“You know not, my lord, what may be the results of the family convulsion—the domestic revolution—which your contemplated proceedings will bring about. Pardon me, my dear Viscount, if I thus dwell upon matters so purely worldly;—but remember that I myself am now placed in a cruel position by the total wreck of the brilliant hopes which my claims in Chancery so recently held out;—and unless I succeed in raising a few thousand pounds within a week, I shall positively be menaced with imprisonment in a debtors’ gaol.”
“Merciful heaven!” cried Charles Hatfield: “how can I possibly assist you?”
“You will not think me mercenary, my lord——”
“Oh! no—no, my dear madam!” he exclaimed impatiently. “Tell me if there be a means of raising the amount you require; and my readiness to adopt those means must be received by you as a proof of my anxiety to render myself worthy of Perdita’s love and your esteem.”
“Generous nobleman!” cried Mrs. Fitzhardinge, pretending to be affected by the scene: “my daughter will indeed be happy in the possession of your heart! Listen, my lord,” she continued; “and our interview may soon be brought to a close—for I know that you are as anxious to see a certain person as she is dying to behold you. Your lordship ere now alluded to particular papers which prove the legitimate birth, rights, and identity of you father:—by means of those papers, and on your lordship signing a document, I can undertake to procure as large a sum of money as may be required either by my necessities or for your own present wants.”
“This evening, my dear madam, I will place the papers in your hands,” said Charles, who was anxious to terminate this interview as speedily as possible—for his impatience to behold Perdita began to exceed his powers of endurance.
“At eight o’clock this evening I shall expect your lordship,” observed Mrs. Fitzhardinge: and, with these words, she quitted the apartment.
Charles Hatfield approached the mirror—arranged his hair in the most becoming manner—and had just snatched a last satisfactory glance at the reflection of his handsome countenance, when the door opened and Perdita entered the room.
CHAPTER CXXXVI.
INFATUATION.
Perdita was dressed in a more modest and, to speak truly, in a more delicate manner than on either of the former occasions when Charles had seen her. A plain morning gown, made with a high corsage, set off her fine figure, without affording even a glimpse of the charms the full proportions of which its shape developed. Her hair was arranged in plain bands; and there was altogether an appearance of so much innocence, candour, and maiden reserve in her demeanour, that it seemed to Charles as if he now beheld in her some new phasis of her wondrous beauty.