"Your daughter! who are you talking about?—what has my son to do with any of your daughters?" Mrs. Pynsent was evidently beginning to chafe, but she had offended by her allusions to mothers and daughters, and she was destined to receive punishment from Lady Wetheral's hands.
"I am afraid I have alluded to circumstances which have not been made known to you, my dear Mrs. Pynsent, and I beseech you not to remember what has passed my lips: I was of course perfectly certain you were no stranger to certain events at Wetheral, or I would have withheld this unfortunate communication; I thought you knew...."
"I know nothing, Lady Wetheral; and what is more, I have no desire to know any thing: have the kindness to let me pass."
Mrs. Pynsent passed on, as her ladyship fell back with polite ease of manner at her wish; but the iron had entered into her soul. The diamond aigrette upon her green satin turban paled under the flashing of her eyes as she proceeded up the room towards Lady Spottiswoode. Lady Wetheral confessed afterwards, her triumph at that moment repaid her for many bitter taunts on the part of her victim.
Whatever might be the opinion of Mrs. Pynsent respecting an alliance with "a Wetheral," her son was plunging into the scrape with formidable determination. He had truly admired Julia; he had been severely disappointed by her refusal; but then she never cared for him, and he had applied to her father in doubt and fearful suspicion that she preferred Ennismore. There was a lovely and admired creature positively in love with him—a girl, too, considered by the men inaccessible to all approach—even Vyvyan detected her attachment, and the Tyndals envied him; this was irresistible; and Tom Pynsent forgot every thing, in the flattering, rapturous idea that he was loved by such a woman. His attention that night was extremely marked, and Miss Wetheral, glowing with happy elation of spirits, listened with deep interest to the half-sentimental, half-awkward conversation of her partner. At the conclusion of the dance, which attracted the attention of Mrs. Tyndal, Tom Pynsent became more seriously sentimental and red-faced.
"Miss Wetheral, I think a man may love twice, mayn't he?"
"He may so," replied Anna Maria, "but no one ever loves with depth of affection a second time; how can they?"
Tom Pynsent looked at his gloves, and then upon the ground. "Indeed I don't know."
"The first affection," she continued, with feeling, "unites all the best feelings in their intensity; but when they are crushed, those feelings bloom no more, though they may not be extinguished."