Wounded tenderness, and offended pride, alternately wrung her heart. To clear herself was impossible, without confessing feelings, which she could not bring herself to avow to one who evidently despised and abhorred her. In total despair at the cruelly unfavourable light in which untoward circumstances always placed her before him, whom it was the first, almost the only wish of her heart to conciliate and please, poor Emmeline wept in bitterness of soul.
Some explanation on her part, however, was absolutely necessary, but it was long before she could resolve on what to say. At length, entering into no particulars, she wrote merely these words.
“You do me great injustice, and totally mistake me: explanation, however, is impossible—indeed, would probably be only uninteresting and irksome to you, and therefore I shall not attempt any.
“Emmeline.”
How to give this to Fitzhenry unnoticed was the next difficulty, without the risk of a tête-à-tête interview, which in the present nervous and irritated state of her feelings, she had no courage to seek. She heard him in his room, which joined to hers, and there he remained all the morning alone.
With her note concealed in her hand, and with tell-tale eyes, Emmeline joined the party at the usual hour of luncheon, in case her absence might create surprise. Mr. Pelham’s attention was soon attracted towards her.
“I fear you have not yet recovered your waltzing of last night,” said he kindly, as if to account for her disordered appearance, which no one could help observing: “you have still a headache I am sure, and I am not surprised at it. When you give balls, you should put out your stoves; I wonder how any of the dancers could stand the heat of the room last night: a walk would do you good; I think it is clearing up; will you let me accompany you?”
Emmeline feeling, in spite of her endeavours, that tears still forced themselves into her eyes, and aware that she was not quite in a fit state to make the agréable to her company, readily agreed. The fresh air revived and composed her, and, by degrees, her usual spirits returned. Pelham first talked on indifferent subjects. At length, some improvement in the place which he was observing, brought in Fitzhenry’s name, when, after a moment’s pause, he said—”I see my friend Fitzhenry has no patience with that poor silly girl, Miss Danvers. I have often lectured him on the subject of his want of toleration for folly, and of the way that he is apt to take things that should only be laughed at, au grand serieux. It is the fault of all grave, substantial characters like his; and he allows trifles to go too deep with him. To be sure, the poor Selina is a fool, comme on en voit peu; but it is not necessary to attend to her, and I should be almost tempted with regard to her, to give you the same advice as to Fitzhenry, not any way to notice the nonsense that flows from her. There are some people who can make themselves important in society only by teazing others; and if they once find out this power, they never let it rest unemployed. I am very impudent I think,” added Pelham, “in presuming to give you advice; but, as the friend of Fitzhenry, I feel that I have a sort of established right to lecture even you.”
Emmeline looked up and smiled, to show in what good part she took what was so kindly meant.
“You are very young, my dear Lady Fitzhenry,” continued he; “very new to the world, and your own character is naturally so open, so natural,—that you are perhaps too artless. Some part we almost all must, to a degree, act in this world. We are all sometimes obliged to put a mask on our features and feelings. You know I am a diplomate by profession,” said Pelham, endeavouring to give a light turn to his advice, seeing how much at the moment his thin skinned auditor needed the mask he talked of. “Fitzhenry has been much used to the world—to women of the world,” continued he, with a quick, embarrassed manner. “Perhaps you are too much without art, for him to believe you artless, paradoxical as this may sound. In short, as you are destined to live in a wicked, unfeeling world, I could, I believe, wish you to be a little more wicked and unfeeling yourself.”