CHAPTER IV.

Now have I shewed you bothe, these whyche ye lyst, Stately fortune, or humble povertee: That is to say, now lyeth it in your fyst To take here bondage, or free libertee.

Sir Thomas More.

Captain De Molton had sent his servant to the neighbouring town to procure him a chaise, that with the least possible delay he might carry his project of departure into execution.

When he had in some measure recovered his self-possession, he made his appearance at the breakfast-table, and informed Lady Westhope that he was unexpectedly obliged to return to London, to arrange with his father some matters connected with his exchange from his present regiment, which, as Lady Westhope knew, was under orders for India.

This was strictly true, for he had resolved to insist upon his father's suspending the application he was on the point of making for this exchange. He determined to proceed to India with his regiment. The unhealthiness of the climate, which gave his relations so much uneasiness, appeared to him, in his present frame of mind, a positive recommendation.

The company expressed all due disappointment at his sudden departure--all but Lady Blanche; she was not present. Lady Westhope suspected something must have occurred, and when she bade De Molton adieu, she pressed his hand with a mysterious kindliness, which she meant should imply, "You are acting like a man of honour; I see you suffer, and I pity you."

She was confirmed in this opinion, by Mr. Wroxholme telling her he had found Captain De Molton in the library before breakfast, with his head leaning against the marble chimney-piece, and his countenance so pale and haggard, that he feared for a moment something dreadful must have happened. Lady Westhope recollected Blanche's hurrying manner of passing her on the stairs, and she pitied all parties.

Lady Falkingham's indisposition accounted for Lady Blanche's absence till the hour of luncheon, when she came down stairs with a feeling of kindness towards Lord Glenrith, awakened by the consciousness of having injured him. She scarcely ventured to raise her eyes from the ground, but her blushing manner passed for the modesty of a young girl on the eve of marriage. Lord Glenrith pathetically lamented the absence of his friend, and Lady Blanche quivered at the sound of his name, and then reproached herself for doing so.

Lord Glenrith showed her the letters he had received from the different members of his family. Blanche could not but feel flattered by the manner in which she was spoken of; could not but think the better of the son, and the brother, who was loved with such tender affection; could not but own she ought to be happy with the prospect of possessing such a father, mother, brothers, and sisters-in-law. Lord Glenrith in his own happiness perceived nothing wanting in her manner, and laughed, and talked, the gayest of the gay. His inward satisfaction did not render him sentimental, but his buoyant spirits made him inclined to be pleased with everybody and everything. He even forgot the dislike he had imbibed for Mr. Stapleford; and when his arrival that day was announced, he declared him to be a "devilish good fellow, though he was a sarcastic dog."

His flow of spirits was almost oppressive to Lady Blanche, yet she rejoiced he did not possess the sensitive tact which might have rendered him alive to every look of hers.

At dinner, Lord Glenrith was telling Lord Falkingham he had a famous brood-mare at Wentnor Castle, whose colt was likely to win the St. Leger.

"Is your colt as clever as your old horse Perseus, Glenrith?" asked Mr. Stapleford.

"Ah! Perseus! by Jove, that is a horse! Never was a thorough-bred one so good for weight--and as active as a cat--such action! and such pasterns! None of your short pasterns the grooms are so fond of--but long enough to be elastic! He is a true Whalebone!"

"I am not sure, after all, I do not like Quirk still better," Stapleford dropped out quietly, while a sly smile lurked in the corner of his lip.

"Quirk is a singularly good horse! He has such bone, and such a constitution!"

"And that grey pony, Glenrith--you will never part with that pony?"

"Part with Yung-frau? not for three hundred guineas!"

"You are a fortunate man in your stud, Glenrith!" remarked Stapleford, with a quiet, composed, and serious air, which to the unsuspicious Lord Glenrith was perfectly satisfactory, while the rest of the party, especially poor Blanche, were painfully aware he was playing on the one weak point of the amiable young Benedick.

Nothing lowers a man in the eyes of a woman so much as being made a butt, no matter whether the quizzer be a person for whose opinion she entertains any respect or not. It was unlucky that, at the moment the _héros de roman_ lover had departed in magnanimous despair, the successful one should lay himself open to the quizzing of a dandy. Lady Blanche felt miserable--more miserable than when she parted from De Molton--more miserable than when she heard the jingle of his hack-chaise as it drove from the door--more miserable than when her mother's statement of the case made her awake to the enormity of her misconduct--more miserable than when she resolved to drive her lover's image for ever from her mind. Those distresses were at least elevated ones--this bordered on the ridiculous.

In the course of the evening Mr. Stapleford found himself near Lady Blanche. "I must offer you my congratulations, Lady Blanche, and especially upon the good looks and the good spirits of the fortunate Lord Glenrith. His beaming and ruddy appearance shows that you have not been unnecessarily cruel, tormenting before you consented to make him the happiest of men. It must give a person of your kindly feelings great pleasure to behold a face so redolent with joyousness!"

Every word of this speech was disagreeable. Poor Blanche did not admire a "ruddy" man--did not like an unsentimental lover; and, above all, she did not like the implication that she had been

"Won unwooed, or slightly wooed at best."

Mr. Stapleford bore not the slightest ill-will either to Lady Blanche, or to Lord Glenrith. He enjoyed saying the disagreeable thing in the civilest manner possible; partly because it is almost the only exercise of power which a person without house, or lands, or fortune, can indulge in; partly because he liked to see what people really felt--and he thus frequently discovered the true state of their minds; partly because he happened to possess the species of tact which enabled him to do it--and everybody derives pleasure from success of any kind.

The next day Blanche received a packet from Wentnor Castle. It contained some beautiful ornaments--offerings from different members of her future family, each accompanied by the prettiest note imaginable. Congratulations showered in from every quarter. All the numerous friends and relations of both sides wrote letters in which each party was described as perfection, and each as having met with perfection. It is astonishing that matrimony should ever fail to secure lasting happiness, when (if we may believe the written testimony of those who best know the contracting parties) none but paragons ever enter into the holy state. But among all the happy unions that have been joyfully anticipated, none ever gave more general satisfaction than the present. The age, situation, rank--everything was suitable. Poor Lady Blanche felt herself every moment more thoroughly hampered, entangled, and pledged; and every moment her disinclination to the marriage increased.

It was an odd thing! but Mr. Stapleford's quiet manner of quizzing Lord Glenrith, and his imperturbable good-humour under it,--or rather, his perfect unconsciousness of what was happening,--hurt his cause even more than her preference of De Molton. She would rather have seen him angry and resentful; to persons with _la tête exaltée_, the smallest shadow of ridicule irrecoverably destroys the halo of romance they would fain throw around the object of their devotion. Blanche might have turned from her hopeless and youthful dream of love, to admiration, respect, obedience, and submission; but when her head, her heart, and her imagination were possessed with the dignified brow, the melancholy eyes, the mellow voice, the lofty air, the noble grief of De Molton, to see the joyous, the "ruddy" Glenrith perfectly contented under the quizzing of a Stapleford, prevented her being able to work herself up to the feelings it was her duty to entertain towards him.

Mr. Wroxholme one day remarked to Lady Westhope, that Lady Blanche appeared to be extremely out of spirits, and that he almost feared her disposition and that of her future husband were not exactly suited.

"She seems to take no pleasure in his country pursuits--she listens with an abstracted air while he continues to pour into her ear details which he might perceive are not interesting to her; though I own I sometimes wonder she should not be more curious about Wentnor Castle, which, from the engravings, must be a magnificent and interesting place."

Lady Westhope agreed with Mr. Wroxholme, and could not help half confiding to him, that she feared Lady Blanche had some other prepossession.

"Poor girl!" resumed Mr. Wroxholme; "but then it is a thousand pities she should marry, if she cannot love, Lord Glenrith."

"He is such a good man!" answered Lady Westhope; "he has such excellent principles--he is so sure to make a true and faithful husband, that in the long-run I should hope no woman, who had herself good principles, could fail to be happy with him."

Lady Westhope sighed, and Mr. Wroxholme, who had by this time heard and seen somewhat more of his host, felt that poor Lady Westhope spoke as one who had suffered from the absence of these qualities in her husband.