The spell was upon him, and he could not articulate--a dead silence might have ensued, but that Lady Jane happily went on saying something about pine-apple ice. Lord William a.s.sented implicitly, without knowing to what, and replied, "Just so--exactly so--" to contradictory a.s.sertions; and if he had been asked at this instant whether what he was eating was hot or cold, he could not have been able to decide. Lady Jane composedly took a biscuit, and enjoyed the pa.s.sing scene, observing that this was the pleasantest party she had been at this season.

Mrs. Crabstock came up, and Lady Jane, with wit at will, kept the pattern-lady in play by an opportunely-recollected tale of scandal; with ears delighted, eyes riveted, stood Mrs. Crabstock, while Lord William, again relieved from the fear of observation, breathed once more; and, partly recovering his senses, through the mist that hung over him, looked at Caroline, in hopes of drawing some encouraging omen from her countenance. He had come to this party determined to say something that should explain to her his sentiments. He thought he could speak to her better in a crowd than alone. Now or never! said he to himself. With desperate effort, and with an oppressed voice, he said--the very thing he did not mean to say.

"Miss Percy, I never was so inclined in all my life to quarrel with ease of manner in any body as in you." Then, correcting himself, and blushing deeply, he added, "I don't mean that I don't admire your ease of manner in general--but--in short, it is impossible, I think, that with your penetration, you can be in any doubt as to my sentiments. If I thought--"

He stopped short: he felt as if his life hung upon a thread--as if the first look, the first sound of her voice, the next word spoken, must decide his fate. He longed, yet feared to see that look, and to hear that word. "And I think it is impossible that, with your lordship's penetration, you should mistake mine," said Caroline.

There was an ingenuous sweetness in her look and voice, a fear of giving pain, yet a resolution to be sincere. Lord William felt and understood it all. He saw there was no hope. Caroline heard from him a deep sigh. With great and painful emotion, in the most calm voice she could command, but in the kindest tone, she added, "For the sentiments of regard and esteem your lordship has expressed for me, believe me, I am truly grateful."

Mrs. Crabstock moved towards them, and Caroline paused.

"Are you to be at Lady Arrowsmith's concert to-morrow, my lord?" said Mrs. Crabstock, who was now at liberty to ask questions; for even scandal will not hold curiosity in check for ever.

"Are you to be at Lady Arrowsmith's, my lord, to-morrow night?" repeated she, for her first attack was unheard.

"I do not know, indeed," said he, starting from his fit of absence.

Mrs. Crabstock persisted. "Were you at the opera last night, my lord?"

"I really, ma'am, do not recollect."

"Bless me!" cried Mrs. Crabstock.

And "Bless me!" cried Lady Jane Granville. "We are to be at the d.u.c.h.ess of Greenwich's ball: Caroline, my dear--time for us to move. My lord, might I trouble your lordship to ask if our carriage is to be had?"

Lord William, before she had completed the request, obeyed. As they went down the staircase, Lady Jane laughing said, "I am afraid I shall be as impertinently curious as Mrs. Crabstock--I was going to ask your lordship whether you are engaged to-morrow, or whether you can come to us--to me?"

"_Unhappily_," the accent on the word showed it was no expression of course. "Unhappily I cannot--I am engaged--I thank your ladyship."

Lady Jane looked back at Caroline, who was a little behind her.

"Though I could not recollect in time to tell Mrs. Crabstock where I was last night, or where I am to be to-morrow," continued his lordship, making an effort to smile, "yet I _can_ satisfy your ladyship--I shall be at Tunbridge."

"Tunbridge!" cried Lady Jane, stopping short, and turning to Lord William, as the light shone full on his face: "Tunbridge, at this season?"

"All seasons are alike to me--all seasons and their change," replied Lord William, scarcely knowing what he answered--the powers of mind and body engrossed in suppressing emotion.

They had now reached the bottom of the stairs--a shawl of Lady Jane's was not to be found; and while the servants were searching for it, she and Caroline, followed by Lord William, went into one of the supper-rooms, which was open.

"To Tunbridge!" repeated Lady Jane. "No, my lord, you must not leave us."

"What is there to prevent me?" said Lord William, hastily, almost harshly; for though at the time he felt her kindness, yet, irresistibly under the power of his demon, he said the thing he did not mean: his voice and look expressed the reverse of what his heart felt.

"Nay, if there is nothing to prevent your lordship," said Lady Jane, walking away with dignity, "I have only to wish your lordship a good journey."

"I would stay, if I could see any thing to keep me," said Lord William, impelled, contrary to his better judgment, to appeal once more to Caroline's countenance. Then cursed himself for his weakness.

Lady Jane, turning back, saw his lordship's look; and now, convinced that Caroline was to blame for all, reproached herself for misinterpreting his words and manner.

"Well, my lord," cried she, "you will not be in such haste to set out for Tunbridge, I am sure, as to go before you hear from me in the morning. Perhaps I may trouble your lordship with some commands."

He bowed, and said he should do himself the honour of waiting her ladyship's commands. She pa.s.sed on quickly towards the hall. Lord William offered his arm to Caroline.

"I must speak to you, Miss Percy--and have but a moment--"

Caroline walked more slowly.

"Thank you, madam--yes, I _do_ thank you. Much pain you have given; but as little as you could. Better now than later. Like yourself--and I thank you for preserving the idea of excellence in my mind in all its integrity--in all--I shall detain you but a moment--you are not impatient?"

"No," said Caroline, in a tremulous voice; yet for his sake, as well as for the sake of her own consistency, trying to suppress emotion which she thought he might misinterpret.

"Fear not--I shall not misinterpret--I know too well what love is. Speak freely of my sentiments to Lady Jane, when I am gone--her friendship deserves it from me."

He stopped speaking. "Stay," said Caroline. "It may give your n.o.ble mind some ease to know that my heart was engaged before we ever met."

He was silent. It was the silence of deep feeling. They came within view of the servants--he walked quietly to the carriage--a.s.sisted her into it, pressed her hand--and said in a low voice, "Farewell--for ever."

The carriage-door was shut.

"Where to, my lady?" said the footman.

"The d.u.c.h.ess of Greenwich's, or home, Caroline?"

"Oh! home, if I may choose," said Caroline.

"Home!" said Lady Jane.

And the moment the gla.s.s was up, "Caroline, my dear, tell me this instant, what is all this between you and Lord William?--Is it as I hope?--or, is it as I fear?--speak."

Caroline could not--she was in tears.

"What have you done?--If you have said any thing irrevocable, and without consulting me, I never, never will forgive you, Caroline. Speak, at all events."

Caroline tried to obey her ladyship.

"What have you done?--What have you said?"

"I have said the truth--I have done, I hope, what I ought," said Caroline; "but I have given great pain--"

Lady Jane now perceiving by her voice that she was in sorrow, spoke no more in anger; but, checking herself, and changing her tone, said, "It is not irremediable, my dear. Whatever pain you may have given, you know the power to give pleasure is still in your own hands."

Caroline sighed--"Alas! no, madam, it is not."

"Why so, my love? He will not leave town in the morning without my commands; and I am at your command. A note, a line, a word, will set all to rights."

"But that word I _cannot_ say."

"Then let me say it for you. Trust your delicacy to me--I will be dignity itself. Can you doubt it? Believe me, much as I wish to see you what and where you ought to be in society, I would not--there it is, begging Lady Frances Arlington's pardon, that Mrs. Falconer and I differ in character essentially, and _de fond en comble_. I would never yield a point of real delicacy; I would not descend the thousandth part of a degree from proper dignity, to make you--any more than to make myself--a princess. And now, without reserve, open your heart, and tell me what you wish to have done or said."