Lady Frances looked more than usually beautiful and interesting on this occasion: at least so thought Charles Hatfield, as, seating himself by her side, he ministered to her the attentions of the breakfast table.
The conversation turned upon an important event which was to take place in the evening—the Prince of Montoni having accepted the Earl of Ellingham’s invitation to a banquet at the lordly mansion in Pall Mall. It was resolved, in order to render befitting honour to the illustrious guest, that the entertainment should be of the most sumptuous description; and no expense was to be spared on the occasion. A select number of the noble Earl’s acquaintances were invited; and these were chosen not on account of great names and sounding titles,—but on the score of personal merit and consideration.
Soon after breakfast Charles Hatfield and Lady Frances found themselves alone together in the apartment; and the young maiden, approaching her companion, said in her artless, fascinating manner, “I am delighted to see that you have recovered your natural gaiety. Do you know, Mr. Charles, that you have latterly been most desperately moody and reserved?”
“Not towards you, I hope, dear Fanny,” he replied. “Not for worlds,” he added emphatically, “would I give you cause to think ill of me.”
“As for thinking ill of you, Charles,” she observed, “that would be impossible! But may I not seek to know the reasons of your late unhappiness?”
“Let us not discourse upon the past, Fanny,” said the young man, earnestly. “I am happy now, at all events—happier, too, than ever, because I perceive that my welfare is not altogether indifferent to you.”
“Far from it,” observed Lady Frances, with the ingenuous emphasis of her extreme artlessness. “Do we not live beneath the same roof?—are we not friends?—are not our parents very dear friends to each other?—and is it not therefore natural that I should feel interested in all that concerns your happiness?”
“Adorable creature!” exclaimed Charles, as he drew a rapid contrast between the charming naiveté of the beautiful Lady Frances and the forward, bold manner of the voluptuously lovely Perdita: then, taking his cousin’s hand, and gazing tenderly upon her innocent countenance, he said, “Fanny, were our parents to sanction our marriage, would you consent to be mine?”
Lady Frances withdrew her hand hastily; and, blushing deeply, she gazed for a few seconds in the most unfeigned surprise on her companion.
“You are not offended with me?” asked Charles. “I had hoped—I had flattered myself——”