Sir Thomas, meanwhile, who had been persuaded to resume both his seat by the fire and the plaid shawl which had been draped round his shoulders, said to the Earl: “Who is this young fellow, eh, my lord? What did you say his name was?”
“Ulverston: he is Wrexham’s eldest son, and, like myself, has lately sold out of the Army.”
“H’m!” Sir Thomas’s shrewd gaze dwelled for a minute on the Viscount and Marianne. “I like the cut of his jib,” he decided.
“He is the best of good fellows.”
Lady Bolderwood seemed also to like the Viscount, which was not surprising, since he seized the first opportunity that offered of seating himself on the sofa beside her, and making himself agreeable. Upon hearing that he was staying for the present at Stanyon, she very cordially invited him to come to Whissenhurst with the Earl to an informal party she had the intention of giving before leaving for London. He accepted, but he did not feel it to be incumbent upon him to tell her that she might expect to have the pleasure of seeing him at Whissenhurst considerably before this date.
The Stanyon party soon took leave, and Lady Bolderwood went with Marianne upstairs to her dressing-room, in the expectation of hearing every detail of her visit. She did indeed hear that Marianne had enjoyed herself very much, that Lady St. Erth had been kind, and dear Drusilla very kind, that the ball had been delightful, and she had had so many partners she could not remember the half of them; but it seemed to her that her daughter was rather abstracted. She supposed that she was tired from so much excitement, and expected her to profit by a long night’s rest. But on the following morning Marianne was more abstracted than ever; paid very little need to Mr. Warboys, who called at Whissenhurst on the plausible excuse of wishing to know how Sir Thomas was going on; and was three times discovered by her Mama to be lost in some day-dream: once when she should have been practising her music, once when she had been desired to wash the Sevres ornaments in the drawing-room, and once when she should have been setting stitches in the sampler destined for her Aunt Caroline. Lady Bolderwood felt herself to be obliged to speak reprovingly to her, pointing out to her that if she allowed herself to be so much affected by one country-ball, a Season in London would transform her into a good-for-nothing miss, never happy except when at a party. Much discomposed, Marianne bent over the sampler, murmuring that it was not that,and indeed she did not care so very much for parties.
“Well, my love, you must not let Stanyon make you discontented, you know. I daresay the Rutlands, and their set, may have been very agreeable, but I did not like to see you so uncivil to poor Barny Warboys.”
“Oh, no,Mama!” Marianne protested, tears starting to her eyes.
“You did not make him very welcome, did you? One should never discard old friends, my dear, for new ones.”
“I did not mean — I have the head-ache a little!” Marianne faltered. “ Indeed I did not mean to be unkind to Barny!”