“Exactly so!” beamed her ladyship. “You are a sensible girl, Arabella, and I am very hopeful of settling you respectably, just as I promised your Mama I would!” She saw that Arabella was blushing, and added: “You won’t object to my speaking plain, my love, for I daresay you know how important it is that you should be creditably established. Eight children! I do not know how your poor Mama will ever contrive to get good husbands for your sisters! And boys are such a charge on one’s purse! I am sure I do not care to think of what my dear Frederick cost his father and me from the first to last! First it was one thing, and then another!”
A serious look came into Arabella’s face, as she thought of the many and varied needs of her brothers and sisters. She said earnestly: “Indeed, ma’am, what you say is very just, and I mean to do my best not to disappoint Mama!”
Lady Bridlington leaned forward to lay her pudgy little hand over Arabella’s, and to squeeze it fondly. “I knew you would feel just as you ought!” she said. “Which brings me to what I had in mind to say to you!” She sat back again in her chair, fidgeted for a moment with the fringe of her shawl, and then said without looking at Arabella: “You know, my love, everything depends on first impressions—at least, a great deal does! In society, with everyone trying to find eligible husbands for their daughters, and so many beautiful girls for the gentlemen to choose from, it is in the highest degree important that you should do and say exactly what is right. That is why I mean to bring you out quietly, and not at all until you feel yourself at home in London. For you must know, my dear, that only rustics appear amazed. I am sure I do not know why it should be so, but you may believe that innocent girls from the country are not at all what the gentlemen like!”
Arabella was surprised, for her reading had taught her otherwise. She ventured to say as much, but Lady Bridlington shook her head. “No, my love, it is not so at all! That sort of thing may do very well in a novel, and I am very fond of novels myself, but they have nothing to do with life, depend upon it! But that was not what I wished to say!” Again she played with the shawl-fringe, saying in a little burst of eloquence: “I would not, if I were you, my dear, be forever talking about Heythram, and the Vicarage! You must remember that nothing is more wearisome than to be obliged to listen to stories about a set of persons one has never seen. And though of course you would not prevaricate in any way, it is quite unnecessary to tell everyone—or, indeed, anyone!—of your dear Papa’s situation! I have said nothing to lead anyone to suppose that he is not in affluent circumstances, for nothing, I do assure you, Arabella, could be more fatal to your chances than to have it known that your expectations are very small!”
Arabella was about to reply rather more hotly than was civil when the recollection of her own conduct in Mr. Beaumaris’s house came into her mind with stunning effect. She hung her head, and sat silent, wondering whether she ought to make a clean breast of the regrettable affair to Lady Bridlington, and deciding that it was too bad to be spoken of.
Lady Bridlington, misunderstanding the reason for her evident confusion, said hastily: “If you should be fortunate enough to engage some gentleman’s affection, dear Arabella, of course you will tell him just how you are placed, or I shall, and—and, depend upon it, he will not care a button! You must not be thinking that I wish you to practise the least deception, for it is no such thing! Merely, it would be foolish, and quite unnecessary, for you to be talking of your circumstances to every chance-met acquaintance!”
“Very well, ma’am,” said Arabella, in a subdued tone.
“I knew you would be sensible! Well, now, I am sure there is no need for me to say anything more to you on this head, and we must decide whom I shall invite to my evening-party. I wonder, my love, if you would see if my tablets are on that little table. And a pencil, if you will be so good!”
These commodities having been found, the good lady settled down happily to plan her forthcoming party. Since the names she recited were all of them unknown to Arabella, the discussion resolved itself into a gentle monologue. Lady Bridlington ran through the greater part of her acquaintance, murmuring that it would be useless to invite the Farnworths, since they had no children; that Lady Kirkmichael gave the shabbiest entertainments, and could not be depended on to invite Arabella, even if she did decide to give a ball for that lanky daughter of hers; that the Accringtons must of course be sent a card, and also the Buxtons—delightful families, both, and bound to entertain largely this season! “And I mean to invite Lord Dewsbury, and Sir Geoffrey Morcambe, my dear, for there is no saying but what one of them might—And I am sure Mr. Pocklington has been hanging out for a wife these two years, not but what he is perhaps a little old—However, we will ask him to come, for there can be no harm in that! Then, I must certainly prevail upon dear Lady Sefton to come, for she is one of the patronesses of Almack’s, you know; and perhaps Emily Cowper might—And the Charnwoods, and Mr. Catwick; and, if they are in town, the Garthorpes ...”
She rambled on in this style, while Arabella tried to appear interested. But as she could do no more than agree with her hostess when she was appealed to, her attention soon wandered, to be recalled with a jerk when Lady Bridlington mentioned a name she did know.