He came up to her; remarked how well the rooms were lighted; complimented her on the disposal of the furniture—on her arrangement of the flowers: and, in return, the poor hypocrite played her part well. She carelessly asked his opinion as to the placing of the lamps and the pianoforte. Even attempted at rallying him on his absence; and to all appearance no two people could be on an easier footing.
The company were by this time beginning to clear away. As they dispersed, Emmeline eagerly looked around for Fitzhenry. She thought he had noticed her more than usual, and she determined to follow up this little fancied success, by assuming a careless gaiety, which she certainly did not feel, but which she sometimes believed she would do well to adopt. When, therefore, she had performed her last act of civility to her last guest, she hurried back to the spot where she had left him. But he too had disappeared. Alone she paced the now silent, empty rooms, lost in thought, and totally forgetful of the lateness of the hour, until at length, the entrance of Reynolds rousing her from her trance, she hastily retired into her own room—but not to sleep.—Various thoughts agitated her mind: sometimes even hope, (albeit of late not a usual visitor,) forced itself in: Fitzhenry had certainly smiled on her; he had appeared pleased; had even seemed to take interest in her attempt, and she determined to persevere.
Emmeline counted the days to her next party, as a school-girl does those to her first ball; for, on its success she again built flattering expectations for the future—expectations which perhaps to herself were hardly to be defined. “But at all events, I shall certainly see him,” she thought, as with most excuseable care and anxiety she endeavoured to improve, to the best advantage, those personal attractions which nature had bestowed upon her. But in vain she decked her hair with the freshest flowers; in vain she listened for, and anxiously watched the result of, each loud knock at her door. Every one she had asked, flew to her invitation, (such is the power of novelty in London,) all but him for whom the whole had been prepared.
Disheartened and dispirited, poor Emmeline almost resolved on seeking some pretext for putting off altogether her third entertainment; but a good humoured word of recognition from her husband, as they met in the lobby of the opera-house, the Tuesday before, again made her yield to the natural buoyancy of her disposition; and Fitzhenry, having asked Pelham and the Savilles to dine with him on the day appointed for her party, his presence seemed thus secured. All now, therefore, appeared propitious to Emmeline. Fitzhenry himself was, on that day, evidently more disposed for cheerfulness than he had been of late; and the smallness of their party at dinner, obliging them to more intercourse than they had had for long, Emmeline gave way to the exhilaration of spirits belonging to youth and hope, and, her cheeks again bright with the flush of enjoyment, she bore her part in the conversation with unusual liveliness. Emmeline was aware of this herself, and could not, moreover, help indulging in the flattering idea, that even Fitzhenry had (at least for that once) thought her agreeable. With a step made still more light than usual by the innocent exultation of the moment, she gaily bounded up to the drawing-room with Lady Saville, to make the necessary preparations for the expected company. Knowing how much Fitzhenry liked music, she had collected all the best Italian singers; and, with her companion, Emmeline was still occupied in arranging the lights and instruments, when Pelham and Sir George Saville joined them, but not Fitzhenry. Coffee came; still he did not appear. Half fearful of what she might learn, but not able to bear the suspense any longer, she at length, with an anxious look, enquired whether he was gone out.
“Oh no!” replied Pelham; “he is only answering a letter which he has just received; he will be here directly.”
A flash of her own bright smile instantly re-illumined her features; and afterwards, in the middle of one of Camporese’s beautiful songs, it glanced again over her countenance, for she saw Fitzhenry enter the room, and, for an instant, caught his eyes fixed upon her. But the song over, and after the general stir and bustle that usually follows, she looked for him in vain. The crowd was now every minute thickening, and with difficulty Emmeline forced herself to address to each those common-place remarks which always equally weary those who make them, and those to whom they are made. She restlessly went from room to room on some excuse to herself as well as others, but her search was vain—he was gone!
At once the bright scene totally changed! although the music was beautiful, and the buzz of gaiety and happiness went round. Poor Emmeline, alone in the scene of enjoyment which she had herself created, was wretched. Gladly she at length saw her visitors depart, and the rooms gradually become empty; for her spirits, which had been so unusually excited, were totally exhausted, and her only object now was, the conclusion of that evening to which she had looked with such bright expectation. Lady Saville and Pelham remained the last.
“Well, my dear Lady Fitzhenry,” said the former, “I staid to the end purposely to congratulate you on the full success of your soirées; nothing could have gone off better than they have done; every one declares that nobody understands the matter so well as Lady Fitzhenry. I wonder where you learnt the art,” said she, as she looked, with a complimentary smile, into Emmeline’s face. On that face, tears were slowly, and almost unconsciously stealing down. “Good heavens! Lady Fitzhenry!” exclaimed Lady Saville, “what is the matter?”
“Nothing,” said Emmeline, provoked at her weakness: “but however well I may do the honours of my house, it is a fatigue to which I am new, and perfectly unequal. I have had a bad headache all day; and I find the trouble of being agreeable so much greater than the reward, that however delightful my parties may be, I shall attempt them no more.”
Poor Emmeline spoke in the impatient tone of vexation and disappointment—a tone so unusually heard from her lips, that Lady Saville looked at her astonished.