“Now to announce you,” said Lord Netherby, gayly; “let that be my task.” And so saying, he lightly tripped up the stairs before Forester.
CHAPTER XXX. A BOUDOIR.
When, having passed through a suite of gorgeously furnished rooms, Forester entered the dimly lighted boudoir where his lady-mother reclined, his feelings were full of troubled emotion. The remembrance of the last time he had been there was present to his mind, mingled with anxious fears as to his approaching reception. Had he been more conversant with the “world,” he needed not to have suffered these hesitations. There are few conditions in life between which so wide a gulf yawns as that of the titled heir of a house and the younger brother. He was, then, as little prepared for the affectionate greeting that met him as for the absence of all trace of illness in her Ladyship's appearance. Both were very grateful to his feelings as he drew his chair beside her sofa, and a soft remembrance of former days of happiness stole over his pleased senses. Lord Netherby, with a fitting consideration, had left them to enjoy this interview alone, and thus their emotions were unrestrained by the presence of the only one who had witnessed their parting. Perhaps the most distinguishing trait of the closest affection is that the interruptions to its course do not involve the misery of reconciliation to enable us to return to our own place in the heart; but that, the moment of grief or anger or doubt over, we feel that we have a right to resume our influence in the breast whose thoughts have so long mingled with our own. The close ties of filial and parental love are certainly of this nature, and it must be a stubborn heart whose instincts do not tend to that forgiveness which as much blots out as it pardons past errors. Such was not Lady Netherby's. Pride of station, the ambition of leadership in certain circles, had so incorporated themselves with the better dictates of her mind that she rarely, if ever, permitted mere feeling to influence her; but if for a moment it did get the ascendancy, her heart could feel as acutely as though it had been accustomed to such indulgence. In a word, she was as affectionate as the requirements of her rank permitted. Oh, this Rank, this Rank! how do its conventionalities twine and twist themselves round our natures till love and friendship are actually subject to the cold ordinance of a fashion! How many hide the dark spots of their heart behind the false screen they call their “Rank”! The rich man, in the Bible, clothed in his purple, and faring sumptuously, was but acting in conformity with his “Rank;” nay, more, he was charitable as became his “Rank,” for the poor were fed with the crumbs from his table.
Forester was well calculated by natural advantages to attract a mother's pride. He was handsome and well-bred; had even more than a fair share of abilities, which gained credit for something higher from a native quickness of apprehension; and even already the adventurous circumstances of his first campaign had invested his character with a degree of interest that promised well for his success in the world. If her manner to him was then kind and affectionate, it was mingled also with something of admiration, which her woman's heart yielded to the romantic traits of the youth.
She listened with eager pleasure to the animated description he gave of the morning at Aboukir, and the brilliant panorama of the attack; nor was the enjoyment marred by the mention of the only name that could have pained her, the last words of Lord Netherby having sealed Forester's lips with respect to the Knight of Gwynne.
The changeful fortunes of his life as a prisoner were mingled with the recital of the news by which his exchange was effected; and this brought back once more the subject by which their interview was opened,—the death of his elder brother. Lady Netherby perhaps felt she had done enough for sorrow, for she dwelt but passingly on the theme, and rather addressed herself to the future which was now about to open before her remaining son, carefully avoiding, however, the slightest phrase that should imply dictation, and only seeming to express the natural expectation “the world” had formed of what his career should be. “Lord Netherby tells me,” said she, “that the Duke of York will, in all likelihood, name you as an extra aide-decamp, in which case you probably would remain in the service. It is an honor that could not well be declined.”
“I scarcely like to form fixed intentions which have no fixed foundations,” said Forester; “but if I might give way to my own wishes, it would be to indulge in perfect liberty,—to have no master.”
“Nor any mistress, either, to control you, for some time, I suppose,” rejoined she, smiling, as if carelessly, but watching how her words were taken. Forester affected to partake in the laugh, but could not conceal a slight degree of confusion. Lady Netherby was too clever a tactician to let even a momentary awkwardness interrupt the interview, and resumed: “You will be dreadfully worried by all the 'lionizing' in store for you, I'm certain; you are to be feasted and feted to any extent, and will be fortunate if the gratulations on your recovery do not bring back your illness.”
“I shall get away from it all at once,” said Forester, rising, and walking up and down, as if the thought had suggested the impatient movement.