"Oh, certainly—to Lady Tilney's."
"To Lady Tilney's party!" with a marked emphasis on the last word; and then checking herself, and resuming her usual dignity of composure, she added, "I hope you will have an agreeable soirée; when one lives out of the world, and grows old, one forgets the delights of these sort of re-unions; but, of course, one must do in London as they do in London; and I believe, like most other things, the habit of attending them becomes a second nature." Lord Albert smiled—it might be in acquiescence, it might be in disdain; and with many good-nights, he slightly touched the hands of Lady Dunmelraise and her daughter, and departed.
There was a silence, an awkward silence; neither liked to express the thought that was uppermost in her mind, for fear of wounding the other. At length Lady Dunmelraise spoke: "It is strange," she said, "to observe the sort of hold which foolish things sometimes obtain over sensible men. The class of persons with whom Lord Albert seems now to be living, are not those I should have conceived that he would ever have selected; but fashion leads young people to do a thousand silly things, which they repent when their ripened judgment shews them in their true colours; and to say truth, I think Lord Albert's manners altogether have not gained by foreign travel. But I suppose I must not express such treason to you, Adeline?" Lady Adeline tried to smile, as she replied:
"I have hardly had time to judge;" and Lady Dunmelraise turned the discourse rather on the associates of Lord Albert than on himself.
"The persons," she said, "he named to us as having been at Restormel, and with whom he now appears so much engaged, are those who live entirely for this world: and not even for the most dignified employments or pursuits of this present existence. Fortune, health, and morals, are all likely to become the prey of a voracious appetite for pleasure; and when we live only to pleasure, we lose all title to being rational souls, and make a wreck of happiness. I am willing to hope and believe, that many are ensnared to tread this Circean circle who are in ignorance of what it leads to; who see in it only a brilliant phantom of amusement, a glittering ignis fatuus that pleases their fancy, but which, alas! I fear, too frequently leads them on, till some entanglement of fortune, or virtue, levels them with its worse members; and from which it is a mercy indeed if they ever escape."
Lady Adeline had listened to her mother with an interest that made her shudder. "And is it, indeed," she cried, "in such a set that Albert is thrown!" while the paleness of her countenance expressed the anguish of her mind.
"I trust not, my dearest child. I do not mean to say, for I have no right so to say, that Lord Albert is habitually one of this set;—heaven forbid!—but that he frequents their society appears evident. However, let us not think evil before it actually occurs; let us judge dispassionately, and see for ourselves. You are now, my love, to enter into the great world under an excellent and loving guide; and having warned you, I leave your own good sense to do the rest." Lady Adeline sighed heavily, and did not seem able at all to rally her spirits. "Now, love, let us turn to lighter matters," said Lady Dunmelraise, "and consider the arrangements of your presentation dress."
"I should prefer its being as simple as possible," said Lady Adeline, "and the rest I leave entirely to your, and," she added hesitatingly, "to Lord Albert's tastes." Her mother shortly after proposed retiring for the night, and trembled as she saw how deeply her daughter's happiness seemed to depend on Lord Albert, perceiving that she referred every trifle to his arbitration.
When he left South Audley Street to go to Lady Tilney's supper party, Lord Albert ran over again in his mind the occurrences of the day, and in Lady Adeline's silence, her manner, her looks, he thought he read an indifference towards himself, which at once piqued and wounded him. In all that had fallen from Lady Dunmelraise, in all that he could gather from her manner towards himself, he could not fix on any thing unkind or unjust; but from the consciousness of his own conduct not having been what it ought, his heart was ill at ease, and he knew not with what right he felt angry; but yet he did so feel, and was tempted to inveigh against the fickleness of woman, while a thought of Mr. Foley obtruded itself among all the rest, and shewed him an imaginary rival.
"Can all this," he asked himself, "be only preparatory to her breaking off her engagement altogether?"