“No—no, Perdita: you must not attempt such a perilous proceeding,” said Mrs. Fitzhardinge, evidently listening with great uneasiness to the words that fell from her daughter’s lips.
“I dare and will attempt all I choose or fancy with that young man!” cried the head-strong Perdita, in an imperious tone.
“Will you not follow my counsel?” demanded Mrs. Fitzhardinge. “Have I not fulfilled all my promises to you?—did I not declare that in London you should find luxury, plenty, and ease?—did I not pledge myself that the young man should sue at your feet and implore your love?—and could you have brought about all these results for yourself?”
“I do not pretend that I could, mother,” returned Perdita. “But am I to be your tool—your instrument—an automaton in your hands?—am I not to have an opinion in our councils?—or am I to pay blind obedience to you, even though I have reasons for questioning the prudence of your proceedings?”
“And do you now question the prudence of my proceedings?” demanded Mrs. Fitzhardinge, growing every moment more and more irritable.
“Yes—I do!” answered Perdita, firmly and resolutely—at the same time fixing her brilliant eyes rebelliously upon her mother. “I admit that if we had only ensnared in our toils a simple commoner—a plain Charles Hatfield—with limited resources within his reach, it would have been advisable to form no lasting connexion with him. But now—now that we are assured, beyond all possibility of doubt, that he is himself a nobleman and the heir to enormous wealth, it would be madness—it would be folly not to bind him to us by irrefragable chains. Why—here is a position to be obtained and ensured at once,—a position which will render us rich for the remainder of our days! And think you, mother, that I have not a little feeling of ambition in my soul? Would it not be a proud thing for you to be enabled to call the Vicountess Marston—and in due time the Countess of Ellingham—your daughter? All these considerations never flashed to my mind until immediately after Charles had quitted the room ere now: or I should have assuredly commenced the undoing of all that stupid work which, by your persuasion and so well tutored by you, I achieved in respect to the conditions whereon our connexion was to be based. What!” she cried, her eyes absolutely flashing fire: “have a coronet within my reach—and refuse it!—have a wealthy noble—or one who will be enormously wealthy—sighing at my feet, and not wed him! Mother,” she cried, actually exciting herself into a passion, “you must think me to be a fool—an idiot—a mad woman!”
“I shall think you to be a fool—an idiot—and a mad woman if you persist in thwarting my plans or proceeding contrary to my advice,” said Mrs. Fitzhardinge, her tanned, weather-beaten countenance becoming absolutely livid with rage.
“Ah! you have some sinister purpose to serve, mother!” cried Perdita, a sudden idea striking her: “else never would you oppose yourself so completely to the dictates of common sense. What were your words to me when I spoke to you—and spoke as rashly—about the inaccessibility of my soul to the passion of love? You advised me not to count only on the chance of making a good match: you declared it to be far more probable that I might ensnare some young gentleman of birth, family, and fortune—or some old voluptuary of immense wealth;—and you added that there was more to be gained as the mistress of one of those, than as a wife. In fine, your advice was that I should remain unmarried and independent, so that the moment I had ruined one lover, I might take another.”
“Yes—and that counsel was the wisest I could proffer you,” said her mother, actually speaking in a savage tone, and looking as if she could have leapt, tigress-like, upon her daughter and torn her with her nails as if they were claws.
“Oh! the advice was good enough under certain circumstances,” exclaimed Perdita. “It was good in so far as it related to the probability of my securing a succession of lovers, each with only a comparatively small fortune, and each individual, therefore, to be soon set aside. But now that, at the very outset, chance has thrown in my way a young noble, who must sooner or later inherit a vast fortune which no extravagance can completely dissipate,—a fortune, indeed, which will minister to all extravagances, and yet remain unimpaired,—should I not be the veriest fool that ever tossed gold into a river or hurled diamonds into an abyss, were I not to secure the brilliant advantage thus placed within my reach?”