"What is the matter, love?—Has any thing vexed you?—is it any thing which I can remedy?—You know you have only to speak, and your wishes are my laws." He pressed her fondly to his breast as he said this, and she replied:
"Nothing; nothing vexes me, except that we are hardly ever together, as it seems to me—or never, but when in public; and I long for the time when we shall be in the country, and that all our occupations will be mutual; when you are not with me, I find more pleasure in music, or in reading, than in going to parties: for nobody cares for me; and I am sure I return the compliment."
"Nay, my sweet Georgina, this is really nonsense. Are you not courted and paid attention to by every one in the most marked manner?"
"Do not mistake me," she replied; "I have not explained what I mean. As to outward attentions of politeness, oh! yes, I receive them in abundance; but what I intended to make you understand is, that the things I take interest in, and the pleasures I have in view, seem so entirely different from those of the generality of the set I live in, that there is nothing left for me to say; and I often observe that when I do speak, my conversation is either laughed at, or they stare at me as if they did not believe I was serious."
Lord Glenmore smiled, and loved his innocent little wife a thousand times the more for her unsophisticated sweetness; nevertheless, as he was likely always to have a part to play in the great world, he could not help wishing that his wife should be able, without putting any force upon her inclinations, to do so likewise. He therefore said, and speaking rather more seriously than he had done: "Retain always, dearest Georgina, this youth and purity of character; but, for my sake, learn, my love, to endure an intercourse with others who may be of a less pure nature than yourself; but who are yet, from your situation and circumstances, likely to be those with whom you must naturally associate: to please me, then, my dearest Georgina, begin from to-day: put on all your smiles, and let me hear that you are the envy of the women, and the admiration of the men. Remember, love, to please me."
"Any thing to please you," she replied; and she decorated herself with more than usual care. Just as her toilette was about to be completed, Lord Glenmore entered her room with a quantity of lilies of the valley. "Here," he said, "I have brought you your favourite flowers; wear them, love, and let their fragrance remind you of the donor." All this lover-like attention enchanted the person to whom it was addressed, and her eyes sparkled with unwonted brilliancy, and her cheeks were tinged with the glow of pleasure as she fastened her bouquet in her breast. Lord Glenmore, proud of such a wife, as well he might be, handed her into her carriage, and she drove to Lady Tilney's, where the party were to assemble to go to Whitehall stairs.
When she entered the room she found nobody yet arrived; a servant made Lady Tilney's apology, saying she should be dressed shortly. Having played a few airs on the piano-forte, she took up a novel, and was busily employed in its pages when Mr. Leslie Winyard was announced. Lady Glenmore felt embarrassed in his presence, she knew not why, but there was something of fear and flutter that came over her whenever he approached, which she could not command. She arose and curtseyed; and then, as though she had payed him too marked a distinction, she remained awkwardly standing, as though she had taken that position by accident—not in honour of him.
All this was not unobserved by Mr. Winyard. He was too well practised in the ways of women's hearts not to read her's at a glance. At least he occasioned emotion, no matter what emotion. He was not to be seen with indifference—that was enough for him; and he despaired not of turning it to his own advantage. This advantage, however, was not, in the present instance, to be obtained by a coup de main; and assuming an air of polite, but frigid nonchalance, he accosted Lady Glenmore with an expression of surprise at finding her the first-arrived person; and then examined one of the miniatures which hung in a glass cabinet. Lady Glenmore soon recovered her composure, and entered into conversation by asking some of those questions which are merely the opening of conversation. "Yes, I like music," said Mr. Winyard, in answer to one of her questions; "it is one of the very few things which is worth giving one's-self any trouble about. I once learned to sing; the only thing I ever learned." Lady Glenmore laughed; and as her own ingenuous manner returned, she evinced that propensity to being amused by the present moment, which is so natural and so pleasing in youth.
"Will you do me the honour to sing a duet with me?"