she knew nothing of the matter.
All things being arranged thus in the kindest and most convenient manner
by this excellent man, and the day being fixed for the marriage of
Constance and Mr. Henry, Caroline was asked to be bride’s-maid, and
the honour of Lady Jane Granville’s company was requested. It is
inconceivable how much importance Lady Jane attached to the idea of her
accepting or refusing this request, and the quantity she talked about
it was wonderful! Notwithstanding the habitual theme of her being of no
consequence now to any one, of her being utterly forgotten and out of
the world, yet she had still a secret, very secret belief, that all
she did would be known and commented upon; and she worked herself up to
think, also, that the honour to be conferred, or the offence that would
be taken in consequence of her decision, would be immortal. Every five
minutes for two hours after the first reading of Mr. Gresham’s note, she
took it up, laid it down, and argued the matter pro and con to Caroline.
A long and loud knocking at the door came to Caroline’s relief: it was
repeated with imperious impatience. “Who is it, my dear? look out of the
window, but don’t let yourself be seen.”
Caroline did not know any of the fashionable equipages, which to Lady
Jane appeared a great defect in her education: upon this occasion,
however, she thought she recollected the livery to be Mrs. Falconer’s.
“Oh! no, my dear, quite impossible--the Falconers have not been near me
this age. I will tell you whose livery it is--there is a resemblance,
but it is astonishing to me a girl of your sense cannot learn the
difference--it is old Lady Brangle’s livery.”
“It might very possibly be so,” Caroline allowed.
The servant however brought in cards and a note from Mrs. Falconer--the
note was to announce to Lady Jane Granville the approaching marriage of
Miss Falconer with Sir Robert Percy--the day was named, and the honour
of Lady Jane Granville’s company was requested at the wedding. Lady Jane
knew that this communication was made, not in the least in the kindness,
but in the pride of Mrs. Falconer’s heart; and precisely in the same
spirit in which it was written Lady Jane thought it incumbent upon her
to receive and answer it. Her ladyship was really warm and honest in her
friendships, and very grateful to _her branch_ of the Percy family, for
the kindness they had shown her in adversity.
“I think it extremely ill-judged and ill-bred of Mrs. Falconer to
invite me to this wedding. Does she think I have no feeling? My own near
relations and best friends deprived of their birth-right by this Sir
Robert Percy--does she conceive it possible that I _could_ go to such a
wedding?--No; nor did she wish or expect it; she only wrote from vanity,
and I shall answer her with pride, which, at least, is somewhat superior
to that mean passion; and I shall go, I am now determined, to Mr.
Gresham’s--I do nothing by halves.”
Her ladyship immediately wrote answers to both the invitations. Nothing
for months had done her so much good as the exertion, interest, and
imaginary self-importance these two notes created. At Mr. Gresham’s on
the day of the wedding her ladyship appeared with great dignity, and was
satisfied that she had conferred honour and serious obligation. Could
she have seen into the minds of all the company, she would have been
astonished to find how little she occupied their thoughts. It would be
difficult to determine whether it is more for the happiness or misery
of man and womankind that politeness should cherish, or truth destroy,
these little delusions of self-love.
Presently there appeared in the newspapers a splendid account of the
marriage at St. George’s church, Hanover-square, of Sir Robert Percy, of
Percy-hall, with Arabella, the eldest daughter of J. Falconer, Esquire:
present at the ceremony was a long list of _fashionable friends_, who,
as Lady Jane Granville observed, “would not have cared if the bride
had been hanged the next minute.” The happy pair, after partaking of an
elegant collation, set out in a barouche and four for Percy-hall, the
seat of Sir Robert Percy.
“So!” cried Lady Jane, throwing down the paper, “Mrs. Falconer has
accomplished that match at last, and has got one of her daughters well
off her hands--the ugly one too. Upon my word, she is amazingly clever.
But, after all, the man has a horrid temper, and a very bad character.
Now it is over, my dear Caroline, I must tell you, that long ago, before
I was so well aware of what sort of a man he was, I had formed the plan
of marrying him to you, and so uniting the two branches, and bringing
the estate into your family; but we have often reason to rejoice that
our best-concerted schemes don’t succeed. I give Mrs. Falconer joy. For
worlds I would not have such a man married to any relation or friend of
mine--Oh! if I recover my fortune, Caroline, I have hopes for you!”
Her ladyship was interrupted by the arrival of Mr. Gresham, who came
to take leave, as he was just setting out for Holland. He was a man
who said less and did more for his friends, as Caroline observed, than
almost any person she knew. On seeing his gallery of paintings, she had
noticed some beautiful miniatures; he now brought all those which she
had admired, and begged to leave them with her during his absence, that
she might at her leisure copy any of them she liked. He knew she painted
in miniature, for he had long ago, when at the Hills, seen her copy of
M. de Tourville’s picture of Euphrosyne.
“If,” said Mr. Gresham, observing that Caroline scrupled to take charge
of so many precious pictures, “if you are too proud to receive from
me the slightest kindness without a return, I am willing to put myself
under an obligation to you. While I am away, at your leisure, make me a
copy of that Euphrosyne--I shall love it for your sake, and as reminding
me of the time when I first saw it--the happiest time perhaps of my
life,” added he, in a low voice.
“Oh, Rosamond!” thought Caroline, “if you had heard that!--and if you
knew how generously kind he has been to your brothers!”
At parting from Alfred and Erasmus, he said to them, “My good young
friends, why don’t either of you marry? To be sure, you are young
enough; but think of it in time, and don’t put off, put off, till you
grow into old bachelors. I know young men generally in these days
say, they find it too expensive to marry--some truth in that, but more
selfishness: here’s young Mr. Henry has set you a good example. Your
practice in your professions, I suppose, puts you as much at ease in the
world by this time as he is. Malthus, you know, whom I saw you studying
the other day, objects only to people marrying before they can maintain
a family. Alfred, when I was at the Hills, I heard of a certain Miss
Leicester. If you shall think of marrying before I come back again,
you’ll want a house, and I’ve lent mine already--but money, you know,
can place one in any part of the town you might like better--I have a
sum lying idle at my bankers, which I have just had transferred to the
account of Alfred and Erasmus Percy--whichever of you marry before I
come back, must do me the favour to purchase a good house--I must
have it at the polite end of the town, or I shall be worse than an old
bachelor--let me find it well furnished and aired--nothing airs a house
so well as a warm friend: then, you know, if I should not fancy your
purchase, I leave it on your hands, and you pay me the purchase-money
year by year, at your leisure--if you can trust that I will not throw
you into jail for it.”
The warmth of Alfred’s thanks in particular showed Mr. Gresham that he
had not been mistaken about Miss Leicester.
“I wish I had thought, or rather I wish I had spoken of this sooner,”
added Mr. Gresham: “perhaps I might have had the pleasure of seeing you
married before my leaving England; but--no--it is best as it is--I might
have hurried things--and in these matters every body likes to go their
own pace, and their own way. So fare ye well--God bless you both, and
give you good wives--I can ask nothing better for you from Heaven.”
No man could he more disposed than Alfred felt himself at this instant
to agree with Mr. Gresham, and to marry immediately--visions of beauty
and happiness floated before his imagination; but a solicitor knocking
at the door of his chambers recalled him to the sense of the sad
necessity of finishing some law-papers instead of going into the country
to see his fair mistress. His professional duty absolutely required
his remaining in town the whole of this term--Lady Jane Granville’s
business, in particular, depended upon him--he gave his mind to it.
She little knew how difficult it was to him at this time to fix his
attention, or how much temper it required in these circumstances to bear
with her impatience. The week before her cause was expected to come to
trial, her ladyship’s law-fever was at its height--Alfred avoided her
presence, and did her business.
The day arrived--her cause came on--Alfred’s exertions proved
successful--and hot from the courts he brought the first joyful news--a
decree in her favour!
Lady Jane started up, clasped her hands, embraced Alfred, embraced
Caroline, returned thanks to Heaven--again and again, in broken
sentences, tried to express her gratitude. A flood of tears came to her
relief. “Oh! Alfred, what pleasure your generous heart must feel!”
From this day--from this hour, Lady Jane’s health rapidly recovered;
and, as Erasmus observed, her lawyer had at last proved her best
physician.
When Caroline saw Lady Jane restored to her strength, and in
excellent spirits, preparing to take possession of a handsome house in
Spring-Gardens, she thought she might be spared to return to her own
family. But Lady Jane would not part with her; she insisted upon keeping
her the remainder of the winter, promising to carry her back to the
Hills in a few weeks. It was plain that refusing this request would
renew the ire of Lady Jane, and render irreconcilable the quarrel
between her ladyship and the Percy family. Caroline felt extremely
unwilling to offend one whom she had obliged, and one who really showed
such anxiety for her happiness.
“I know, my dear Lady Jane,” said she, smiling, “that if I stay with
you, you will form a hundred kind schemes for my establishment; but
forgive me when I tell you, that it is upon the strength of my belief
in the probability that they will none of them be accomplished, that I
consent to accept your ladyship’s invitation.”
“Perverse! provoking and incomprehensible!--But since you consent to
stay, my dear, I will not quarrel with your motives: I will let them
rest as philosophically unintelligible as you please. Be satisfied, I
will never more accuse you of perversity in refusing me formerly; nor
will I convict you of inconsistency for obliging me now. The being
convicted of inconsistency I know is what you people, who pique
yourselves upon being rational, are so afraid of. Now we _every-day
people_, who make no pretensions to be reasonable, have no character for
consistency to support--you cannot conceive what delightful liberty we
enjoy. In lieu of whole tomes of casuistry, the simple phrase, ‘I’ve
changed my mind,’ does our business. Do let me hear if you could prevail
upon yourself to say so.”
“I’ve changed my mind,” said Caroline, playfully.
“That’s candid--now I love as well as admire you.”
“To be entirely candid, then,” said Caroline, “I must, my dear Lady
Jane, if you will give me leave, tell you more.”
“As much as you please,” said Lady Jane, “for I am naturally curious,
particularly when young ladies blush.”
Caroline thought, that however Lady Jane and she might differ on some
points, her ladyship’s anxiety to promote her happiness, in the way
she thought most advantageous, deserved not only her gratitude but her
confidence. Besides, it would be the most effectual way, she hoped, of
preventing Lady Jane from forming any schemes for her establishment, to
confess at once that she really believed it was not likely she should
meet with any person, whose character and merits were equal to those of
Count Altenberg, and any one inferior to him she was determined never to
marry. She added a few words, as delicately as she could, upon the dread
she felt of being presented in society as a young lady wishing for an
establishment.
Lady Jane heard all she said upon this subject with much attention; but
when she had finished, her ladyship said to herself, “Nonsense!--Every
young lady thinks one lover perfect till she has seen another. Before
Caroline has passed a month in fashionable society, provided she has a
fashionable admirer, we shall hear no more of this Count Altenberg.”
“Well, my dear,” said she, holding out her hand to Caroline, “I will
give you my word I will, to the best of my ability, comply with all your
conditions. You shall not be advertised as a young lady in search of a
husband--but just as if you were a married woman, you will give me leave
to introduce my acquaintance to you; and if they should find out, or if
in time you should find out, that you are not married, you know, I shall
not be to blame.”