"Oh! but, my dear Lady Tenderden, for Glenmore's sake, you know, for all our sakes, you will not let this affair terminate as it must do if something is not done to put it on a right footing? You will not surely let the scandale of such a common-place dénouement attach to our society, as the infallible issue of the affair must cause, unless we attempt to save appearances, and settle the marche du jeu in better taste at least?"
Lady Tenderden's countenance relaxed, as if she was pleased at the idea of holding an influence over Lord Glenmore; and Lady Tilney was satisfied that she had done wisely in condescending to flatter her amour-propre, by confessing herself secondary in influence; a point which she was never very willing to yield: but she felt it was the surest way of securing Lady Tenderden's co-operation, and proceeded to say,
"Now listen, I entreat you, to what I have to propose; and if you do not approve my idea, then suggest something better. The only thing that remains to be done, in my opinion, then," continued Lady Tilney, "is to get Georgina out of England. You know Glenmore cannot move; but that is no reason why she may not be absent for a few months. The advantage of your company, her health, a thousand excuses may be found: and if she is not as deeply involved as we suspect with Winyard, this will break off the affair; while, if she is, absence, and distance, and the chances of time and place, que sais-je enfin——a million things may turn away the tide of observation from us: at all events, the éclat will be less offensive abroad than at home. Now, could you not propose to her a little tour to Spa, or Les Eaux de Barèges, when the season comes round for leaving London?"
Lady Tenderden seemed half inclined to acquiesce, but, like most people who make sudden changes of opinion, she did not know exactly how to give as ready an assent as she was willing in her heart to do; while, at the same time, there was a little demur at the idea of being made the tool of Lady Tilney, as well as of being mixed up in an affair in which, if it ended wrong, she would regret to have been implicated.
Lady Tilney's flattery and persuasive reasonings, however, as was generally the case when she had a favourite point to carry, prevailed; and the conversation ended with an arrangement, that Lady Tenderden should, in the course of a few days, open the subject to Lady Glenmore, and put it en train.
Although the solicitude of the polite Lady Tilney for the fate of her young élève might have been premature as to the precise degree of her liaison with Mr. Leslie Winyard, still, if it had been entertained on a better principle than that of mere expediency, it would have been amiable and justifiable; for when a married woman's name is once connected with that of any man in particular, there is an immediate taint on her character, which, while it is degrading to herself, attaches to her husband the character of dupe, or something worse, and affords an example to others, productive of almost as much evil as would accrue from actual guilt.
There are very few women on whom this stain is cast, who could, like the youthful Lady Glenmore, plead perfect innocence of intention; but she had been, almost at the outset of her marriage, thrown alone in the midst of the most dangerous class of the most dangerous society of London. She had not certainly to complain that Lord Glenmore had wilfully deserted or neglected her: his absence was a necessary consequence of the duties he had taken upon himself in his public career.
While, however, she acknowledged this, she could not but feel and mourn over his absence with childish simplicity of tenderness: and when at last, partly from necessity, and partly from the various arts used to wean her from this innocent love, she felt, as it was natural she should feel, considering that no very strong principle of religion had been instilled into her mind, or given stability to her character, that there could be no impropriety in having recourse to the pleasures and pursuits of fashion—pleasures which pertained to her situation, and were not only sanctioned, but encouraged, by her husband—still, in doing this, it was not in her nature to aspire to any leading part, or to take any particular station, in the circle in which she moved. Had it been so,—had she been, in short, more worldly,—her conduct would have been more measured, more under the control of appearances; and though she would not have had so much real virtue, she would better have known how to preserve its semblance. But as it was, the object sought by her in the maze of pleasure was simply an indemnification for her husband's absence: and not possessing a mind stored by solid instruction, or gifted with strong judgment, amiable, pliant, and fond, she entered on this perilous career without one of those qualities which might have enabled her to steer her course with safety.
Thus exposed, she risked becoming the victim of any designing persons who found it their amusement or their interest to render her the subject of licentious animadversion. Where almost every event, as in the kind of life described, bears some analogy, little variety occurs to mark the progress of time. One intrigue resembles another; one slander is like its neighbour; one soirée is a specimen of all: and unless, indeed, some defiance of morality more glaring than usual, some solecism in a marriage or a ball, a death or a breakfast, take place, there is little for the chronicler of the system to register in his page.
Ministers had looked forward to rest after the burthen of the session; the nobles had gone to their country seats to enjoy the beauties of the "sere and yellow leaf," there to renew the dissipations of the town. Hither, too, the invited intrigant had followed the object of his present pursuit, to tell in shady bowers the tale, so often told before to others, of treacherous love; while the sportsman, with more open and more honest if not nobler aim, hied him to moors and highlands in pursuit of his ruling passion.