CHAPTER II.
REMARK ON THE TENURE OF LIFE.—THE COFFINS OF GREAT MEN SELDOM NEGLECTED.—CONSTANCE TAKES REFUGE WITH LADY ERPINGHAM.—THE HEROINE’S ACCOMPLISHMENTS AND CHARACTER.—THE MANOEUVRING TEMPERAMENT.
What a strange life this is! what puppets we are! How terrible an enigma is Fate! I never set my foot without my door, but what the fearful darkness that broods over the next moment rushes upon me. How awful an event may hang over our hearts! The sword is always above us, seen or invisible!
And with this life—this scene of darkness and dreadsome men would have us so contented as to desire, to ask for no other!
Constance was now without a near relation in the world. But her father predicted rightly: vanity supplied the place of affection. Vernon, who for eighteen months preceding his death had struggled with the sharpest afflictions of want—Vernon, deserted in life by all, was interred with the insulting ceremonials of pomp and state. Six nobles bore his pall: long trains of carriages attended his funeral: the journals were filled with outlines of his biography and lamentations at his decease. They buried him in Westminster Abbey, and they made subscriptions for a monument in the very best sort of marble. Lady Erpingham, a distant connection of the deceased, invited Constance to live with her; and Constance of course consented, for she had no alternative.
On the day that she arrived at Lady Erpingham’s house, in Hill Street, there were several persons present in the drawing-room.
“I fear, poor girl,” said Lady Erpingham,—for they were talking of Constance’s expected arrival,—“I fear that she will be quite abashed by seeing so many of us, and under such unhappy circumstances.”
“How old is she?” asked a beauty.
“About thirteen, I believe.”
“Handsome?”