Had he been the most astute diplomatist, he could not have made a speech better calculated to please Mrs. Planter. She said to her daughter, as they dressed for dinner, that she had always liked Sir Mordaunt Ballinger, but she found him now really too nice for anything.
The beautiful Clare murmured something which was not very intelligible to her mother. Indeed, her daughter's sentiments on this subject were not clear to her fond parent. The girl had been having a "good time" to-day, in almost uninterrupted flirtation with the English baronet. But Mrs. Planter attached no undue importance to this. She knew her daughter too well. Clare had all the wisdom of her countrywomen in the conduct of such affairs: she would never lose her head; she would never be led, by vanity, or tenderness, or passion, to commit herself, until she was satisfied that this was the man, and none other, she ought, and desired to marry. Herein she showed her superiority to the English girl, who becomes quickly intoxicated, loses all balance of judgment, and plights her troth in a flood of foolish words, which she often bitterly regrets. We are apt to call the American cold and heartless. She is not necessarily so because she seems to be playing with a man, much as a cat does with a mouse. It may be that she is worldly and calculating; it may be that she is diverting herself at her adorer's expense. But there is the other possibility: she may be gauging, in the only way a woman can gauge, the man's character, and the measure of her liking for him. She does not succumb to his personal charm, to his fervent admiration, at once; she wants to know more of him, and, having very keen perceptions, builds up her knowledge from all the chance words he lets fall. It is true that she responds to his advances, that she "encourages" him, as we call it, more than custom approves in England; but she looks upon the game as a fair one, entailing, as she conceives, but small damage to either party. Ever since she was a little girl she has known that man is a predatory animal, seeking whom he may devour. She has no idea of being devoured; least of all when she is a great heiress, fully conscious how many hunters are on her track. No! she will fight them with their own weapons, and when she yields it will not be from ignorance of their vulnerable points.
In this case Grace, who watched her brother's movements with keen interest, could not make up her mind how far either or both players were in earnest. Mordaunt had an unlimited capacity for flirtation; but under that thin surface of chaff and protestation, with which he met the attack of every pretty woman, there were layers of susceptibility, which had more than once been pierced. This careless, impudent young Englishman, with all his faults, had a heart. It had been touched, though happily not very seriously, before now. But if this state of things went on for several days, and if the girl had a stronger head than her brother (which Grace never doubted), and was only amusing herself, how would it be with Mordaunt then? She had not seen enough of Clare Planter to determine whether she wished her for a sister-in-law; but she was quite sure she had no prejudice against her on the score of nationality. If the girl should care for him, and if her character was one likely to make him happy, Grace would further her brother's wishes by every means in her power.
Her reflections did not take this substantive form till Tuesday morning. The Sunday evening had been very pleasant to every one but Ferrars. Burton had played, and Saul Barham had sat beside Grace, and a few words had passed now and again during the intervals of the music. There was a bond of sympathy between them which, for the time being, required no other language. Mordaunt and Clare were not so easily satisfied. At the farther end of the long room, where their whispers could not reach Mrs. Courtly, they lay back on a settee, the shaded lamp-light defining dimly the silhouette of their two heads, and touching more sharply the edges of the girl's pink and silver dress and the tips of patent-leather which terminated the man's long legs, crossed one over the other. That was the picture which often rose before Grace's eyes when she pondered on what her brother's fate would be. The actual dialogue would not have struck an eavesdropper as sentimental. But then there are so many different avenues to the citadel of the affections.
She was fond of referring to England. "Have you ever stayed at Lord Grantham's?"
"No. He never asked me, and I shouldn't have gone if he had."
"Why not?"
"Oh! I don't know. He's not in my set. I shouldn't meet any one I knew there."
"That is very civil to me! We stayed there quite a number of times. Pray, why is he not in 'your set'? Is he not of as good a family as there is in England?"
"Yes. It's a very old title. But rank isn't everything. That is a mistake Americans are so apt to make. Men of rank are not always much thought of in society."