For a minute, an expression of displeasure animated Lord William’s unmeaning countenance: he made Selina a slight bow with his head, as he took a hasty survey of her person; and after saying something very uninteresting about the heat of the room, to Emmeline, and enlarging on the merits of a newly purchased cabriolet-horse, to Moore, he walked away.
Poor Selina bit her lip in vexation, and finding she did not thrive at all in her present situation, jumped up to see what could be done with her cross chaperon, whom she had spied in conversation with a gentleman at the opposite side of the room.
“How in the name of wonder came Miss Danvers here?” exclaimed Moore, as soon as she had left them—”what could possess the lady patronesses to give her a ticket?”
“I applied for one for her,” answered Emmeline.
“I think that was rather a work of supererogation on your part,” continued Moore. “You surely are not going to hamper yourself with that girl: you soon frightened away Vernon, trembling for his newly acquired dignity in the hierarchy of fashion; and I must give you notice, if you take to introducing Miss Selina Danvers about, even you, even Lady Fitzhenry, charming as she is, will be voted a bore. What business has that sort of girl here? and how can she be so unreasonable as to expect to be asked to dance? it is perfect nonsense—she had much better stick to her Hampshire county ball; there she may play un grand rôle. Misses are really sad nuisances in society, unless they sit quiet, and don’t trouble one; so take my advice Lady Fitzhenry. Good-nature is quite mauvais ton in London—it is a bad style to take up, and will never do. But it is impossible to sit still and moralize when Collinet is playing that waltz so delightfully; will you take a turn or two with me?”
“I will resign the honour to Miss Danvers,” said Emmeline, laughing—”and luckily she is just coming this way; so do the thing handsomely, and ask the poor girl, for she knows nobody here, and is dying to dance.”
“Oh, if you are really serious, I am off,” said Moore, and hastily seizing his hat, which he had hid under the seat in preparation for his waltz with Lady Fitzhenry, he hurried away.
Although little inclined to merriment, Emmeline could not help laughing—the smile on her countenance caught Pelham’s eye, and he came up to her to enquire what had amused her. Emmeline told Selina’s sad tale.
“Poor thing!” said Pelham. “But this is a new character Moore has taken up, I think, for he set out much more wisely, with the determination to enjoy every amusement that came in his way, professing openly a love for dancing and gaiety of every kind: but fashion, or what is called, in its slang, being fine, is so catching a disease that none can escape. It has taken the place of the small-pox; and I think it would be a good plan if we could be inoculated for it, so as to secure having it mildly, and of the best sort. I don’t know how you manage to be what and where you are in the world without it; but pray don’t follow Moore’s advice on the subject—let us have one specimen of a good-natured London fine lady. By the bye, I too have some advice to give you, which is, not to make up to that Mrs. Osterley: she was reckoned at Vienna a tres mauvaise langue, and was always making tracasseries. She has a gay, and apparently an artless manner, which at first takes one in. Fitzhenry never liked her, so you need not be acquainted with her; and I should really counsel you to avoid her.”
There was little necessity to give Emmeline that caution: what she had already heard, had not prepossessed her in Mrs. Osterley’s favour in any way; but at that minute, the two people of whom they were talking came up.