Fanny felt the force of her new friend’s reasoning, and after reflecting upon it for a moment, frankly disclosed her position, signifying the repugnance which she felt to returning home.
‘You see that I understand your position as well as if I had been acquainted with it,’ said Miss Jessop, with a smile. ‘If you will go out with me this evening I will introduce you to a banker who is sure to be delighted with you. He is very liberal, and I know he admires your dark style of beauty above all others.’
Fanny’s curiosity and vanity were both excited by this flattering description, and as reflection had confirmed her in her determination not to return home, little persuasion was needed to induce her to assent to her new friend’s proposition.
Night found Fanny and Miss Jessop seated in a temple dedicated equally to Venus and to Bacchus. The former was surprised by the scene which met her gaze, and the appearance of the females who promenaded the saloon, or were seated by the side or on the knees of gay gentlemen, enlightened her both as to the character of the place and that of her companions, if indeed there had been in her mind any doubt as to the latter, previous to her introduction to that flowery scene of vice.
‘There!—that is the person of whom I spoke to you,’ said Miss Jessop, in a whisper, as the banker entered the saloon, and as the roue caught the eye of Fanny’s companion, and saw by her side a beautiful young female whom he had never seen before, he advanced towards the table at which they were seated, and sat down opposite to them.
‘You look blooming to-night, Miss Jessop,’ said he, eyeing Fanny as he spoke. ‘Champagne, waiter. Who is your handsome young friend?’
Fanny blushed at the compliment, and her companion answered, with a smile, ‘A young friend of mine whom I have promised to introduce to you, Mr. Edwards.’
Fanny and the banker were soon upon the most friendly terms. He invited the ladies to take wine with him. Fanny’s reserve vanished by degrees under its influence, and the compliments of the banker appealed to her vanity. She was soon induced to accompany him to a house in the neighborhood. Fanny had committed herself to the tide of destiny, suffering it to bear her wither it would, and she entered into the house, of the character of which her inexperience allowed her to form no conception. But when they were conducted by an attendant into a bedchamber, she was recalled all at once to the nature of her position, and she blushed deeply; her companion, however, found means to remove her scruples, and she left the house, in company with Miss Jessop, richer indeed in purse, but bankrupt in honor.
It was near midnight,—some weeks after Fanny’s fatal resolution—the gay votaries of pleasure were leaving the Jenny Lind Theatre, some few in equipages, but a greater number on foot; beyond the immediate neighborhood of the theatre, however, the bustle was little increased, for the bar-rooms, the Arcade, the El Dorado, the Lafayette, and the Bella Union, received the human tide almost as fast as its waves ebbed from the portico of the theatre.
One female form alone lingered under the portico!