"What a relief!--I thought I should never get away!" Then, favoured by a loud bravura of Lady Katrine's, he went on--"That beauty, between you and me, is something of a bore--she--I don't mean the lady who is now screaming--she should always sing. Heaven blessed her with song, not sense--but here one is made so fastidious!"

He sighed, and for some moments seemed to be given up to the duet which Lady Katrine and an officer were performing; and then exclaimed, but so that Helen only could hear,--"Merciful Heaven! how often one wishes one had no ears: that Captain Jones must be the son of Stentor, and that lady!--if angels sometimes saw themselves in a looking-gla.s.s when singing--there would be peace upon earth."

Helen, not liking to be the secret receiver of his contraband good things, was rising to change her place, when softly detaining her, he said, "Do not be afraid, no danger--trust me, for I have studied under Talma."

"What can you mean?"

"I mean," continued he, "that Talma taught me the secret of his dying scenes--how every syllable of his dying words might be heard to the furthest part of the audience; and I--give me credit for my ingenuity--know how, by reversing the art, to be perfectly inaudible at ten paces' distance, and yet, I trust, perfectly intelligible, always, to you."

Helen now rose decidedly, and retreated to a table at the other side of the room, and turned over some books that lay there--she took up a volume of the novel Lady Castlefort had been reading--"Love unquestionable." She was surprised to find it instantly, gently, but decidedly drawn from her hand: she looked up--it was Beauclerc.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Stanley, but----"

"Thank you! thank you!" said Helen; "you need not beg my pardon."

This was the first time Beauclerc had spoken in his friendly, cordial, natural manner, to her, since their incomprehensible misunderstanding.

She was heartily glad it was over, and that he was come to himself again. And now they conversed very happily together for some time; though what they said might not be particularly worth recording. Lady Katrine was at Helen's elbow before she perceived her "looking for her sac;" and Lady Castlefort came for her third volume, and gliding off, wished to all--"_Felice, felicissima notte_."

Neither of these sisters had ever liked Helen; she was too true for the one, and too good-natured for the other. Lady Katrine had always, even when she was quite a child, been jealous of Lady Cecilia's affection for Helen; and now her indignation and disappointment were great at finding her established at Clarendon Park--to live with the Clarendons, to _go out_ with Lady Cecilia. Now, it had been the plan of both sisters, that Lady Katrine's present visit should be eternal. How they would ever have managed to fasten her ladyship upon the General, even if Helen had been out of the question, need not now be considered. Their disappointment and dislike to Helen were as great as if she had been the only obstacle to the fulfilment of their scheme.

These two sisters had never agreed--

--"Doom'd by Fate To live in all the elegance of hate;"

and since Lady Castlefort's marriage, the younger, the beautiful being now the successful lady of the ascendant, the elder writhed in all the combined miseries of jealousy and dependance, and an everyday lessening chance of bettering her condition. Lord Castlefort, too, for good reasons of his own, well remembered, detested Lady Katrine, and longed to shake her off. In this wish, at least, husband and wife united; but Lady Castlefort had no decent excuse for her ardent impatience to get rid of her sister. She had magnificent houses in town and country, ample room everywhere--but in her heart. She had the smallest heart conceivable, and the coldest; but had it been ever so large, or ever so warm, Lady Katrine was surely not the person to get into it, or into any heart, male or female: there was the despair. "If Katrine was but married--Mr. Churchill, suppose?"

Faint was the _suppose_ in Lady Castlefort's imagination. Not so the hope which rose in Lady Katrine's mind the moment she saw him here. "How fortunate!" Her ladyship had now come to that no particular age, when a remarkable metaphysical phenomenon occurs; on one particular subject hope increases as all probability of success decreases. This aberration of intellect is usually observed to be greatest in very clever women; while Mr. Churchill, the flattered object of her present hope, knew how to manage with great innocence and modesty, and draw her on to overt acts of what is called flirtation.

Rousseau says that a man is always awkward and miserable when placed between two women to whom he is making love. But Rousseau had never seen Mr. Churchill, and had but an imperfect idea of the dexterity, the ambiguity, that in our days can be successfully practised by an accomplished male coquette. Absolutely to blind female jealousy may be beyond his utmost skill; but it is easy, as every day's practice shows, to keep female vanity pleasantly perplexed by ocular deception--to make her believe that what she really sees she does not see, and that what is unreal is reality: to make her, to the amus.e.m.e.nt of the spectators, continually stretch out her hand to s.n.a.t.c.h the visionary good that for ever eludes her grasp, or changes, on near approach, to grinning mockery.

This delightful game was now commenced with Lady Katrine, and if Helen could be brought to take a s.n.a.t.c.h, it would infinitely increase the interest and amus.e.m.e.nt of the lookers on. Of this, however, there seemed little chance; but the evil eye of envy was set upon her, and the demon of jealousy was longing to work her woe.

Lady Castlefort saw with scornful astonishment that Mr. Beauclerc's eyes, sometimes when she was speaking, or when she was singing, would stray to that part of the room where Miss Stanley might be; and when she was speaking to him, he was wonderfully absent. Her ladyship rallied him, while Lady Katrine, looking on, cleared her throat in her horrid way, and longed for an opportunity to discomfit Helen, which supreme pleasure her ladyship promised herself upon the first convenient occasion,--convenient meaning when Lady Davenant was out of the room; for Lady Katrine, though urged by prompting jealousy, dared not attack her when under cover of that protection. From long habit, even her sarcastic nature stood in awe of a certain power of moral indignation, which had at times flashed upon her, and of which she had a sort of superst.i.tious dread, as of an incomprehensible, incalculable power.

But temper will get the better of all prudence. Piqued by some little preference which Lady Cecilia had shown to Helen's taste in the choice of the colour of a dress, an occasion offered of signalising her revenge, which could not be resisted. It was a question to be publicly decided, whether blue, green, or white should be adopted for the ladies'

uniform at an approaching _fete_. She was deputed to collect the votes.

All the company were a.s.sembled; Lady Davenant, out of the circle, as it was a matter that concerned her not, was talking to the gentlemen apart.

Lady Katrine went round canva.s.sing. "Blue, green, or white? say blue, _pray_." But when she came to Helen, she made a full stop, asked no question--preferred no prayer, but after fixing attention by her pause, said, "I need not ask Miss Stanley's vote or opinion, as I know my cousin's, and with Miss Stanley it is always 'I say ditto to Lady Cecilia;' therefore, to save trouble, I always count two for Cecilia--one for herself and one for her _double_."

"Right, Lady Katrine Hawksby," cried a voice from afar, which made her start; "you are quite right to consider Helen Stanley as my daughter's double, for my daughter loves and esteems her as her second self--her better self. In this sense Helen is Lady Cecilia's double, but if you mean----"

"Bless me! I don't know what I meant, I declare. I could not have conceived that Lady Davenant----Miss Stanley, I beg a thousand million of pardons."

Helen, with anxious good-nature, pardoned before she was asked, and hastened to pa.s.s on to the business of the day, but Lady Davenant would not so let it pa.s.s; her eye still fixed she pursued the quailing enemy--"One word more. In justice to my daughter, I must say her love has not been won by flattery, as none knows better than the Lady Katrine Hawksby."

The unkindest cut of all, and on the tenderest part. Lady Katrine could not stand it. Conscious and trembling, she broke through the circle, fled into the conservatory, and, closing the doors behind her, would not be followed by Helen, Cecilia, or any body.

Lady Castlefort sighed, and first breaking the silence that ensued, said, "'Tis such a pity that Katrine will always so let her wit run away with her--it brings her so continually into----for my part, in all humility I must confess, I can't help thinking that, what with its being unfeminine and altogether so incompatible with what in general is thought amiable--I cannot but consider wit in a woman as a real misfortune. What say the gentlemen? they must decide, gentlemen being always the best judges."

With an appealing tone of interrogation she gracefully looked up to the gentlemen; and after a glance towards Granville Beauclerc, unluckily unnoticed or unanswered, her eyes expected reply from Horace Churchill.

He, well feeling the predicament in which he stood, between a fool and a _femme d'esprit_, answered, with his ambiguous smile, "that no doubt it was a great misfortune to have '_plus d'esprit qu'on ne sait mener_.'"

"This is a misfortune," said Lady Davenant, "that may be deplored for a great genius once in an age, but is really rather of uncommon occurrence. People complain of wit where, nine times in ten, poor wit is quite innocent; but such is the consequence of having kept bad company.

Wit and ill-nature having been too often found together, when we see one we expect the other; and such an inseparable false a.s.sociation has been formed, that half the world take it for granted that there is wit if they do but see ill-nature."

At this moment Mr. Mapletofft, the secretary, entered with his face full of care, and his hands full of papers. Lady Katrine needed not to feign or feel any further apprehensions of Lady Davenant; for, an hour afterwards, it was announced that Lord and Lady Davenant were obliged to set off for town immediately. In the midst of her hurried preparations Lady Davenant found a moment to comfort Helen with the a.s.surance that, whatever happened, she would see her again. It might end in Lord Davenant's emba.s.sy being given up. At all events she would see her again--she hoped in a few weeks, perhaps in a few days. "So no leave-takings, my dear child, and no tears--it is best as it is. On my return let me find----"

"Lord Davenant's waiting, my lady," and she hurried away.

CHAPTER IV.

Absent or present, the guardian influence of a superior friend is one of the greatest blessings on earth, and after Lady Davenant's departure Helen was so full of all she had said to her, and of all that she would approve or disapprove, that every action, almost every thought, was under the influence of her friend's mind. Continually she questioned her motives as well as examined her actions, and she could not but condemn some of her conduct, or if not her conduct, her manner, towards Horace Churchill; she had been flattered by his admiration, and had permitted his attentions more than she ought, when her own mind was perfectly made up as to his character. Ever since the affair of the poetess, she had been convinced that she could never make the happiness or redeem the character of one so mean.

According to the ladies' code, a woman is never to understand that a gentleman's attentions mean anything more than common civility; she is supposed never to see his mind, however he may make it visible, till he declares it in words. But, as Helen could not help understanding his manner, she thought it was but fair to make him understand her by her manner. She was certain that if he were once completely convinced, not only that he had not made any impression, but that he never could make any impression, on her heart, his pursuit would cease. His vanity, mortified, might revenge itself upon her, perhaps; but this was a danger which she thought she ought to brave; and now she resolved to be quite sincere, as she said to herself, at whatever hazard (probably meaning at the hazard of displeasing Cecilia) she would make her own sentiments clear, and put an end to Mr. Churchill's ambiguous conduct: and this should be done on the very first opportunity.

An opportunity soon occurred--Horace had a beautiful little topaz ring with which Lady Katrine Hawksby fell into raptures; such a charming device!--Cupid and Momus making the world their plaything.

It was evident that Lady Katrine expected that the seal should be presented to her. Besides being extravagantly fond of baubles, she desired to have this homage from Horace. To her surprise and mortification, however, he was only quite flattered by her approving of his taste:--it was his favourite seal, and so "he kept the topaz, and the rogue was bit."

Lady Katrine was the more mortified by this failure, because it was witnessed by many of the company, among whom, when she looked round, she detected smiles of provoking intelligence. Soon afterwards the dressing-bell rang and she quitted the room; one after another every one dropped off, except Helen, who was finishing a letter, and Horace, who stood on the hearth playing with his seal. When she came to sealing-time, he approached and besought her to honour him by the acceptance of this little seal. "If he could obliterate Momus--if he could leave only Cupid, it would be more appropriate. But it was a device invented for him by a French friend, and he hoped she would pardon his folly, and think only of his love!"

This was said so that it might pa.s.s either for mere jest or for earnest; his look expressed very sentimental love, and Helen seized the moment to explain herself decidedly.

It was a surprise--a great surprise to Mr. Churchill, a severe disappointment, not only to his vanity but to his heart, for he had one.

It was some comfort, however, that he had not quite committed himself, and he recovered--even in the moment of disappointment he recovered himself time enough dexterously to turn the tables upon Helen.

He thanked her for her candour--for her great care of his happiness, in antic.i.p.ating a danger which might have been so fatal to him; but he really was not aware that he had said anything which required so serious an answer.

Afterwards he amused himself with Lady Katrine at Miss Stanley's expense, representing himself as in the most pitiable case of Rejected Addresses--rejected before he had offered. He had only been guilty of Folly, and he was brought in guilty of Love.

Poor Helen had to endure not only this persiflage, which was soon made to reach her ear, but also the reproaches of Lady Cecilia, who said, "I should have warned you, Helen, not to irritate that man's relentless vanity; now you see the consequences."

"But, after all, what harm can he do me?" thought Helen. "It is very disagreeable to be laughed at, but still my conscience is satisfied, and that is a happiness that will last; all the rest will soon be over. I am sure I did the thing awkwardly, but I am glad it is done."

Mr. Churchill soon afterwards received an invitation--a command to join a royal party now at some watering-place; an ill.u.s.trious person could not live another day without Horace _le desire_. He showed the note, and acted despair at being compelled to go, and then he departed. To the splendid party he went, and drowned all recollections of whatever love he had felt in the fresh intoxication of vanity--a diurnal stimulus which, however degrading, and he did feel it degrading, was now become necessary to his existence.

His departure from Clarendon Park was openly regretted by Lady Cecilia, while Lady Katrine secretly mourned over the downfall of her projects, and Beauclerc attempted not to disguise his satisfaction.

He was all life and love, and would then certainly have declared his pa.s.sion, but for an extraordinary change which now appeared in Helen's manner towards him. It seemed unaccountable; it could not be absolute caprice, she did not even treat him as a friend, and she evidently avoided explanation. He thought, and thought, and came as near the truth without touching it as possible. He concluded that she had understood his joy at Churchill's departure; that she now clearly perceived his attachment; and was determined against him. Not having the slightest idea that she considered him as a married man, he could not even guess the nature of her feelings. And all the time Helen did not well understand herself; she began to be extremely alarmed at her own feelings--to dread that there was something not quite right. This dread, which had come and gone by fits,--this doubt as to her own sentiments,--was first excited by the death of her dove--Beauclerc's gift. The poor dove was found one morning drowned in the marble vase in which it went to drink. Helen was very sorry--that was surely natural; but she was wonderfully concerned. Lady Katrine scoffingly said; and before everybody, before Beauclerc, worse than all, her ladyship represented to the best of her ability the att.i.tude in which she had found Helen mourning over her misfortune, the dove in her hand pressed close to her bosom--"And in tears--absolutely." She would swear to the tears.

Helen blushed, tried to laugh, and acknowledged it was very foolish.

Well, that pa.s.sed off as only foolish, and she did not at first feel that it was a thing much to be ashamed of in any other way. But she was sorry that Beauclere was by when Lady Katrine mimicked her; most sorry that he should think her foolish. But then did he? His looks expressed tenderness. He was very tender-hearted. Really manly men always are so; and so she observed to Lady Cecilia. Lady Katrine heard the observation, and smiled--her odious smile--implying more than words could say. Helen was not quite clear, however, what it meant to say.