Behold Lady Jane Granville reinstated in her fortune, occupying a
fine house in a fashionable situation, with suitable equipage and
establishment! carriages rolling to her door; tickets crowding her
servants’ hands; an influx, an affluence of friends, and congratulations
such as quite astonished Caroline.
“Where were these people all the time she lived in Clarges-street?”
thought she.
Lady Jane, though she knew from experience the emptiness and insincerity
of such demonstrations of regard, was, nevertheless, habitually pleased
by them, and proud to be in a situation where numbers found it worth
while to pay her attentions. But notwithstanding her _foibles_, she
was not a mere fashionable friend. She was warm in her affection for
Caroline. The _producing_ her young friend in the great London world was
her prime object.
The pretensions of individuals are often cruelly mortified when they
come to encounter the vast competition of a capital city. As King James
said to the country-gentleman at court, “The little vessels, that made a
figure on the lake, appear insignificant on the ocean!”
Happily for Caroline, she had not formed high expectations of pleasure,
any hope of producing _effect_, or even _sensation_, upon her first
appearance in the fashionable world. As she said in her letters to her
friends at home, nothing could be more dull or tiresome than her first
experience of a young lady’s introduction into life; nothing, as she
assured Rosamond, could be less like the reality than the delightful
representations in novels, where every day produces new scenes, new
adventures, and new characters. She was ashamed to write such stupid
letters from London; but unless she were to have recourse to invention,
she literally had not any thing entertaining to tell. She would,
if Rosamond was in despair, invent a few conquests; and like great
historians, put in some fine speeches supposed to have been spoken by
celebrated characters.
In reality, Caroline’s beauty had not passed so completely unobserved as
her modesty and inexperience imagined. She did not know the signs of
the times. On her first entrance into a public room eyes turned upon
her--the eyes of mothers with apprehension, of daughters with envy. Some
gentlemen looked with admiration, others with curiosity.
“A new face! Who is she?”
“A relation of Lady Jane Granville.”
“What has she?”
“I don’t know--nothing, I believe.”
“Nothing, certainly--a daughter of the Percy who lost his fortune.”
All apprehensions ceased on the part of the ladies, and generally all
admiration on the part of the gentlemen. Opera-glasses turned another
way. Pity succeeding to envy, a few charitably disposed added, “Ah! poor
thing! unprovided for--What a pity!”
“Do you dance to-night?”
“Does our quadrille come next?”
Some gentleman, an abstract admirer of beauty, perhaps, asked the honour
of her hand--to dance; but there the abstraction generally ended. A few,
indeed, went farther, and swore that she was a fine girl, prophesied
that she would _take_, and declared they would be d----d if they would
not _think_ of her, if they could afford it.
From their prophecies or their oaths nothing ensued, and even the
civilities and compliments she received from Lady Jane’s particular
friends and acquaintance, though in a more polite style, were equally
unmeaning and unproductive. Days passed without leaving a trace behind.
Unluckily for Caroline, her brother Alfred was about this time obliged
to leave town. He was summoned to the country by Dr. Leicester. Dr.
Percy was so continually employed, that she could scarcely have a few
minutes in a week of his company, now that Lady Jane’s health no longer
required his professional attendance. Caroline, who had always been
used to domestic society and conversation, was thus compelled to live
completely in public, without the pleasures of home, and without the
amusement young people generally enjoy in company, when they are with
those of their own age to whom they can communicate their thoughts.
Lady Jane Granville was so much afraid of Caroline’s not appearing
fashionable, that she continually cautioned her against expressing her
natural feelings at the sight of any thing new and surprising, or at
the perception of the tiresome or ridiculous. Her ladyship would never
permit her protégée to ask the name of any person in public places or
at private parties--because not to know certain people “argues yourself
unknown.”
“I’ll tell you who every body is when we go home;” but when she was at
home, Lady Jane was generally too much tired to explain or to comprehend
the description of these nameless bodies; and even when her ladyship was
able to satisfy her curiosity, Caroline was apt to mistake afterwards
the titles and histories of the personages, and by the misnomers of
which she was guilty, provoked Lady Jane past endurance. Whether it was
from want of _natural genius_ in the scholar, or interest in the study,
or from the teacher’s thus unphilosophically separating the name and the
idea, it is certain that Caroline made but slow progress in acquiring
her fashionable nomenclature. She was nearly in despair at her own want
of memory, when fortunately a new instructress fell in her way, who was
delighted with her ignorance, and desired nothing better than to tell
her who was who; in every private party and public place to point out
the ridiculous or notorious, and at the moment the figures were passing,
whether they heard or not, to relate anecdotes characteristic and
illustrative: this new, entertaining preceptress was Lady Frances
Arlington. Her ladyship having quarrelled with Miss Georgiana Falconer,
hated to go out with Mrs. Falconer, hated still more to stay at home
with the old tapestry-working duchess her aunt, and was delighted to
have Lady Jane Granville to take her every where. She cared little what
any person thought of herself, much less what they thought of Caroline:
therefore, free from all the delicacies and anxieties of Lady Jane’s
friendship and systems, Lady Frances, though from different premises
coming to the same conclusion, agreed that thinking of Caroline’s
advantage was _stuff_! and that all she had to do was to amuse herself
in town. Caroline was the most convenient companion to go out with, for
she never crossed her ladyship about partners, or admirers, never
vied with her for admiration, or seemed to mind her _flirtations_; but
quietly suffering her to draw off all the fashionable beaux, whom Lady
Jane stationed upon duty, she let Lady Frances Arlington talk, or dance,
to her heart’s content, and was satisfied often to sit still and be
silent. The variety of words and ideas, facts and remarks, which her
lively and practised companion poured into her mind, Caroline was left
to class for herself, to generalize, and to make her own conclusions.
Now she had means of amusement, she took pleasure in observing all that
was going on, and she knew something of the characters and motives
of the actors in such different scenes. As a spectator, she was
particularly struck by the eagerness of all the players, at their
different games of love, interest, or ambition; and in various sets of
company, she was diverted by observing how each thought themselves the
whole world: here a party of young ladies and gentlemen, practising,
morning, noon, and night, steps for their _quadrille_; and while they
are dancing the _quadrille_, jockey gentlemen ranged against the wall in
the ball-room, talking of their horses; grave heads and snuff-boxes in
a corner settling the fate of Europe, proving that, they were, are,
or ought to be, behind the scenes; at the card-tables, sharpened faces
seeing nothing in the universe but their cards; and at the piano-forte
a set of signers and signoras, and ladies of quality, mingled together,
full of duets, solos, overtures, cavatinas, expression, execution,
and thorough bass--mothers in agonies, daughters pressed or pressing
forward--some young and trembling with shame--more, though young, yet
confident of applause--others, and these the saddest among the gay,
veteran female exhibitors, tired to death, yet forced to continue the
unfruitful glories. In one grand party, silence and state; in another
group, rival matrons chasing round the room the heir presumptive to a
dukedom, or wedging their daughters closer and closer to that door-way
through which Lord William * * * * * must pass. Here a poet acting
enthusiasm with a _chapeau bras_--there another dying of ennui to
admiration; here a wit cutting and slashing right or wrong; there a man
of judgment standing by, silent as the grave--all for notoriety. Whilst
others of high rank, birth, or wealth, without effort or merit, secure
of distinction, looked down with sober contempt upon the poor stragglers
and wranglers for fame.
Caroline had as yet seen but few of the literary candidates for
celebrity; only those privileged few, who, combining the pretensions of
rank and talent, had a natural right to be in certain circles; or those
who, uniting superior address to superior abilities, had risen or forced
their way into fine company. Added to these were two or three, who were
invited to parties as being the wonder and show of the season--persons
whom the pride of rank found it gratifying to have at command, and who
afforded to them a most happy relief from the dulness of their habitual
existence. Caroline, though pitying the exhibitors, whenever she met
any of this description, had great curiosity, to see more of literary
society; but Lady Jane systematically hung back on this point, and
evaded her promises.
“Yes, my dear, I did promise to take you to Lady Angelica Headingham’s,
and Lady Spilsbury’s, but there’s time enough--not yet--not till I have
established you in a higher society: not for your advantage to get among
the blue-stockings--the blue rubs off--and the least shade might ruin
you with some people. If you were married, I should introduce you to
that set with pleasure, for they entertain me vastly, and it is a great
privation to me this winter--a long fast; but even this abstinence
from wit I can endure for your sake, my dear Caroline--you are my first
object. If you would take the _bel esprit_ line decidedly--Talents you
have, but not courage sufficient; and even if you had, you are scarce
old enough: with your beauty and grace, you have a better chance in the
circle you are in, my dear.”
But Lady Frances Arlington, who thought only of her own chance of
amusement, seconded Caroline’s wish to see the literary set. Nothing
could be more stupid, her ladyship said, than running round always in
the same circle; for her part, she loved to see clever odd people, and
though her aunt-duchess would not let her go to Lady Spilsbury’s, yet
Lady Frances was sure that, with Lady Jane Granville for her chaperon,
she could get a passport for Lady Angelica Headingham’s, “because Lady
Angelica is a sort of cousin, I can’t tell you how many times removed,
but just as many as will serve my present purpose--a connexion quite
near enough to prove her fashionable, and respectable, and all that: so,
my dear Lady Jane--I’ll ask leave,” concluded Lady Frances, “and we will
go next conversazione day.”
No--Lady Jane was firm to what she believed to be for Caroline’s
interest, and she refused to take her into _that set_, and therefore
declined the honour of chaperoning her ladyship to Lady Angelica
Headingham’s.
“Oh! my dear Lady Jane, you couldn’t, you wouldn’t be so cruel! When I
am dying with impatience to see my cousin make herself ridiculous, as
I hear she does more and more every day with that Baron
Wilhelmberg--Wilhelmberg, I said, not Altenberg--Miss Caroline Percy
need not have turned her head so quickly. Lady Angelica’s man is a
German, and yours was a Pole, or Prussian, was not he?--Do you know,
the ugliest man I ever saw in my life, and the handsomest, were both
Poles--but they are all well-bred.”
“But about Lady Angelica’s German baron?” interrupted Lady Jane.
“Yes, what sort of a person is he?” said Caroline.
“As unlike your Count Altenberg as possible--an oddish looking
genius--oldish, too--like one’s idea of an alchymist, or a professor,
or a conjuror--like any thing rather than a man of fashion; but,
nevertheless, since he has got into fashion, the ladies have all found
out that he is very like a Roman emperor--and so he is--like _any_ head
on an old coin.”
“But how comes there to be such a value set on this head?--How came he
into fashion?” said Lady Jane.
“Is it possible you don’t know? Oh! it was when you were out of
the world he first made the great noise--by dreaming--yes,
dreaming--dreaming himself, and making every body else dream as he
pleases; he sported last season a new theory of dreaming--joins practice
to theory, too--very extraordinary--interprets all your dreams to your
satisfaction, they say--and, quite on philosophical principles, can make
you dream whatever he pleases. True, upon my veracity.”
“Did your ladyship ever try his skill?” said Lady Jane.
“Not I; for the duchess would not hear of him--but I long the more to
know what he could make me dream. He certainly is very clever, for he
was asked last winter everywhere. All the world ran mad--Lady Spilsbury,
and my wise cousin, I understand, came to pulling wigs for him. Angelica
conquered at last; you know Angelica was always a little bit of a
coquette--not a _little_ bit neither. At first, to be sure, she thought
no more of love for the German emperor than I do this minute; but he
knew how to coquet also--Who would have thought it?--So there were
notes, and verses, and dreams, and interpretations, and I can’t tell you
what. But, so far, the man is no charlatan--he has made Lady Angelica
dream the very dream he chose--the strangest, too, imaginable--that she
is in love with him. And the interpretation is, that she will take him
‘for better for worse.’”
“That is your own interpretation, is not it, Lady Frances?” said
Caroline.
“Is it possible there is any truth in it?” said Lady Jane.
“All true, positively, I hear. And of all things, I should like to see
Lady Angelica and the baron face to face--tête-à-tête--or profile by
profile, in the true Roman emperor and empress medal style.”
“So should I, I confess,” said Lady Jane, smiling.
“The best or the worst of it is,” continued Lady Frances, “that, after
all, this baron bold is, I’ve a notion, no better than an adventurer:
for I heard a little bird sing, that a certain ambassador hinted
confidentially, that the Baron de Wilhelmberg would find it difficult to
prove his sixteen quarterings. But now, upon both your honours, promise
me you’ll never mention this--never give the least confidential hint of
it to man, woman, or child; because it might get round, spoil our sport,
and never might I have the dear delight of drawing the caricature.”
“_Now_ your ladyship is not serious, I am sure,” said Caroline.
“Never more serious--never so serious in my life; and, I assure you,”
cried Lady Frances, speaking very earnestly and anxiously, “if you give
the least hint, I will never forgive you while I live; for I have set my
heart on doing the caricature.”
“Impossible that, for the mere pleasure of drawing a caricature, you
would let your own cousin expose herself with an adventurer!” said
Caroline.
“La! Lady Angelica is only my cousin a hundred removes. I can’t help her
being ridiculous: every body, I dare say, has ridiculous cousins--and
laugh one must. If one were forbidden to laugh at one’s relatives, it
would be sad indeed for those who have extensive connexions. Well, Lady
Jane, I am glad to see that _you_ don’t pique yourself on being too good
to laugh: so I may depend on you. Our party for Lady Angelica’s is fixed
for Monday.”
No--Lady Jane had, it is certain, some curiosity and some desire
to laugh at her neighbour’s expense. So far, Lady Frances had, with
address, touched her foible for her purpose; but Lady Jane’s affection
for Caroline strengthened her against the temptation. She was persuaded
that it would be a disadvantage to her to go to this conversazione. She
would not upon any account have Miss Percy be seen in the blue-stocking
set at present--she had her reasons. To this resolution her ladyship
adhered, though Lady Frances Arlington, pertinacious to accomplish any
purpose she took into her fancy, returned morning after morning to the
charge. Sometimes she would come with intelligence from her fetcher and
carrier of news, as she called him, Captain Nuttall.
One day, with a very dejected countenance, her ladyship came in saying,
“It’s off--it’s all off! Nuttall thinks it will never be a match.”
The next day, in high spirits, she brought word, “It’s on--it’s on
again! Nuttall thinks it will certainly be a match--and Angelica is
more delightfully ridiculous than ever! Now, my dear Lady Jane,
Tuesday?--next week?--the week afterwards? In short, my dearest Lady
Jane, once for all, will you ever take me to her conversazione?”
“Never, my dear Lady Frances, till Miss Caroline Percy is married,” said
Lady Jane: “I have my own reasons.”
“Then I wish Miss Caroline Percy were to be married to-morrow--I have my
own reasons. But, after all, tell me, is there any, the least chance of
Miss Percy’s being married?”
“Not the least chance,” said Caroline.
“That is her own fault,” said Lady Jane, looking mortified and
displeased.
“That cannot be said of me, there’s one comfort,” cried Lady Frances.
“If I’m not married, ‘tis not my fault; but my papa’s, who, to _make an
eldest son_, left me only a poor 5000_l._ portion. What a shame to rob
daughters for sons, as the grandees do! I wish it had pleased Heaven
to have made me the daughter of an honest merchant, who never thinks of
this impertinence: then with my plum or plums, I might have chosen
the first spend-thrift lord in the land, or, may be, I might have been
blessed with an offer from that paragon of perfection, Lord William
----. Do you know what made him such a paragon of perfection? His elder
brother’s falling sick, and being like to die. Now, if the brother
should recover, adieu to my Lord William’s perfections.”
“Not in the opinion of all,” said Lady Jane. “Lord William was a
favourite of mine, and I saw his merit long ago, and shall see it,
whether his elder brother die or recover.”
“At all events,” continued Lady Frances, “he will be a paragon, you will
see, only till he is married, and then--
‘How shall I your true love know
From any other man?’
“By-the-bye, the other day, Lord William, in flying from the chase of
matrons, in his fright (he always looks like a frightened hare, poor
creature!) took refuge between you two ladies. Seriously, Lady Jane, do
you know I think you _manage_ vastly well for your protégée--you are not
so _broad_ as Mrs. Falconer.”
“_Broad!_ I beg your ladyship’s pardon for repeating your word,” cried
Lady Jane, looking quite angry, and feeling too angry to parry, as she
usually did, with wit: “I really don’t understand your ladyship.”
“Then I must wish your ladyship a good morning, for I’ve no time or
talents for explanation,” said Lady Frances, running off, delighted to
have produced a sensation.
Lady Jane rang for her carriage, and made no observations on what had
passed. But in the evening she declared that she would not take Lady
Frances Arlington out with her any more, that her ladyship’s spirits
were too much for her. “Besides, my dear Caroline, when she is with you,
I never hear you speak a word--you leave it entirely to her ladyship.
After all, she is, if you observe, a perfectly selfish creature.”
Lady Jane recollected various instances of this.
“She merely makes a tool of me--my carriage, my servants, my time,
myself, always to be at her service, whenever the aunt-duchess cannot,
or will not, do her ladyship’s behests. For the slightest errand she
could devise, she would send me to the antipodes; bid me fetch her a
toothpick from the farthest inch of the city. Well! I could pardon all
the trouble she gives for her fancies, if she would take any trouble
for others in return. No--ask her to do the least thing for you, and she
tells you, she’d be very glad, but she does not know how; or, she
would do it this minute, but that she has not time; or, she would have
remembered it certainly, but that she forgot it.”
Caroline admitted that Lady Frances was thoughtless and giddy, but she
hoped not incurably selfish, as Lady Jane now seemed to suppose.
“Pardon me, she is incurably selfish. Her childishness made me excuse
her for a great while: I fancied she was so giddy that she could not
remember any thing; but I find she never forgets any thing on which she
has set her own foolish head. Giddy! I can’t bear people who are too
giddy to think of any body but themselves.”
Caroline endeavoured to excuse her ladyship, by saying that, by all
accounts, she had been educated in a way that must make her selfish.
“Idolized, and spoiled, I think you told me she was?”
“True, very likely; let her mother, or her grandmother, settle that
account--I am not to blame, and I will not suffer for it. You know, if
we entered like your father into the question of education, we might
go back to Adam and Eve, and find nobody to blame but them. In the mean
time, I will not take Lady Frances Arlington out with me any more--on
this point I am determined; for, suppose I forgave her selfishness
and childishness, and _all that_, why should I be subject to her
impertinence? She has been suffered to say whatever comes into her head,
and to think it wit. Now, as far as I am concerned, I will teach her
better.”
Caroline, who always saw the best side of characters, pleaded her
freedom from art and dissimulation.
“My dear Caroline, she is not half so free from dissimulation as you are
from envy and jealousy. She is always in your way, and you never see
it. I can’t bear to hear you defend her, when I know she would and does
sacrifice you at any time and at all times to her own amusement. But
she shall not stand in your light--for you are a generous, unsuspicious
creature. Lady Frances shall never go out with me again--and I have
just thought of an excellent way of settling that matter. I’ll change my
coach for a vis-à-vis, which will carry only two.”
This Lady Jane, quick and decided, immediately accomplished; she adhered
to her resolution, and never did take Lady Frances Arlington out with
her more.
Returning from a party this evening--a party where they met Lord
William, who had sat beside Caroline at supper--Lady Jane began to
reproach her with having been unusually reserved and silent.
Caroline said she was not conscious of this.
“I hope and trust I am not too broad,” continued Lady Jane, with a very
proud and proper look; “but I own, I think there is as much indelicacy
in a young lady’s hanging back too much as in her coming too forward.
And gentlemen are apt to over-rate their consequence as much, if they
find you are afraid to speak to them, as if you were to talk--like Miss
Falconer herself.”
Caroline assented fully to the truth of this remark; assured Lady Jane
that she had not intentionally hung back or been reserved; that she had
no affectation of this sort. In a word, she promised to exert herself
more in conversation, since Lady Jane desired it.
“I do wish it, my dear: you don’t _get on_--there’s no _getting you on_.
You certainly do not talk enough to gentlemen when they sit beside you.
It will be observed.”
“Then, ma’am, I hope it will be observed too,” said Caroline, smiling,
“that the gentlemen do not talk to me.”
“No matter--you should find something to say to them--you have plenty of
gold, but no ready change about you. Now, as Lord Chesterfield tells us,
you know, that will never do.”
Caroline was perfectly sensible of this--she knew she was deficient in
the sort of conversation of the moment, requisite for fine company and
public places.
“But when I have nothing to say, is not it better for me to say nothing,
ma’am?”
“No, my dear--half the world are in that predicament; but would it mend
our condition to reduce our parties to quakers’ silent meetings? My
dear, you must condescend to talk, without saying any thing--and you
must bear to hear and say the same words a hundred times over; and
another thing, my dear Caroline--I wish you could cure yourself of
looking fatigued. You will never be thought agreeable, unless you can
endure, without showing that you are tired, the most stupid people
extant--”
Caroline smiled, and said she recollected her father’s telling her that
“the Prince de Ligne, the most agreeable man of his day, declared that
his secret depended, not on his wit or talents for conversation, but on
his power of concealing the ennui he felt in stupid company.”
“Well, my dear, _I_ tell you so, as well as the Prince de Ligne, and let
me see that you benefit by it to-morrow.”
The next night they went to a large party at a very fine lady’s. It was
dull, but Caroline did her best to look happy, and exerted herself to
talk to please Lady Jane, who, from her card-table, from time to time,
looked at her, nodded and smiled. When they got into their carriage,
Lady Jane, before she had well drawn up the glass, began to praise her
for her performance this evening. “Really, my dear, you got on very well
to-night; and I hear Miss Caroline Percy is very agreeable. And, shall
I tell you who told me so?--No; that would make you too vain. But I’ll
leave you to sleep upon what has been said--to-morrow you shall hear
more.”
The next morning, Caroline had stolen away from visitors, and quietly
in her own room was endeavouring to proceed in her copy of the miniature
for Mr. Gresham, when Lady Jane came into her apartment, with a letter
and its cover in her hand. “A letter in which you, Caroline, are deeply
concerned.”
A sudden hope darted across Caroline’s imagination and illuminated her
countenance. As suddenly it vanished, when she saw on the cover of the
letter, no foreign post-mark, no foreign hand--but a hand unknown to
her.
“Deeply concerned! How can I--how--how am I concerned in this, ma’am?”
she asked--with difficulty commanding her voice to articulate the words.
“Only a proposal for you, my dear,” said Lady Jane, smiling: “not a
proposal for which you need blush, as you’ll see if you’ll read.”
But observing that Caroline was not at this moment capable of reading,
without seeming to notice the tremor of her hand, and that she was
holding the letter upside down before her eyes, Lady Jane, with kind
politeness, passed on to the picture at which her young friend had been
at work, and stooping to examine the miniature with her glass, made some
observations on the painting, and gave Caroline time to recover. Nor
did her ladyship look up till Caroline exclaimed, “John Clay!--English
Clay!”
“Yes--Clay, of Clay-hall, as Mrs. Falconer would say. You see, my love,
I told you truly, it was no blushing matter. I am sorry I startled
you by my abruptness. _Surprises_ are generally ill-judged--and always
ill-bred. Acquit me, I beseech you, of all but thoughtlessness,” said
Lady Jane, sitting down by Caroline, and kindly taking her hand: “I hope
you know I am not Mrs. Falconer.”
“I do, indeed,” said Caroline, pressing her hand: “I feel all your
kindness, all your politeness.”
“Of course, I knew that a proposal from Clay, of Clay-hall, would be
to you--just what it is to me,” said Lady Jane. “I hope you cannot
apprehend that, for the sake of his seven or ten thousand, whatever he
has per annum, I should press such a match upon you, Caroline? No, no,
you are worth something much better.”
“Thank you, my dear Lady Jane,” cried Caroline, embracing her with warm
gratitude.
“Why, child, you could not think me so--merely mercenary. No; touch
me upon family, or fashion--any of my aristocratic prejudices as your
father calls them--and I might, perhaps, be a little peremptory. But
John Clay is a man just risen from the ranks, lately promoted from being
a manufacturer’s son, to be a subaltern in good company, looking to
rise another step by purchase: no, no--a Percy could not accept such an
offer--no loss of fortune could justify such a _mésalliance_. Such was
my first feeling, and I am sure yours, when you read at the bottom of
this awkwardly folded epistle, ‘Your ladyship’s most devoted, &c. John
Clay’--”
“I believe I had no feeling, but pure surprise,” said Caroline. “I
scarcely think Mr. Clay can be in earnest--for, to the best of my
recollection, he never spoke five words to me in his life!”
“English Clay, my dear. Has not he said every thing in one word?--I
should have been a little surprised, but that I have been seeing this
good while the _dessous des cartes_. Don’t flatter yourself that love
for you offers Clay-hall--no; but hatred to Mrs. and Miss Falconer.
There have been quarrels upon quarrels, and poor Lady Trant in the
middle of them, unable to get out--and John Clay swearing he is not to
be _taken in_--and Miss Falconer buffeting Lady Trant with the willow
he left on her brows--and Mrs. Falconer smiling through the whole, and
keeping the secret, which every body knows: in short, my dear, ‘tis not
worth explaining to you--but John Clay certainly hopes to complete the
mortification of the Falconers by giving himself to you. Besides, you
are in fashion. Too much has been said about him--I’m tired of him.
Write your answer, my dear--or I’m to write, am I? Well, give me some
gilt paper--let us do the thing properly.” Properly the thing was
done--the letter folded, not awkwardly, was sealed and sent, Caroline
delighted with Lady Jane, and Lady Jane delighted with herself.
“So there’s an end of that matter,” said Lady Jane. “I saw how it would
be long ago; but I was glad you saw nothing of it, lest you should
not have let it come to a declaration. A refusal is always creditable;
therefore, I own, I should have been mortified, if the season had passed
without your having one proposal. But now you have nothing to be ashamed
of--you’ve killed your man--and I hope and trust I shall live to see you
kill another.”
Caroline laughed, but said she was glad Lady Jane was not one of those
who count refusals as so many proofs of a young lady’s merit; for her
own part, she acknowledged she was inclined to think that they were
sometimes proofs rather of coquetry and duplicity.
Lady Jane hesitated, and said she did not see this--she could not agree
to this.
The conversation went on till her ladyship and Caroline came to a
complete opposition of opinion on a principle, which, though it was only
stated in general, and in the abstract, her ladyship defended with an
urgency, and Caroline resisted with a steadiness, which are seldom
shown about any merely speculative point, unless there is some secret
apprehension of their being soon reduced to practice.
Lady Jane asserted that “a woman should always let an attachment come
to a declaration, before she permits a man to see her mind, even though
determined upon a refusal.”
Caroline thought this would be using the man ill.
Lady Jane maintained that it would be using him much worse to refuse him
before he asked.
“But without refusing,” Caroline said that “a gentleman might be led to
perceive when he was not likely to be accepted, and thus would be saved
the pain and humiliation of a rejected proposal.”
“It was not a young lady’s first business to think of that--her first
duty was to do what was right and proper for herself,” Lady Jane said.
“Certainly; but the very question is, what is right and proper?”
“To give a distinct answer when a distinct question is asked, neither
more nor less,” said Lady Jane. “Caroline, on these subjects you must
trust to one who knows the world, to tell you the opinion of the world.
A woman is safe, and cannot be blamed by friend or foe, if she adhere
to the plain rule, ‘Stay till you are asked.’ Till a gentleman thinks
proper, in form, to declare his attachment, nothing can be more
indelicate than for a lady to see it.”
“Or, in some cases, more disingenuous, more cruel, than to pretend to be
blind to it.”
“Cruel!--Cruel is a word of the last century, or the century before the
last. Cruelty is never heard of now, my dear--gentlemen’s hearts don’t
break in these our days; or suppose an odd heart should break, if the
lady is treating it according to rule, she is not to blame. Why did
not the proud tongue speak? Whatever happens, she is acquitted by the
world.”
“And by her own conscience? Surely not, if she deceive, and injure by
deception.”
Lady Jane warmly repeated that she knew the world--that at her time of
life she ought to know the world--and that she was certain any line of
conduct but that which she had pointed out would expose a woman to the
charge of indelicacy, and perhaps of impertinence.
These were heavy charges, Caroline felt; but she thought that, when not
deserved, they could be borne better than self-reproaches for the want
of candour and truth.
Lady Jane observed, that, in the catalogue of female virtues, delicacy
must have the foremost place.
Caroline made a distinction between real delicacy and punctilio.
Lady Jane was inclined to call it a distinction without a difference.
She, however, more prudently said, that punctilio was necessary as the
guard of female delicacy.
Undoubtedly; but the greater virtue should not be sacrificed to the
less. Truth and sincerity, Caroline thought, must be classed among the
highest virtues of woman, as well as of man, and she hoped they were
perfectly consistent with the utmost feminine modesty. She asked
whether, after all, the plea of delicacy and punctilio was not sometimes
used to conceal the real motives? Perhaps ladies, in pretending to
be too delicate to see a gentleman’s sentiments, were often, in fact,
gratifying their own vanity, and urging him to that declaration which
was to complete the female triumph.
Lady Jane grew angry: but, fearing lest Caroline should perceive that
she had some particular object in view--doubtful whether Caroline knew,
or did not know, her aim--and farther, having a secret hope, that,
like other young ladies who support fine sentiments about love and
generosity, in conversation, she might, when it came to the test, forget
them, her ladyship urged her opinion no farther.
Indeed, she candidly acknowledged, that much might be said on Caroline’s
side of the question--and there the matter ended.