"I am much surprised that you should not have heard of it. The distressing news reached Grey Abbey yesterday, and must have been well known in different circles in Dublin yesterday morning. Considering the great intercourse between Dublin and the Curragh, I wonder you can have been left so long in ignorance of a circ.u.mstance so likely to be widely discussed, and which at one time might have so strongly affected your own interests." Lord Cashel again paused, and looked hard at Frank. He flattered himself that he was reading his thoughts; but he looked as if he had detected a spot on the other's collar, and wanted to see whether it was ink or soot.

Lord Ballindine was, however, confounded. When the earl spoke of "a circ.u.mstance so likely to be widely discussed", Mat Tierney's conversation recurred to him, and Lord Kilcullen's public declaration that f.a.n.n.y Wyndham's match was off.--It was certainly odd for Lord Cashel to call this an occurrence in Miss Wyndham's family, but then, he had a round-about way of saying everything.

"I say," continued the earl, after a short pause, "that I cannot but be surprised that an event of so much importance, of so painful a nature, and, doubtless, already so publicly known, should not before this have reached the ears of one to whom, I presume, Miss Wyndham's name was not always wholly indifferent. But, as you have not heard it, my lord, I will communicate it to you," and again he paused, as though expecting another a.s.surance of Lord Ballindine's ignorance.

"Why, my lord," said Frank, "I did hear a rumour, which surprised me very much, but I could not suppose it to be true. To tell the truth, it was very much in consequence of what I heard that I came to Grey Abbey to-day."

It was now Lord Cashel's turn to be confounded. First, to deny that he had heard anything about it--and then immediately to own that he had heard it, and had been induced to renew his visits to Grey Abbey in consequence! Just what he, in his wisdom, had suspected was the case.

But how could Lord Ballindine have the face to own it?

I must, however, tell the reader the event of which Frank was ignorant, and which, it appears, Lord Cashel is determined not to communicate to him.

f.a.n.n.y Wyndham's father had held a governorship, or some golden appointment in the golden days of India, and consequently had died rich. He left eighty thousand pounds to his son, who was younger than f.a.n.n.y, and twenty to his daughter. His son had lately been put into the Guards, but he was not long spared to enjoy his sword and his uniform.

He died, and his death had put his sister in possession of his money; and Lord Cashel thought that, though Frank might slight twenty thousand pounds, he would be too glad to be allowed to remain the accepted admirer of a hundred thousand.

"I thought you must have heard it, my lord," resumed the senior, as soon as he had collected his shreds of dignity, which Frank's open avowal had somewhat scattered, "I felt certain you must have heard it, and you will, I am sure, perceive that this is no time for you--excuse me if I use a word which may appear harsh--it is no time for any one, not intimately connected with Miss Wyndham by ties of family, to intrude upon her sorrow."

Frank was completely bothered. He thought that if she were so sorrowful, if she grieved so deeply at the match being broken off, that was just the reason why he should see her. After all, it was rather flattering to himself to hear of her sorrows; dear f.a.n.n.y! was she so grieved that she was forced to part from him?

"But, Lord Cashel," he said, "I am ready to do whatever you please.

I'll take any steps you'll advise. But I really cannot see why I'm to be told that the engagement between me and Miss Wyndham is off, without hearing any reason from herself. I'll make any sacrifice you please, or she requires; I'm sure she was attached to me, and she cannot have overcome that affection so soon."

"I have already said that we require--Miss Wyndham requires--no sacrifice from you. The time for sacrifice is past; and I do not think her affection was of such a nature as will long prey on her spirits."

"My affection for her is, I can a.s.sure you--"

"Pray excuse me--but I think this is hardly the time either to talk of, or to show, your affection. Had it been proved to be of a lasting, I fear I must say, a sincere nature, it would now have been most valued.

I will leave yourself to say whether this was the case."

"And so you mean to say, Lord Cashel, that I cannot see Miss Wyndham?"

"a.s.suredly, Lord Ballindine. And I must own, that I hardly appreciate your delicacy in asking to do so at the present moment."

There was something very hard in this. The match was to be broken off without any notice to him; and when he requested, at any rate, to hear this decision from the mouth of the only person competent to make it, he was told that it was indelicate for him to wish to do so. This put his back up.

"Well, my lord," he said with some spirit, "Miss Wyndham is at present your ward, and in your house, and I am obliged to postpone the exercise of the right, to which, at least, I am ent.i.tled, of hearing her decision from her own mouth. I cannot think that she expects I should be satisfied with such an answer as I have now received. I shall write to her this evening, and shall expect at any rate the courtesy of an answer from herself."

"My advice to my ward will be, not to write to you; at any rate for the present. I presume, my lord, you cannot doubt my word that Miss Wyndham chooses to be released from an engagement, which I must say your own conduct renders it highly inexpedient for her to keep."

"I don't doubt your word, of course, Lord Cashel; but such being the case, I think Miss Wyndham might at least tell me so herself."

"I should have thought, Lord Ballindine, that you would have felt that the sudden news of a dearly loved brother's death, was more than sufficient to excuse Miss Wyndham from undergoing an interview which, even under ordinary circ.u.mstances, would be of very doubtful expediency."

"Her brother's death! Good gracious! Is Harry Wyndham dead!"

Frank was so truly surprised--so effectually startled by the news, which he now for the first time heard, that, had his companion possessed any real knowledge of human nature, he would at once have seen that his astonishment was not affected. But he had none, and, therefore, went on blundering in his own pompous manner.

"Yes, my lord, he is dead. I understood you to say that you had already heard it; and, unless my ears deceived me, you explained that his demise was the immediate cause of your present visit. I cannot, however, go so far as to say that I think you have exercised a sound discretion in the matter. In expressing such an opinion, however, I am far from wishing to utter anything which may be irritating or offensive to your feelings."

"Upon my word then, I never heard a word about it till this moment!

Poor Harry! And is f.a.n.n.y much cut up?"

"Miss Wyndham is much afflicted."

"I wouldn't for worlds annoy her, or press on her at such a moment.

Pray tell her, Lord Cashel, how deeply I feel her sorrows: pray tell her this, with my kindest--best compliments."

This termination was very cold--but so was Lord Cashel's face. His lordship had also risen from his chair; and Frank saw it was intended that the interview should end. But he would now have been glad to stay.

He wanted to ask a hundred questions;--how the poor lad had died?

whether he had been long ill?--whether it had been expected? But he saw that he must go; so he rose and putting out his hand which Lord Cashel just touched, he said,

"Good bye, my lord. I trust, after a few months are gone by, you may see reason to alter the opinion you have expressed respecting your ward. Should I not hear from you before then, I shall again do myself the honour of calling at Grey Abbey; but I will write to Miss Wyndham before I do so."

Lord Cashel had the honour of wishing Lord Ballindine a very good morning, and of bowing him to the door; and so the interview ended.

XII. f.a.n.n.y WYNDHAM

When Lord Cashel had seen Frank over the mat which lay outside his study door, and that there was a six foot servitor to open any other door through which he might have to pa.s.s, he returned to his seat, and, drawing his chair close to the fire, began to speculate on f.a.n.n.y and her discarded lover.

He was very well satisfied with himself, and with his own judgment and firmness in the late conversation. It was very evident that Frank had heard of Harry Wyndham's death, and of f.a.n.n.y's great accession of wealth; that he had immediately determined that the heiress was no longer to be neglected, and that he ought to strike while the iron was hot: hence his visit to Grey Abbey. His pretended ignorance of the young man's death, when he found he could not see Miss Wyndham, was a ruse; but an old bird like Lord Cashel was not to be caught with chaff.

And then, how indelicate of him to come and press his suit immediately after news of so distressing a nature had reached Miss Wyndham! How very impolitic, thought Lord Cashel, to show such a hurry to take possession of the fortune!--How completely he had destroyed his own game. And then, other thoughts pa.s.sed through his mind. His ward had now one hundred thousand pounds clear, which was, certainly, a great deal of ready money. Lord Cashel had no younger sons; but his heir, Lord Kilcullen, was an expensive man, and owed, he did not exactly know, and was always afraid to ask, how much. He must marry soon, or he would be sure to go to the devil. He had been living with actresses and opera-dancers quite long enough for his own respectability; and, if he ever intended to be such a pattern to the country as his father, it was now time for him to settle down. And Lord Cashel bethought himself that if he could persuade his son to marry f.a.n.n.y Wyndham and pay his debts with her fortune--(surely he couldn't owe more than a hundred thousand pounds?)--he would be able to give them a very handsome allowance to live on.

To do Lord Cashel justice, we must say that he had fully determined that it was his duty to break off the match between Frank and his ward, before he heard of the accident which had so enriched her. And f.a.n.n.y herself, feeling slighted and neglected--knowing how near to her her lover was, and that nevertheless he never came to see her--hearing his name constantly mentioned in connection merely with horses and jockeys--had been induced to express her acquiescence in her guardian's views, and to throw poor Frank overboard. In all this the earl had been actuated by no mercenary views, as far as his own immediate family was concerned. He had truly and justly thought that Lord Ballindine, with his limited fortune and dissipated habits, was a bad match for his ward; and he had, consequently, done his best to break the engagement.

There could, therefore, he thought, be nothing unfair in his taking advantage of the prudence which he had exercised on her behalf. He did not know, when he was persuading her to renounce Lord Ballindine, that, at that moment, her young, rich, and only brother, was lying at the point of death. He had not done it for his own sake, or Lord Kilcullen's; there could, therefore, be nothing unjust or ungenerous in their turning to their own account the two losses, that of her lover and her brother, which had fallen on Miss Wyndham at the same time. If he, as her guardian, would have been wrong to allow Lord Ballindine to squander her twenty thousands, he would be so much the more wrong to let him make ducks and drakes of five times as much. In this manner he quieted his conscience as to his premeditated absorption of his ward's fortune. It was true that Lord Kilcullen was a heartless roue, whereas Lord Ballindine was only a thoughtless rake; but then, Lord Kilcullen would be an earl, and a peer of parliament, and Lord Ballindine was only an Irish viscount. It was true that, in spite of her present anger, f.a.n.n.y dearly loved Lord Ballindine, and was dearly loved by him; and that Lord Kilcullen was not a man to love or be loved; but then, the Kelly's Court rents--what were they to the Grey Abbey rents? Not a twentieth part of them! And, above all, Lord Kilcullen's vices were filtered through the cleansing medium of his father's partiality, and Lord Ballindine's faults were magnified by the cautious scruples of f.a.n.n.y's guardian.

The old man settled, therefore, in his own mind, that f.a.n.n.y should be his dear daughter, and the only difficulty he expected to encounter was with his hopeful son. It did not occur to him that f.a.n.n.y might object, or that she could be other than pleased with the arrangement. He determined, however, to wait a little before the tidings of her future destiny should be conveyed to her, although no time was to be lost in talking over the matter with Lord Kilcullen. In the meantime, it would be necessary for him to tell f.a.n.n.y of Lord Ballindine's visit; and the wily peer was glad to think that she could not but be further disgusted at the hurry which her former lover had shown to renew his protestations of affection, as soon as the tidings of her wealth had reached him. However, he would say nothing on that head: he would merely tell her that Lord Ballindine had called, had asked to see her, and had been informed of her determination to see him no more.

He sat, for a considerable time, musing over the fire, and strengthening his resolution; and then he stalked and strutted into the drawing-room, where the ladies were sitting, to make his communication to Miss Wyndham.

Miss Wyndham, and her cousin, Lady Selina Grey, the only unmarried daughter left on the earl's hands, were together. Lady Selina was not in her _premiere jeunesse_ [22], and, in manner, face, and disposition, was something like her father: she was not, therefore, very charming; but his faults were softened down in her; and what was pretence in him, was, to a certain degree, real in her. She had a most exaggerated conception of her own station and dignity, and of what was due to her, and expected from her. Because her rank enabled her to walk out of a room before other women, she fancied herself better than them, and ent.i.tled to be thought better. She was plain, red-haired, and in no ways attractive; but she had refused the offer of a respectable country gentleman, because he was only a country gentleman, and then flattered herself that she owned the continuance of her maiden condition to her high station, which made her a fit match only for the most exalted magnates of the land. But she was true, industrious, and charitable; she worked hard to bring her acquirements to that pitch which she considered necessary to render her fit for her position; she truly loved her family, and tried hard to love her neighbours, in which she might have succeeded but for the immeasurable height from which she looked down on them. She listened, complacently, to all those serious cautions against pride, which her religion taught her, and considered that she was obeying its warnings, when she spoke condescendingly to those around her. She thought that condescension was humility, and that her self-exaltation was not pride, but a proper feeling of her own and her family's dignity.

[FOOTNOTE 22: premiere jeunesse--(French) prime of youth]

f.a.n.n.y Wyndham was a very different creature. She, too, was proud, but her pride was of another, if not of a less innocent cast; she was proud of her own position; but it was as f.a.n.n.y Wyndham, not as Lord Cashel's niece, or anybody's daughter. She had been brought out in the fashionable world, and liked, and was liked by, it; but she felt that she owed the character which three years had given her, to herself, and not to those around her. She stood as high as Lady Selina, though on very different grounds. Any undue familiarity would have been quite as impossible with one as with the other. Lady Selina chilled intruders to a distance; f.a.n.n.y Wyndham's light burned with so warm a flame, that b.u.t.terflies were afraid to trust their wings within its reach. She was neither so well read, nor so thoughtful on what she did read, as her friend; but she could turn what she learned to more account, for the benefit of others. The one, in fact, could please, and the other could not.

f.a.n.n.y Wyndham was above the usual height; but she did not look tall, for her figure was well-formed and round, and her bust full. She had dark-brown hair, which was never curled, but worn in plain braids, fastened at the back of her head, together with the long rich folds which were collected there under a simple comb. Her forehead was high, and beautifully formed, and when she spoke, showed the animation of her character. Her eyes were full and round, of a hazel colour, bright and soft when she was pleased, but full of pride and displeasure when her temper was ruffled, or her dignity offended. Her nose was slightly _retrousse_ [23], but not so much so as to give to her that pertness, of which it is usually the index. The line of her cheeks and chin was very lovely: it was this which encouraged her to comb back that luxuriant hair, and which gave the greatest charm to her face. Her mouth was large, too large for a beauty, and therefore she was not a regular beauty; but, were she talking to you, and willing to please you, you could hardly wish it to be less. I cannot describe the shade of her complexion, but it was rich and glowing; and, though she was not a brunette, I believe that in painting her portrait, an artist would have mixed more brown than other colours.

[FOOTNOTE 23: retrousse--(French) turned-up]

At the time of which I am now speaking, she was sitting, or rather lying, on a sofa, with her face turned towards her cousin, but her eyes fixed on vacancy. As might have been expected, she was thinking of her brother, and his sudden death; but other subjects crowded with that into her mind, and another figure shared with him her thoughts. She had been induced to give her guardian an unqualified permission to reject, in her name, any further intercourse with Frank; and though she had doubtless been induced to do so by the distressing consciousness that she had been slighted by him, she had cheated herself into the belief that prudence had induced her to do so. She felt that she was not fitted to be a poor man's wife, and that Lord Ballindine was as ill suited for matrimonial poverty. She had, therefore, induced herself to give him up; may-be she was afraid that if she delayed doing so, she might herself be given up. Now, however, the case was altered; though she sincerely grieved for her brother, she could not but recollect the difference which his death made in her own position; she was now a great heiress, and, were she to marry Lord Ballindine, if she did not make him a rich man, she would, at any rate, free him from all embarra.s.sment.

Besides, could she give him up now? now that she was rich? He would first hear of her brother's death and her wealth, and then would immediately be told that she had resolved to reject him. Could she bear that she should be subjected to the construction which would fairly be put upon her conduct, if she acted in this manner? And then, again, she felt that she loved him; and she did love him, more dearly than she was herself aware. She began to repent of her easy submission to her guardian's advice, and to think how she could best unsay what she had already said. She had lost her brother; could she afford also to lose her lover? She had had none she could really love but those two. And the tears again came to her eyes, and Lady Selina saw her, for the twentieth time that morning, turn her face to the back of the sofa, and heard her sob.

Lady Selina was sitting at one of the windows, over her carpet-work frame. She had talked a great deal of sound sense to f.a.n.n.y that morning, about her brother, and now prepared to talk some more.