After despatching this note, Lord Glenmore sought his wife, and entered into an account of what passed the previous day; he spoke of the increased expediency that would ensue of her living very much in society, whether he could himself be present with her or not; and added, that she must not allow any fears or mistrust, either of herself or him, to lessen the pleasure which it was natural, at her age and with her charm of person, she should derive from the homage around her.
"It is not mistrust, dearest Glenmore, that makes me feel joyless in your absence, for what can I fear?—it is true that I am uninterested in every thing, when you are not by to share my pleasure; but indeed you quite mistake me, love, if you suppose that I am not all confidence in you. And as to myself, what is there that can be for a moment dangerous to my peace, when all my interest, all my wishes, are centred in your love?"
"My own best Georgina," he replied, pressing her to his breast, "be ever thus, and what can I wish for more. But, love, mark me—you are now no longer the girl, whose duties were centred in passive obedience to her relatives, and whose recreations were the innocent, but trifling pursuits of girlhood; you are the wife of a man who is become a servant of the public—whose high cares must necessarily debar him frequently from the enjoyment of those domestic pleasures which a less busy or responsible life might allow. It is now become your duty, love, to feel your own consequence in his—to play your part in the scale by which his actions must be measured, and to be aware that many will court you from an idea of your being wife to a minister, who would not for your own sake alone, perhaps, have thought of you; while others who previously courted you for the charm of your presence and the beauty of your outward shew, will now doubly affect your society, and endeavour, it may be, to use your influence to undue purposes. All are not pure and single-hearted like you, my dearest, and these cautions, believe me, are not given as to one whose worth I doubt, but, on the contrary, to one whose very ingenuousness and worth may prove a snare to her. In all that concerns mere knowledge of the world I recommend you to look to Lady Tenderden and Lady Tilney; they have passed creditably through the busy throng, and are certainly in all respects fashionable, and bear a high consideration in the estimation of the London world. You cannot do better, then, than to shape your course by their's in respect to what the French call conduite; and to the dictates of the heart, and moral duties, I refer you to your own and your excellent mother's."
Lady Glenmore scarcely knew why, but her heart swelled almost to bursting while her husband spoke thus to her; and it was with difficulty that she restrained the tears which seemed at every moment ready to overflow. The truth was she dwelt upon his first words, his declaration that his newly acquired honour would debar him from the pleasures of home society; and she looked up timidly as with tender accents she asked, "whether she was doomed now to be always absent from him."
"I trust not, dearest; at all events, you know my best and fondest interests are centred in you, and you would, I am sure, consider your husband's advantage and glory to be of value to you, even though these were obtained by the sacrifice of his company."
She said "yes," but felt decidedly, that had she spoken the truth, the "yes" would have been "no."
Lord Glenmore received several notes, and with a preoccupied air which prevented his observing the melancholy depicted on his wife's countenance, he snatched a hasty embrace, and was hurrying away, when looking back he said, "Remember love, not a word of this to any one, even to your mother. A few days will release the restraint I put upon your tongue," he added, smiling; "but in you I expect to find the wonder, that a woman can keep a secret;—in all things, I believe in, and trust you. Adieu, love, adieu." And he was gone.
That which would have pleased a vain woman, and gratified an ambitious one, fell only like lead on the young Georgina's heart.
"So," she said, sinking down in a chair, "I am a minister's wife. And am I the happier? Far, far from it; I am seldom now to see my husband, and when I do, the concerns of the public are to form our consideration and discourse; whereas, hitherto, in the short sunshine of our marriage, ourselves, our mutual hopes, our own dear home, have constituted all our care; and I fondly trusted, perhaps foolishly hoped, would have continued to do so. What a desolating change! But he says I must prepare for it; and since it is his will that thus it should be, I will endeavour to hide the mournful feelings of my heart. My dear mamma shall not see that I have wept either, for she will, perhaps, ascribe my tears to my husband's temper, and that would be worse still." So saying, she roused herself from the despondency into which she had fallen, bathed her face, called up smiles which were not genuine for the first time in her life; and, having re-arranged her dress, she said to herself as she cast a glance at her mirror, "Am I not now metamorphosed into the wife of a minister?" Just as she was preparing to ring her bell for her carriage, Lady Tenderden arrived.