Lord Fitzhenry looked up astonished.
“I am much diverted with what I am reading,” said Emmeline, to account for her sudden burst of mirth, (colouring at the same time, with the consciousness of her departure from truth,) although perhaps not sorry of an opportunity of showing him, that even in his society, when so totally neglected by him, and after all he had said and done to depress her spirits, she was still disposed to cheerfulness.
“May I ask what book you are reading, that I may benefit also by the entertainment,” replied her husband.
“Perhaps you would not be equally amused by it,” said she. “Sometimes little things tickle our fancy, without our being able to say why; and much depends on the humour we are in.”
Lord Fitzhenry looked a little disconcerted, and Emmeline could not be so generous as to regret it.
But in his society, she soon ceased to show either spirit or triumph; soon forgot to be angry. The mildness of his manners, the charm of his conversation, when sometimes for a little he seemed to forget their peculiar situation, and to give way to his natural habits and disposition, soon won upon Emmeline, and, with a sigh, she thought, “How she could have loved him!” When galloping on before her, and when certain she should not be observed, her eyes were fixed on his manly, graceful figure, and she admired the ease, and indescribable elegance (if one may use a word so degraded) of all his actions.
There is something in the manners and conversation of an intelligent man of the world, which it is impossible adequately to describe,—which, without being either information or wit, pleases more than either. It is, perhaps, the art of giving to each subject no more than its due proportion of time and thought, which prevents conversation from becoming tedious, and hinders any idea, however serious, from weighing too heavily on the mind. Fitzhenry possessed this art in a superlative degree; and Emmeline, to whom such conversation was almost totally new, and who by nature was formed to appreciate every refinement, was powerfully captivated by it. And, added to this, there was a certain foreign gallantry of manner, (that among her father’s acquaintance she had certainly never experienced,) and a habit of attention to women, which, in Fitzhenry, was so strong, that his behaviour, even to Emmeline, partook of it—to her, whom he never looked at, nor apparently noticed.
The whole plan of his present life, the footing upon which he meant Lady Fitzhenry and himself to live together, was, perhaps of foreign growth. A true-bred Englishman would never have behaved with the civility of good breeding to a wife so forced upon him. He could never have thought it possible to have established any one in his house on the terms on which Emmeline was to be placed. But although Lord Fitzhenry looked upon the observance of English customs in a total retirement after marriage as particularly irksome, it never could make him wanting in respect, and even in kindness, to one of Emmeline’s sex. His will once made known,—told, as it had been, very plainly and decidedly,—there was nothing more to settle between them, and he behaved to her with that sort of general observance and attention due from a man to a woman.
In short, he could not help being agreeable, although differing so cruelly from the animated, enthusiastic Fitzhenry, known to his friends.
Perhaps such conduct was more calculated to excite despair than even apparent dislike would have been to one, who, like Emmeline, aimed at winning his love; but, quick as she was, her inexperience prevented her from being aware, that these attentions of civility were paid by him from mere force of habit; she therefore gave way to the charm which daily captivated her, and did not always suspect that those words on which her ear delighted to hang, and which sometimes even wore the semblance of gallantry, were uttered by him generally in total absence of mind, with his thoughts fixed on another.