“Yes,” replied Lady Y——, “I never saw her appear better: but we are not to judge of her by what any other young lady would be in her place, for I know of none at all comparable to Miss Delamere.”
“Miss Delamere!” said I to Lord Y——. “Is this the Miss Delamere who is heiress at law to——”
“The Glenthorn estate. Yes—do not let the head of Socrates fall from your hands,” said his lordship, smiling.
I again lost something that was said in the next room; but I heard the old lady going on with—
“I only say, my dear, that if the man had been really what he was said to be, you could not have done better.”
“Dearest mother, you cannot be serious,” replied the sweetest voice I ever heard. “I am sure that you never were in earnest upon this subject: you could not wish me to be united to such a man as Lord Glenthorn was said to be.”
“Why? what was he said to be, my dear?—a little dissipated, a little extravagant only: and if he had a fortune to support it, child, what matter?” pursued the mother: “all young men are extravagant now-a-days—you must take the world as it goes.”
“The lady who married Lord Glenthorn, I suppose, acted upon that principle; and you see what was the consequence.”
“Oh, my dear, as to her ladyship, it ran in the blood: let her have married whom she would, she would have done the same: and I am told Lord Glenthorn made an incomparably good husband. A cousin of Lady Glenthorn’s assured me that she was present one day, when her ladyship expressed a wish for a gold chain to wear round her neck, or braid her hair, I forget for what; but that very hour Lord Glenthorn bespoke for her a hundred yards of gold chain, at ten guineas a yard. Another time she longed for an Indian shawl, and his lordship presented her next day with three dozen real India shawls. There’s a husband for you, Cecilia!”
“Not for me, mamma,” said Cecilia, laughing.