He found then, upon reflection, that however much he might fancy himself perfectly indifferent, he was in fact angry, and the primary cause of this anger was as usual mortified vanity. He--accustomed to be courted and sought, to choose at will his acquaintances, and to keep at arm's length all those he did not particularly like by a cool tone of indifference, which had something in it of scorn--had come out of his stronghold, and--as he could not but acknowledge--had gone as far as he well could, to seek the acquaintance of Sir Sidney Delaware. That gentleman was evidently not disposed to give it him; and though Burrel felt in some degree the motives which might and did actuate him, yet a knowledge of the degree of scorn which mingled with his own coolness towards others, would not let him believe that some portion of contempt did not also exist in the indifference with which Sir Sidney Delaware treated his advances.
It is in general the natural refuge of mortified vanity, to persuade itself that it retorts contempt upon those that show it, and to pass off upon itself the anger it feels for the more dignified passion of scorn. A slight touch of this sort of feeling had been experienced by Burrel; for there are few bosoms, of whose passions we may not say, castigata remordent; but his nature was too generous to entertain such feelings long, and, before he had reached the door of good Mrs. Wilson in Emberton, his first angry resolution was changed, and a more firm determination adopted, to remain in the village the time he had at first proposed, and without seeking any more an acquaintance which was evidently withheld intentionally, to see whether chance might not furnish him with some opportunity of gratifying a more generous purpose.
"For the sake of that gallant lad," he thought, "I will not give it up so easily."
CHAPTER IV.
On his return home, Burrel found that the horses which he expected from London had arrived in high condition, having performed the journey by slow and careful stages. The appearance of this new accession to his dignity was not, of course, without its effect upon the good people of Emberton, and "Have you seen Mr. Burrel's beautiful horses?" was a general question amongst the male part of the inhabitants; while all the ladies of the place, of course, were not in the least anxious to see the tall, dark, handsome, mysterious stranger ride forth upon some one of those three steeds whose fame already filled the town.
Those who had such expectations, however, were long disappointed, for during the whole of the following morning, Mr. Burrel never set foot beyond his door; and it was near four o'clock when his servant, on horseback, proceeded towards Mrs. Darlington's with a small travelling portmanteau, thus giving notice that the master himself was soon to follow. About half past four, or a quarter to five, a groom appeared at the door with a splendid dark bay horse, and a moment after Burrel himself came forth, looked at the girths, the stirrups, and the curb, and then putting his foot in the stirrup, swung himself easily into the saddle. The horse stood as still as marble till it felt, its master's heel, and then, as if cut out of one piece, away went both--without the slightest regard to high-road--straight across the country towards Mrs. Darlington's house, which was seen crowning the distant hill.
"Happy Mrs. Darlington!"--thought the ladies of Emberton as they gazed out, and saw the horseman clear the fence at a bound, and then canter lightly over the sloping fields that led away towards her dwelling. "Happy Mrs. Darlington!" and Mrs. Darlington was a happy woman;--but as there are at least a thousand ways, in this intellectual world, of being happy, we shall take leave to give a slight sketch of Mrs. Darlington's way.
Mrs. Darlington was a widow, and her happiness was farther increased by being a widow with a large fortune. Nor was her fortune alone derived from her ci-devant husband, for she had passed through all the three stages of female felicity--that of co-heiress, heiress, and rich widow with a very slight taste of the necessary purgatory preceding the last happy climax. Who was her father matters not to this book; he was dead, and his ancestors had him in the dust,--for as the Spectator says, "He had ancestors just as well as you and I, if he could but have told their names." This, however, it was supposed, from some defect in the family memory, he could not do; but in regard to his daughter, who was neither very handsome nor very ugly, the defect was soon remedied. She had every sort of instruction that the known world could produce; her father luckily died early; she had no relations to make her vulgar; she married Mr. Darlington, a man of rank and station--easily acquired the slang and ease of fashionable life; and adopted boldly, and without remorse of conscience, the whole of her husband's relations. Her husband found that his wife brought him fortune, good luck, and no family. His affairs, to use the seaman's term, righted, and after four years' marriage he died, leaving her out of pure gratitude, widowhood, fortune, and his relations.
Mrs. Darlington, having penetrated into the arcana, and got all she wanted--an introduction and a station in society--determined to taste no more of matrimony herself; though with laudable zeal she was ever willing to promote it amongst her friends and neighbours. She was naturally of somewhat a sentimental turn, but mingled and kept down by so sufficient a portion of small sensualities--I mean the eating, and drinking, and soft-lying, and, in short, the comfortable sensualities, nothing worse--that the sentimentality never became vulgar or troublesome. Nay, indeed, I might say, it never became apparent, and showed itself rather as a convenient sort of tender consideration for the wishes and feelings of young people of suitable ages and descriptions, and likely to fall in love with each other, than as any thing personal. In most other things, she was one of those very ordinary persons, perfectly ladylike and at their ease, with a small degree of taste in the fine arts--drew tolerably, liked music, and would sometimes play on the piano--was fond of fine scenery--spoke French well, with the exception of a slight confusion in the genders--had an idea or two of Italian, and had sketched the Coloseum. Added to all these high qualities, she was extremely good-natured, very fond of her friends and of herself; quiet, in no degree obtrusive, with a sufficient share of vanity never to fancy herself neglected, and yet not enough to run against the vanity of any one. A little tiresome she was, it is true, from a potent mixture of insipidity; but who is there so splenetic as not to forgive the only evil quality over which one can fall sound asleep, and wake without a headach?
Mrs. Darlington's common course of life was to travel during six months of the year, accompanied by as many young marriageable friends as she thought might do credit to her taste and kindness; and as she had a very extensive circle of acquaintances, at whose dwellings she was always welcome, these journeys were generally pleasant, and sometimes fortunate. Of the other six months, two were spent in London, where Mrs. Darlington, dressed by Carson, in the manner at once the most splendid and the most becoming her age, figured at dinner and evening parties, and was exceedingly useful both as a chaperon and a fill-up; while the other four months were passed at her estate near Emberton, with a house seldom entirely vacant, and dinner parties renowned for the delicacy of the manger.