CHAPTER II.
_Gerarda._—Que todo se aprende hija y no hai cosa mas facil que engañar a los hombres de que ellos tienen la culpa; porque como nos han privado el estudio de los ciencios en que pudieramos divertir nuestros ingenios sutiles, solo estudiamos una, que es la de engañarlos, y como no hay mas de un libro, todas lo sabemos de memoria.
_Dorotea._—Nunca yo le he visto.
_Gerarda._—Pres es excellente letura, y de famosos capitulos.
_Dorotea._—Dime los titulos signiera.
_Gerarda._—De fingir amor al rico y no disgustar el pobre.
De desmayarse a su tiempo, y llorar sin causa.
De dar zelos al libre y al colerico satisfacciones.
De mirar dormido, y reir con donayre.
De estudiar vocablos y aprender bailes.
* * * * *
Y de no enamorarse por ningun acontecimiento, porquè todo se va perdido, sin otros muchos capitulos de mayor importancia.
LOPE DE VEGA.
Isabella had attentively studied the character of Lord Delaford, and she felt sure that if she could once get him within her toils, she should be able to keep him there. She had discovered, that although too refined not to be disgusted by any open attempt to attract him, there was a considerable mixture of vanity and of humility in his composition; and she flattered herself she could work upon both these feelings.
She one day happened to sit next him at dinner, and contrived, with a tact for which she was peculiar, to turn the conversation upon himself. She said she never knew any one of whom she was so much afraid: to which he replied,
“That is very odd! I have always been reckoned a good-natured sort of fellow.”
“Oh, yes!” she answered; “I am sure you are good-natured; but your very good-nature helps to frighten me. You are so unlike other people; and I feel so awed when you are present.”
“Well, that is strange! I don’t think I ever awed any body before. Do I look so cross?”
“Oh! it is not that; but you are so good; and you always say just what you should say, and no more. I should be afraid to utter, or to do any thing foolish before you.”
“Well, I should be as useful to you as Prince Cheri’s ring in the fairy tale. It is a pity I am not always by your side!”
“Oh! but then I should always be in a fright;—not that I mean it is a disagreeable sort of fright.” And she turned the conversation, fearful of showing any design of attracting him.
In the evening, he, as usual, turned over the leaves of Fanny’s music-book, while she was singing, or forgot to turn them over, while gazing with delight upon those melting, yet innocent eyes, which met his so kindly and so trustingly—eyes, that looked as if there lurked in the heart beneath, depths of unawakened and unexplored feelings, which only waited to be excited.
But when he was alone, the remarks of Isabella recurred to his recollection, and he wondered what in him could have struck her as being so singular and so reserved. The next day, when they were riding, he found himself near her, and reverted to the conversation of the preceding day.
“I have been quite uneasy, Miss St. Clair, at finding I am so disagreeable as I must be, if I am the precise, formal, measured person you describe me to be.”
A certain step is gained, when, instead of starting a new and indifferent subject, the topic of the preceding conversation is resumed. Most coquettes know, by intuition, that the best mode of accomplishing this is to talk to persons of themselves. Isabella’s heart beat quicker at finding how well she had succeeded in awakening his curiosity; but assuming a nonchalant manner, she answered,
“Disagreeable! Surely I never could have said any thing half so uncivil?”
“Oh, certainly you did not tell me in so many words that I was disagreeable; but you implied it.”
“No, no! Indeed, I think I said every thing most flattering—that you were so very good.”
“Well, I suppose if I am so very good, I must not consider being good, and being disagreeable, as synonymous terms; and yet you made it appear yesterday as if they were!”
“Oh, Lord Delaford! how can you accuse me of saying any thing so shocking? I only declared you were so good, so superior, I was afraid of you.”
“But a person who makes you fear him, must be disagreeable to you.”
“No, indeed: I like to be awed. I am fond of an organ in a cathedral; and I admire lofty mountains, and beautiful stormy skies, and every thing that is grand and sublime in art and in nature! Could one bear to hear one’s own feeble voice mingle itself with the pealing reverberations of the organ in the glorious pile of St. Peter’s? And does one not feel one’s own nothingness when among the mountains, the torrents, the precipices, the peaks, the glaciers of the stupendous Alps? Yet surely these are pleasurable emotions! With me, at least, awe and pleasure are very compatible sensations.”
As she spoke her large and brilliant eye glanced upwards for a moment, with an expression of lofty enthusiasm.
Lord Delaford gazed upon her, and mentally exclaimed, “That girl has a soul!” Presently, relaxing into a smile, as if ashamed of her own eagerness, she added, “I believe Doctor Spurzheim would discover in me the bump of veneration;” and putting her horse into a canter, the whole party became mixed together, and she addressed herself to some one else. Lord Delaford mechanically found himself by the side of Fanny; but it was some time before they became engaged in any thing that deserved the name of conversation.
By degrees, however, the unobtrusive gentleness of Fanny had its usual effect upon him; and they discoursed calmly and agreeably upon subjects of literature, or the immediate events of the neighbourhood; but that day there were none of those flattering turns of phrase, that deferential manner of listening, which, not appearing in the common-place form of compliment, have the effect of flattery, without putting one on one’s guard against it.
Fanny returned from her ride less exhilarated than usual. She thought the wind was rather cold, and her beautiful, thorough-bred horse, not quite agreeable.
At dinner Lord Delaford sat between Isabella and herself, and his attention was, to say the least, divided between the cousins. Isabella was in high spirits. She was animated by the desire and the hope of pleasing. She caught an uneasy look from Lady Elmsley, and she could not suppress an emotion of gratified pique. She had too much the tone of good society ever to run the risk of being noisy; her flow of spirits only showed itself by being exceedingly droll and lively; and though perhaps she amused in some degree at the expense of the absent, her dancing dark eyes glanced with such brilliancy, such merriment, such a look of gay archness, that no one could suspect her of harbouring a feeling of ill-nature towards any one. Nor in truth did she harbour any such feeling; she only wished to amuse; and there are few people who have not occasionally been led by the intoxicating pleasure of causing a laugh, into ridiculing persons towards whom they felt no ill-will. Lord Delaford was entertained, and laughed incessantly at her quaint ideas. He wondered why Fanny did not seem more to enjoy sallies which appeared to him so full of talent and of wit. He thought it argued a want of imagination, which disappointed him. Fanny meanwhile was depressed, she knew not why; but when she retired to rest, in the stillness of her chamber, she made a discovery as painful as it was humiliating.
Surprised to find herself so very serious when others were so much amused, in doubt and trembling she looked into her own heart, and she found it to be nearly engrossed by one overwhelming passion. She had always intended to keep herself “fancy free” till she could devote her whole soul, her pure unhacknied affections, to one only object for ever. From the easy footing of society in a country-house, her intercourse with Lord Delaford had been free and unconstrained; his attentions, although constant, were not marked, and nothing had occurred to call her mind to the effect they were gradually, but surely, producing. It was not till the fear came over her that he did not care for her, that she discovered she had ever believed in his preference; it was not till she felt how inexpressibly painful was that fear, that she discovered her affections were fixed on one only object for ever.
She was suddenly aroused from her fancied security, and found within the heart which she had imagined fresh and uncontaminated, love,—unrequited love, and jealousy,—jealousy of her dearest friend. She thought herself degraded. She was miserable. But she did not allow her mortification to swallow up all other feelings. Maidenly pride remained, and she determined he should never perceive the power she had allowed him to acquire over her.
Lord Delaford, on his part, reflected upon the increased attractions of Isabella, and upon the want of vivacity of Fanny. Though no coxcomb, he thought it possible Fanny might entertain for him feelings which, his conscience told him, would have been wounded by the unusual degree in which he had been occupied with Isabella. His goodnatured heart smote him at the idea of giving pain to so gentle and lovely a being, and he joined the breakfast party the next morning full of kindness and interest for Fanny, flattered by the interpretation he had himself given to her coldness, and well prepared to return any indications of preference which he might perceive in her manner towards him.
Fanny had schooled her heart, and the more she was really agitated, the more was she resolved to wear a calm exterior; the more she knew there was a sentiment within her bosom which could not be confessed, the more was she resolved no human eye should discover it. She was aware that sudden coolness might be construed into pique, and she determined to be merely careless and indifferent. She did not remember that she might, by this means, lose what most she wished to gain. She did not calculate. The abstract idea that any woman should love any man better than he loved her—that any woman should be won unwooed, roused her pride for the sex in general; and that she herself should be one of these poor, weak, infatuated creatures, gave her a sense of humiliation against which her very soul rebelled.
Lord Delaford watched for some indications of the sentiments he had in his own mind attributed to her; but he found her as she intended to appear,—gay, careless, cold. He did not perceive any affectation in her gaiety, or any thing studied in her carelessness.
Lady Elmsley precisely read the state of her heart, and put the right construction upon the trifles which constitute encouragement or repulse, and which denote preference or indifference; but Lord Delaford was quite puzzled, and somewhat mortified.
It is said there is an instinct which teaches every one to read their fellow-creatures where love is concerned. This is true of all indifferent spectators, who can decipher emotions, often not acknowledged by the individuals to themselves. Not so the persons most interested. Sometimes they twist appearances to suit their hopes or fears. Sometimes, being aware that their judgment is likely to be prejudiced, they dare not trust to their natural impressions. Lord Delaford watched the countenance, the eyes, the expression, the words of Fanny for a day or two, and he became each day more convinced his own self-conceit must have misled him. He had studiously avoided such attentions as might commit him, and he now took care to divide them equally between the two cousins. To Fanny, who had been accustomed to his exclusive devotion, this was a virtual withdrawal of them; and she set a more strict watch than ever over all her words and looks. Isabella, who was exhilarated at receiving half, when she had been accustomed to none, was _pétillante de graces_. The more Fanny was aware of Isabella’s attractions, and the more she perceived that Lord Delaford became aware of them, so much the more she wrapped herself up in impenetrable, but good-humoured reserve. Her manner lost that confiding, innocent gaiety, which a short time before had been one of her greatest charms, without regaining the bashful ingenuousness, which had at first attracted him from its novelty. She laboured hard to appear calm, and unfortunately succeeded but too well in her endeavours. Lord Delaford was half provoked with himself for having been so ready to fancy he was irresistible; and half provoked with Fanny, for having given rise to his dissatisfaction with himself.
He was in this frame of mind when an accident occurred which confirmed him in his opinion of her coldness. He was riding a restive horse, which he alone had succeeded in subduing, and which he thought was so completely tamed, that he might venture to ride it with the ladies. Isabella admired a flower in the hedge, and he turned his horse round to gather it for her. The animal, who had proceeded quietly by the side of the others, did not like being separated from its companions; and rearing suddenly, fell backwards with its rider.
Isabella was close to him at the moment of the accident, and was naturally dreadfully frightened. He had contrived to slip off on one side, and was not hurt; but there was a moment when horse and rider appeared as if they would be crushed together.
Fanny was some yards in advance, and only turned round in time to see him as he was getting up from the ground, and was therefore spared the first alarm. She was not a nervous, hysterical person; and although she turned pale, and trembled, she did not fall from her horse, or do any thing that attracted attention to herself. Isabella, really agitated, and really nervous, (as indulged and flattered people are very apt to be,) shrieked aloud, and burst into tears—real tears—for she affected nothing; she only gave way to what she felt, from the consciousness that she was charming, and that her emotions would not appear disagreeable and uninteresting.
She was lifted off her horse, in a fainting state. Lord Delaford was supporting her. Every one was busy about her. In the confusion, her hat fell off, and all her ringlets were floating on the wind: her eyes were half closed; and the long lashes looked beautifully dark on her cheek, which was really pale. Fanny thought she never saw any one look so lovely! Lord Delaford watched her revival with an expression of intense interest; and Fanny sat still on her horse, unnoticed and unregarded, with feelings of hardness and bitterness which never before had been the inmates of her gentle bosom. This protracted exhibition of sensibility appeared to her perfectly unnecessary; and she could not help thinking that Isabella might have recovered much sooner; that she might have twisted up her own hair, and tucked it under her hat, without any assistance from Lord Delaford; and that there was no occasion for several ringlets to be allowed to escape, and to stray over her face and shoulders.
Such were her thoughts when the party remounted, and proceeded homewards; and she “hoped Lord Delaford was not the least hurt,” in a guarded, constrained, and scarcely soft voice, which grated on his ear, after the languid accents of the fainting Isabella. He turned away from Fanny, and devoted himself entirely to her cousin, whose interest in his safety gave her a sort of right to his care and solicitude.
As soon as they reached home, Fanny rushed to her room, and there paced the apartment in an agony of mind which frightened herself. She envied Isabella the interest she had excited, while she felt she would rather have died than have betrayed such emotion: yet she was angry with herself for having appeared cold and unfeeling. Presently she heard footsteps approaching her door; and hastily composing her looks, she seized a book, and appeared buried in its contents. It was Lady Elmsley, who came to tell her there was some company expected at dinner. She longed to open her heart to her mother, who, she was sure, by the increased tenderness of her manner, had read the state of her feelings: but Lady Elmsley never sought, or encouraged confidence upon the subject. She saw that Isabella had superseded her Fanny in Lord Delaford’s heart, and that her child’s hopes were blighted—she knew that an acknowledged preference was far more difficult to eradicate than one which had never been confessed—that pride, and constancy, and consistency, had induced many a girl to persevere in a devotion which, if it had never been avowed, would have died away; and she judged of Fanny by the rest of the world.
The end of this day passed off as many succeeding ones did—in sad and bitter calmness on the part of Fanny—in flattered vanity, and growing love, on the part of Isabella—in gratitude, admiration, amusement, and pique, which were fast ripening into love, on the part of Lord Delaford.