It was an evil day to Miss Wycherly. Ever since the eventful ball, which produced the present cause of her intended visit, Mr. Spottiswoode had never renewed the subject which she had treated so lightly, or sought her society, his once constant anxiety and invariable daily practice. Since that eventful ball, so happy in its results to one party, so gloomy in its termination to herself—since that night, when her rash spirits tempted her to jest with her lover's serious wish to understand her sentiments, had Mr. Spottiswoode been a stranger to Lidham; and most rashly had Miss Wycherly persevered in flirting with Mr. Henry Tyndal, to evince her indifference to Mr. Spottiswoode's prolonged absence, and to bring down upon herself, ultimately, the reproach of having given encouragement to Henry Tyndal ungenerously and dishonourably. Her present state of mind towards Mr. Spottiswoode was unchangeable affection, such as it had ever felt towards him; and such as she felt assured must ever exist there, though her own lips had made a breach between them, by trifling with his long-expressed affection.
Miss Wycherly felt aware that she had drawn down upon herself the offended feelings of an injured man, who had borne all her caprice with patient endurance; she felt, too, that there was a point when that endurance must and would burst from its fetters, and assert its freedom. Mr. Spottiswoode's spirit might bear with a certain degree of flippancy; but he would not endure to become a woman's toy, to become a thing, which the woman he loved could dare to throw from her in caprice, and recall at will. Such, Miss Wycherly knew, was not the nature of his love, whom her heart pined to recover. But her pride—the pride of a woman unwilling to bend her spirit in acknowledgment of error—persisted in allowing Henry Tyndal to attend her in public; and its false reasoning forbade her to appear wounded by the consequences of her fault. Miss Wycherly could only trust to circumstances for assistance in developing the real intentions of her offended lover; and, in making an appointment with Lady Spottiswoode, she trusted events might concur to restore her again into her son's favour, and dispel the cloud which separated them.
In this frame of mind, and with this hope, to spread flowers on her path, Miss Wycherly drove her four beautiful bays into Shrewsbury, and drew up before Lady Spottiswoode's house. Mr. Spottiswoode, accompanied by the Tyndals, appeared at the hall-door to receive her; and Mr. Spottiswoode politely, but with reserve of voice and manner, expressed Lady Spottiswoode's hope that she would take refreshment before they proceeded to Hatton. This was Miss Wycherly's first meeting with her lover, since the misunderstanding which had taken place at Lady Spottiswoode's ball; and her heart felt and sunk under the changed expression of his voice and manner. She gave her reins to the groom, and prepared to obey Lady Spottiswoode's request. Mr. Henry Tyndal went forward with his brother to offer their assistance, while Mr. Spottiswoode remained on the steps, as a person who conceived that all required attention on his part, was effected in the delivery of his mother's message. Miss Wycherly declined Mr. Henry Tyndal's offered hand, and reseated herself with feelings of mingled mortification and indignation. Nothing now could persuade her to descend from the barouche-box.
"Have the goodness, Mr. Tyndal, to make my excuses to Lady Spottiswoode. I rarely quit my throne, when once exalted, and she will allow of my apology. Insist upon herself and Miss Spottiswoode taking their own time. I am not in any hurry."
It appeared as though Mr. Spottiswoode had cheerfully and for ever surrendered her to Mr. Tyndal's attentions, for he spoke in an undertone to the young men, and returned into the house.
"Very kind fellow," cried Henry Tyndal; "he has gone himself with your message, so I can stay and admire your set out, and yourself. Upon my soul, your habit sits beautifully, doesn't it, John?"
"I begged you to deliver my message," replied Miss Wycherly, offended and distressed at her lover's action. "I desired you, Mr. Tyndal, to deliver my message, not Mr. Spottiswoode."
Henry Tyndal misunderstood, and was flattered by Miss Wycherly's reproof. It was clear enough to his comprehension she was angry with Spottiswoode for presuming to take a message which had been delegated to himself as her regular and encouraged attendant.
"Oh, well! never mind for once, Miss Wycherly; I thought Spottiswoode was very anxious to go, or he should not have taken my place, I promise you. No, no, poor fellow! he was off before I knew what he was about. Upon my soul, your horses are magnificent."
Miss Wycherly did not hear Mr. Tyndal's observation; her attention was given exclusively and painfully to the hall-door, which remained open.