“You do not belong to the county, do you?”
“N—no; my family belongs to Berks,” said Mrs. Mowbray. “You don't know any thing about Berks, I suppose? I'm a Fydill.”
“A fiddle?” said Edith, somewhat bewildered, for Mrs. Mowbray pronounced her family name in that way, and appeared to take great pride in it.
“Yes,” said she, “a Fydill—one of the oldest families there. Every one has heard of the Fydills of Berks. I suppose you have never been there, and so have not had the opportunity of hearing about them.”
“No,” said Edith; “I have passed most of my life at school.”
“Of course. You are so deliciously young. And oh, Miss Dalton, what a delightful thing it is to be young! One is so admired, and has so many advantages! It is a sad, sad thing that one grows old so soon. I'm so gray, I'm sure I look like eighty. But, after all, I'm not so very old. There's Lady Poyntz, twice my age, who goes into society most energetically; and old Miss De Frissure, who, by-the-way, is enormously rich, actually rides on horseback, and she is old enough to be my mother; and Mrs. Rannig, the rich widow—you must have heard about her—positively does nothing but dance; and old Mrs. Scott, the brewer's, wife, who has recently come here, whenever she gives balls for her daughters, always dances more than any one. All these people are very much older than I am; and so I say to myself, 'Helen, my dear, you are quite a girl; why shouldn't you enjoy yourself?' And so I do enjoy myself.”
“I suppose, then, that you like dancing?” said Edith, who, in spite of her sadness, found a mournful amusement in the idea of this woman dancing.
“I'm par-tic-u-lar-ly fond of dancing,” said Mrs. Mowbray, with strong emphasis. “Only the young men are so rude! They fly about after young chits of girls, and don't notice me. And so I don't often have an opportunity, you know. But there is a German gentleman here—a baron, my dear—and he is very polite. He sometimes asks me to dance, and I enjoy it very much, only he is so short and fat and bald that I fear he looks very ridiculous. But the young men, Miss Dalton, are very, very neglectful.”
“That is a pity,” said Edith.
“Oh, they are so, I do assure you. Now that is the very thing that I have tried to impress upon the captain. 'My dearest boy,' I have always said, 'mind the ladies. That is the first and highest duty of a true gentleman. Particularly those ladies who are mature. Don't confine your attentions to giddy and thoughtless girls. There are many ladies at every ball of estimable character, and sometimes even of considerable wealth, who deserve your attentions far more than those poor young creatures who have nothing more to recommend them than their childish good looks.' And I trust my son has not failed to profit by my advice. At balls he does not often seek out the young, but rather the old. Indeed, so marked is his preference for married ladies that all the younger ones notice it and resent it, so that they have formed really quite an aversion to him; and now, whether he will or not, he has to dance exclusively with the elder ones. Once he danced with me, and it was a proud moment for me, I assure you.”