MRS. LUSHINGTON
With all her independence of spirit, it cannot be supposed that Miss Douglas went to and fro in the world of London without a chaperon. On women, an immunity from supervision, and what we may call the freedom of the city, is conferred by matrimony alone. This franchise seems irrespective of age. A virgin of fifty gathers confidence under the wing of a bride nineteen years old, shooting her arrows with the more precision that she feels so safe behind the shield of that tender, inexperienced matron. Why are these things so? Why do we dine at nightfall, go to bed at sunrise, and get up at noon? Why do we herd together in narrow staircases and inconvenient rooms at the hottest season of the year? If people bore us, why do we ask them to dinner? and suffer fools gladly, without ourselves being wise? I wonder if we shall ever know.
Blanche Douglas accordingly, with more courage, resolution, and savoir faire, than nine men out of every ten, had placed herself under the tutelage of Mrs. Francis Lushington, a lady with a convenient husband, who, like the celebrated courtier, was never in the way nor out of the way. She talked about "Frank," as she called him, every ten minutes; but somehow they were seldom seen together, except once a week at afternoon church.
That gentleman himself must either have been the steadiest of mortals, or the most cunning; his wife inclined to think him the latter.
Mrs. Lushington knew everybody, and went everywhere. There was no particular reason why she should have attained popularity; but society had taken her up, and seemed in no hurry to set her down again.
She was a little fair person, with pretty features and a soft pleading voice, very much dressed, very much painted; as good a foil as could be imagined to such a woman as Blanche Douglas.
They were sitting together in the dining-room of the latter about half past two P.M. There never was such a lady for going out to luncheon as Mrs. Lushington. If you were asked to that pleasant meal at any house within a mile of Hyde Park Corner, it would have been a bad bet to take five to one about not meeting her. She was like a nice little luncheon herself. Not much of her; but what there was light, delicate, palatable, with a good deal of garnish.
"And which is it to be, dear?" asked this lady of her hostess, finishing a glass of sherry with considerable enjoyment. "I know I shall have to congratulate one of them soon, and to send you a wedding-present; but it's no use talking about it, till I know which——"
"Do you think it a wise thing to marry, Clara?" said the other in reply, fixing her black eyes solemnly on her friend's face.