“Papa!” exclaimed Cecilia scornfully. “No! It is Charles who delights in making me unhappy!”
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “It would be useless, I collect, to say that my earnest wish is that you should not be made unhappy.”
She returned no answer, but folded her letter with shaking hands, and bestowed it in her bosom, throwing a defiant look at him as she did so. It was met with one of contempt; Mr. Rivenhall propped his shoulders against the mantelshelf, dug his hands into his breeches pockets, and waited sardonically for what she might say next.
She dried her eyes instead, catching her breath on little sobs. She was a very lovely girl, with pale golden locks arranged in ringlets about an exquisitely shaped face, whose delicate complexion was at the moment heightened, not unbecomingly, by an angry flush. In general, her expression was one of sweet pensiveness, but the agitation of the moment had kindled a martial spark in her eyes, and she was gripping her underlip between her teeth in a way that made her look quite vicious. Her brother, cynically observing this, said that she should make a practice of losing her temper, since it improved her, lending animation to a countenance well enough in its way but a trifle insipid.
This unkind remark left Cecilia unmoved. She could hardly fail to know that she was much admired, but she was a very modest girl quite unappreciative of her own beauty, and would much have preferred to have been fashionably dark. She sighed, released her lip, and sat down on a low chair beside her Mama’s sofa, saying in a more moderate tone: “You cannot deny, Charles, that it is your doing that Mama has taken this — this unaccountable dislike to Augustus!”
“Now, there,” said Lady Ombersley earnestly, “you are at fault, dearest, for I do not dislike him at all! Only I cannot think him an eligible husband!”
“I don’t care for that!” declared Cecilia. “He is the only man for whom I could ever feel that degree of attachment which — In short, I beg you will abandon any notion you may have that I could ever entertain Lord Charlbury’s extremely flattering proposal, for I never shall!”
Lady Ombersley uttered a distressful but incoherent protest; Mr. Rivenhall said in his prosaic way, “Yet you were not, I fancy, so much averse from Charlbury’s proposal when it was first told you.”
Cecilia turned her lambent gaze upon him, and answered, “I had not then met Augustus.”
Lady Ombersley appeared to be a good deal struck by the logic of this pronouncement, but her son was less impressionable. He said, “Don’t waste these high flights on me, I beg of you! You have been acquainted with young Fawnhope any time these nineteen years!”