Thus have I saved Davenport. But not my mother. No—she will assuredly marry to prove to me her power and pre-eminence. She will pique herself also on choosing a husband, as handsome as engaging as the fugitive Davenport.
In the mean time flattery is flattery; and the dose being doubled from a female tongue approaches so near to an equivalent that the immediate necessity of a lover becomes less urgent. The happy Mrs. Ashburn—happy in her acquisitions—has lately gained a companion who can treble the quantity on occasion. In good English language, with the animation of French vivacity and French action, Mademoiselle Laundy deals out her bursts of admiration and exstacies of rapture from one of the prettiest mouths in the world. Shaping herself, most Proteus-like, to the whim of the moment, my mother sees not that she is young and handsome; and, could a painting be shown to Mrs. Ashburn the exact but silent representation of Mademoiselle Laundy, unless previously instructed to look for the likeness, I am positive she would not recognize one feature of her companion.
This young person was born of English parents who were settled in France. Her father, being deprived of an enormous pension, by the change of government, chose rather to break his heart than live upon a contracted income, which could only furnish him with the necessaries of life; and such worthless accommodations as are beneath the enjoyment of a courtier.
After his decease, a ci-devant Dutchess brought Mademoiselle Laundy to England, to try her fortune; and, most opportunely, chance threw her in our way at the very same time when my mother was seized with the rage of entertaining a companion. Money was an object with Mademoiselle Laundy, but none to Mrs. Ashburn; and the former knew how to hold off from the bargain till the latter's wishes and expectations were wound up to the highest. The pride also of enabling her companion to outdress half the fashionable young women about town was doubtless an additional motive with Mrs. Ashburn; and the enormous salary demanded was to me the first unfavourable specimen of Mademoiselle Laundy's principles.
Nor has the young lady improved on farther acquaintance. Supple as she is, she cannot accommodate the feigned artlessness of her countenance to the examination of my eye. Native simplicity would neither court nor retire; but Mademoiselle Laundy invites my favour, while she evades my scrutiny.
Resigning her personal pretensions to charm, and labouring incessantly to acknowledge the already inflated superiority of the people around her, she becomes the universal favourite; and 'tis hard to say whether the dear, unfortunate, amiable, Mademoiselle Laundy is more necessary to Mrs. Ashburn or to Mrs. Ashburn's acquaintance.
To her establishment here, however, I cannot object, because I should not be understood. Picking and stealing to be sure are very atrocious things; but who ever thought of calling selfishness, art, and insincerity by the name of vice?—Oh no! garret-lodgings philosophers may speculate, and dream over their airy systems; but we people of fashion know better things. We know self-love and insincerity to be useful and important qualities, the grand cement which binds our intercourse with each other. Born a superior race, we can bid truth and plain honesty depart; and, having dressed falsehood and guile in all the fascination of the senses, can bow down before the idol of our own creation.
'Tis all true, Sibella: although, in rambling about your woods, and looking into your own heart, and arranging the matter of your former studies, you may find what ought to be, you cannot discover one trait of what really exists.
Sir Thomas Barlowe is ill of the gout, and almost pines in his confinement for the society of his nephew; while the whimsical Murden, in defiance of command or intreaty, is capering about the country nobody knows why, nor nobody knows where.
Murden! Why cannot I name Murden without feeling a portion of that anxiety which so visibly preys on the happiness, and throws a veil of mystery over the actions of that inconsistent young man?