"So!" exclaimed the old lady; but whether the interjection expressed surprize, pleasure, or what other sensation, was not easy to discover.
"Do, Colonel Lenox, exert yourself so much as to open the door and ring for a gla.s.s of water: the air of this room is enough to kill any body."
"Pardon me," said Ellen, the colour returning to her cheeks and lips, "I am sorry to give so much trouble; I am much better."
"That"s well," said the old lady. By this time the water was brought; Ellen drank some, and quite recovered, begged leave to ring for her carriage.
"Don"t go yet, child," said the old lady; "perhaps you may be ill again."
"No: pray don"t go yet," said Lady Meredith, who all this time had been holding a smelling bottle to her own nose, affecting to be too much overcome to do any thing for the relief of her visitor. "You have frightened me enormously; stay a little to make me amends; besides, you still tremble and look pale: are you subject to these faintings?"
"Not in the least," said Ellen. "I believe the heat of the room overcame me."
"No wonder," said the old lady; "it is a perfect stove, and enough to unstring the nerves of Hercules, especially when aided by the powerful scent of those abominable jars."
"Oh, my dear sweet jars," cried Lady Meredith; "now positively you shall not abuse them; any thing else you may find what fault you please with, but my sweet jars I cannot give up:--have you ever read Anna Seward"s poetical recipe to make one?"
"Not I," replied her friend in an angry tone, "nor ever desire it; all the poetry in the world should never induce me to fill my rooms with such nonsense."
During this conversation, the little girl, who had tired herself with looking at the jewels and trinkets, rose from her cushion, and said:--
"Pretty mamma, dress pretty Miranda in these," holding up some fine emeralds.
"No indeed, child: go to Colonel Lenox, and ask him to adorn you; I cannot take so much trouble."
"No, Miranda won"t; Miranda go to pretty, sweet, beautiful lady;" and she went to Ellen, who, admiring the lovely little creature, kissed her, and indulged her by putting the shining ornaments round her little fair neck and arms, and twisting some in the ringlets of her glossy hair.
"Now I beautiful," said the child, looking at herself. "Is not Miranda pretty now, mamma?"
"Yes, my love, beautiful as an angel: come and kiss me, my darling."
The child, climbing up the load of cushions, laid her sweet little face close to her mother"s and kissed her.
"Is not she a beauty and a love?" said the injudicious mother to the Colonel, clasping the little creature to her bosom, with an air more theatrical than tender. He whispered something, in return to which she replied with affected indignation, "Oh, you flattering wretch, _that_ she is, and a thousand times handsomer; but she will never know what[B]
her mother was, for before she is old enough to distinguish, I shall either be dead or hideous, and then she will hate me." She heaved a deep sigh, and looked distressed at the idea, which the child perceiving, fondly twined her little arms round her mother"s neck, and answered:--
"No, dear mamma, Miranda always love you, you so beautiful."
[B] It is said that the once lovely Lady C----, when on her death-bed, lamented to a friend sitting by her, that her little boy, then in the room, _would never know what a beautiful creature his mother was_. "She feels the ruling pa.s.sion strong in death!"
"See," said the old lady, "the effect of your lessons; you teach her to love nothing but beauty, and if you were to lose your good looks, she would of course cease to care any thing about you."
"Yes, that is exactly what I dread."
"Then why do you not endeavour to prevent it, by giving her more reasonable notions? If she is led to suppose beauty and fine dress the only claims to affection, if she is never taught that virtue and an affectionate heart can alone ensure unfading esteem, she will grow up a mere frivolous automaton, and probably throw herself away on the first c.o.xcomb with a handsome face and red coat she meets with."
The Colonel coloured, laughed, and bowed.
"Nay," said the old lady, "if you choose to apply the character to yourself, with all my heart, settle it as you please; but, I suppose, all red coats are not mere c.o.xcombs."
Lady Meredith and the Colonel laughed, but did not appear entirely pleased even with this half apology.
"Well, but," said Lady Meredith, "what, Ma"am, would you have me do with Miranda? Can I prevent the child from observing that beauty is universally admired?"
"That," said Colonel Lenox, with a bow, "would indeed be impossible while with _you_."
The old lady shrugged up her shoulders, with a sour contemptuous frown, and said:--"Then put her into a better school."
"A school!" replied Lady Meredith, half screaming; "what, would you have me send the dear creature from me? No, my only darling, thou shalt never leave me."
"Pshaw!" exclaimed the old lady, with even encreasing sourness; "well, if fashion absolutely demands this _extraordinary_ degree of tenderness, for very good mothers _have_ sent their children to school before now, at least, do get the child a rational and sensible governess, and let her employ herself in something better than admiring your jewels, or even your beauty, all the morning.--Ah! I wish," said she, turning abruptly to Ellen, "I wish she had such an instructress as _your Miss Cecil_."
Ellen"s surprise at this sudden address from one with whom not even the ceremony of introduction had pa.s.sed, yet who seemed to know her and all her concerns so well, almost deprived her of the power to reply; she rallied her spirits, however, and said, that any mother might think half her fortune well bestowed, could it purchase such a preceptress: "But,"
added she, "such excellent qualities as Miss Cecil possesses, are rarely to be met with in any rank of life: my experience of character has, indeed, been very limited, but Lord St. Aubyn says, for elegance of manners, sweetness of temper, and strength of mind, her equal will hardly ever be found."
The blended modesty and spirit with which she spoke appeared to please the old lady, who, with an approving nod, again took up her eye-gla.s.s, and viewed Lady St. Aubyn from head to foot, though she saw that the steadfast gaze embarra.s.sed and covered her with blushes.
Lady Meredith said something to the old lady in so low a tone, that the word "introduce" was alone audible, to which she replied with some tartness: "No, I can introduce myself."
Ellen now once more rose to depart, and Lady Meredith detained her another minute, to mention a large party she intended having in about three weeks, for which she said she should send Lady St. Aubyn a ticket; and requested her to tell St. Aubyn he might come also, "For I hear,"
she said, "you always are seen together."
"So much the better," muttered the old lady, who seemed, however, to be speaking aside, so no one took any notice of her. She rose when Ellen left the room, and returned her graceful courtesy with a not ungracious bend, and bade her good morning with an air more conciliating than she had shewn on her entrance.
On relating the particulars of this visit to her Lord, Lady St. Aubyn found there was no doubt the old lady she had seen was Lady Juliana Mordaunt: he made her repeat the conversation that had pa.s.sed, and when she told him that the old lady had made use of the disrespectful term, "_this young person_," in speaking of her, he coloured excessively, and execrating his aunt"s pride and impertinence, told his wife she ought to have quitted the room immediately. He smiled when Ellen mentioned Lady Juliana"s attention and kindness on her fainting, and said, "That is so like her: her warm heart thaws the ice of her manners when she sees any one ill or distrest."
When Ellen repeated the mention which had been made in the course of conversation of the late Lady St. Aubyn, he changed colour, and said, "Well, Ellen, were you not surprized? You did not, I believe, know--you never heard I had been married before."
"Pardon me, my Lord, I was previously acquainted with that circ.u.mstance."
"You knew it!--from whom? Where did you hear it?"
"From Miss Cecil, from Miss Alton, accidentally."
"And were they not astonished you had not heard it before?"
"I had heard it before from Mrs. Bayfield, the day after we went to Castle St. Aubyn."
"From Mrs. Bayfield--she told you of it?--She told you--What, Ellen, did she tell you more?"
"Nothing, my Lord, but that your lady was young and beautiful, and died abroad."
"And why did you never mention the subject before? Why this reserve, my love?"
"Because I thought as you never told me of it yourself, you would rather the subject were not mentioned."
"Dear creature!" said St. Aubyn, sighing. "I have always had reason to admire the excellence of your judgment and the delicacy of your sentiments. Believe me, Ellen, I withhold from you only those things which I think will give you pain to know. Our acquaintance commenced under such singular circ.u.mstances, that I had hardly opportunity to tell you this before we were married, and in fact, that name, that recollection is so hateful to me, is connected with so many painful ideas, that I cannot bear to recall, to dwell upon it! Why that tear, my love--are you dissatisfied with me?"
"No, dearest St. Aubyn: whatever you do, appears to me wisest and best to be done--but I was pitying--I was thinking----"