It often happens in life that we are never sufficiently struck with the force of our own opinions or their consequences, till, from some accident or other, we come to record them. Then it is that the sentiments we have expressed, and the lines of action adopted, suddenly come forth in all their unvarnished truth. Like the images which the painter, for the first time, commits to canvas, they stand out to challenge a criticism which, so long as they remained in mere imagination, they had escaped.
This was precisely Kate Dalton's case now. Her natural warm-heartedness, and her fervent sense of gratitude, had led her to adopt Lady Hester's cause as her own; generous impulses, carrying reason all before them, attached her to what she fancied to be the weaker side. “The divinity that doth hedge—” “beauty—” made her believe that so much loveliness could do no wrong; nor was it till she came to write of the event to her sister, that even a doubt crossed her mind on the subject. The difficulty of explaining a circumstance of which she knew but little, was enhanced by her knowledge of Ellen's rigid and unbending sense of right. “Poor dear Nelly,” said she, “with her innocence of mind, will understand nothing of all this, or she will condemn Lady Hester at once. Submission to her husband would, in her opinion, have been the first of duties. She cannot appreciate motives which actuate society in a rank different from her own. In her ignorance of the world, too, she might deem my remaining here unadvisable; she might counsel my return to home; and thus I should be deserting, forsaking, the dear friend who has confided all her sorrows to my heart, and reposes all her trust in my fidelity. This would break Lady Hester's heart and my own together; and yet nothing is more likely than such a course. Better a thousand times not expose her friend's cause to such a casualty. A little time and a little patience may place matters in a position more intelligible and less objectionable; and, after all, the question is purely a family secret, the divulgence of which, even to a sister, is perhaps not warrantable.”
Such were among the plausibilities with which she glanced over her conduct; without, however, satisfying herself that she was in the right. She had only begun the descent of lax morality, and her head was addled by the new sensation. Happy are they who even from weak nerves relinquish the career!
Kate's letter home, then, was full of gay revelations. Galleries, churches, gardens; objects of art or historic interest; new pictures of manners, sketches of society, abounded. There were descriptions of fetes, too, and brilliant assemblies, with great names of guests and gorgeous displays of splendor. Well and sweetly were they written; a quick observation and a keen insight into character in every line. The subtle analysis of people and their pretensions, which comes of mixture with the world, was preeminent in all she said; while a certain sharp wit pointed many of the remarks, and sparkled in many a brilliant passage.
It was altogether a lively and a pleasant letter. A stranger, reading ft, would have pronounced the writer clever and witty; a friend would have regretted the want of personal details, the hundred little traits of egoism that speak confidence and trust. But to a sister! and such a sister as Nelly! it was, indeed, barren! No outpouring of warm affection; no fond memory of home; no reference to that little fireside whence her own image had never departed, and where her presence was each night invoked.
Oh! Kate, has Hanserl's dark prophecy thrown its shadow already to your feet? Can a young heart be so easily corrupted, and so soon?
CHAPTER XXVII. A SMALL DINNER AT THE VILLINO ZOE.
AMONG the penalties great folk pay for their ascendancy, there is one most remarkable, and that is, the intense interest taken in all their affairs by hundreds of worthy people who are not of their acquaintance. This feeling, which transcends every other known description of sympathy, flourishes in small communities. In the capital of which we are now speaking, it was at its very highest pitch of development. The Onslows furnished all the table-talk of the city; but in no circle were their merits so frequently and ably discussed as in that little parliament of gossip which held its meetings at the “Villino Zoe.”
Mrs. Ricketts, who was no common diplomatist, had done her utmost to establish relations of amity with her great neighbor. She had expended all the arts of courtesy and all the devices of politeness to effect this entente cordiale; but all in vain. Her advances had been met with coldness, and “something more;” her perfumed little notes, written in a style of euphuism all her own, had been left unanswered; her presents of fruit and flowers unacknowledged, it is but fair to add, that they never proceeded further than the porter's lodge, even her visiting-cards were only replied to by the stiff courtesy of cards, left by Lady Hester's “Chasseur;” so that, in fact, failure had fallen on all her endeavors, and she had not even attained to the barren honor of a recognition as they passed in the promenade.