“Mr. Vivian, I trust that I am not deficient in maidenly modesty,” said Lady Julia, “when it is not incompatible with what I deem a higher virtue—sincerity. Now and ever, frankness is, and shall be, my only policy. The confidence I am about to repose in you, sir, is the strongest proof of my esteem, and of the gratitude I feel for your attachment.—My heart is no longer in my power to bestow. It is—young as I am, I dare to pronounce the words—irrevocably fixed upon one who will do honour to my choice. Your proposal was made to my father—Why was it not made to me?—Men—all men but one—treat women as puppets, and then wonder that they are not rational creatures!—Forgive me this too just reproach. But, as I was going to say, your proposal has thrown me into great difficulties—the greater because my father warmly approves of it. I have a strong affection for him; and, perhaps, a year or two ago, I should, in the ignorance in which I was dogmatically brought up, have thought it my duty to submit implicitly to parental authority, and to receive a husband from the hands of a father, without consulting either my own heart or my own judgment. But, since my mind has been more enlightened, and has opened to higher views of the dignity of my sex, and higher hopes of happiness, my ideas of duty have altered; and, I trust, I have sufficient courage to support my own idea of the rights of my sex, and my firm conviction of what is just and becoming.”
Vivian was again going to say something; but, whether against or in favour of the rights of the sex, he had not clearly decided; when her ladyship saved him the trouble, by proceeding with the train of her ideas.
“My sincerity towards my father will, perhaps, cost me dear; but I cannot repent of it. As soon as I knew the state of my own heart—which was not till very lately—which was not, indeed, till you gave me reason to think you seriously liked me—I openly told my father all I knew of my own heart. Would you believe it?—I am sure I should not, unless I had seen and felt it—my father, who, you know, professes the most liberal opinions possible; my father, who, in conversation is ‘All for love, and the world well lost;’ my father, who let Miss Bateman put the Heloise into my hands, was astonished, shocked, indignant, at his own daughter’s confession, I should say, assertion of her preference of a man of high merit, who wants only the advantages, if they be advantages, of rank and fortune.
“Mr. Vivian,” continued she, “may I hope that now, when you must be convinced of the inefficacy of any attempt either to win or to control my affections, you will have the generosity to spare me all unnecessary contest with my father? It must render him more averse from the only union that can make his daughter happy; and it may ruin the fortunes of—the first, in my opinion, of human beings. I will request another favour from you—and let my willingness to be obliged by you convince you that I appreciate your character—I request that you will not only keep secret all that I have said to you; but that, if accident, or your own penetration, should hereafter discover to you the object of my affection, you will refrain from making any use of that discovery to my disadvantage. You see how entirely I have thrown myself on your honour and generosity.”
Vivian assured her that the appeal was powerful with him; and that, by mastering his own passions, and sacrificing his feelings to hers, he would endeavour to show his strong desire to secure, at all events, her happiness.
“You are truly generous, Mr. Vivian, to listen to me with indulgence, to wish for my happiness, whilst I have been wounding your feelings. But, without any impeachment of your sincerity, or yet of your sensibility, let me say, that yours will be only a transient disappointment. Your acquaintance with me is but of yesterday, and the slight impression made on your mind will soon be effaced; but upon my mind there has been time to grave a deep, a first charactery of love, that never, whilst memory holds her seat, can be erased.—I believe,” said Julia, checking herself, whilst a sudden blush overspread her countenance—“I am afraid that I have said too much, too much for a woman. The fault of my character, I know, I have been told, is the want of what is called RESERVE.”
Blushing still more deeply as she pronounced these last words, the colour darting up to her temples, spreading over her neck, and making its way to the very tips of her fingers, “Now I have done worse,” cried she, covering her face with her hands. But the next moment, resuming, or trying to resume her self-possession, she said, “It is time that I should retire, now that I have revealed my whole heart to you. It has, perhaps, been imprudently opened; but for that, your generosity, sir, is to blame. Had you shown more selfishness, I should assuredly have exerted more prudence, and have treated you with less confidence.”
Lady Julia quitted him, and Vivian remained in a species of amaze, from which he could not immediately recover. Her frankness, her magnanimity, her enthusiastic sensibility, her eloquent beauty, had altogether exalted, to the highest ecstasy, his love and admiration. Then he walked about, beating his breast in despair at the thought of her affections being irrecoverably engaged,—next quarrelled with the boldness of the confession, the assertion of her love—then decided, that, with all her shining qualities and noble dispositions, she was not exactly the woman a man should desire for a wife: there was something too rash, too romantic about her; there was in her character, as she herself had said, and as Russell had remarked, too little reserve. Something like jealousy and distrust of his friend arose in Vivian’s mind: “What!” said he to himself, “and is Russell my rival? and has he been all this time in secret my rival? Is it possible that Russell has been practising upon the affections of this innocent young creature—confided to him too? All this time, whilst he has been cautioning me against her charms, beseeching me not to propose for her precipitately, is it possible that he wanted only to get, to keep the start of me?—No—impossible! utterly impossible! If all the circumstances, all the evidence upon earth conspired, I would not believe it.”
Resolved not to do injustice, even in his inmost soul, to his friend, our hero repelled all suspicion of Russell, by reflecting on his long and tried integrity, and on the warmth and fidelity of his friendship. In this temper he was crossing the castle-yard to go to Russell’s apartment, when he was met and stopped by one of the domesticated friends of the family, Mr. Mainwaring, the young lawyer: he was in the confidence of Lord Glistonbury, and, proud to show it, he let Mr. Vivian know that he was apprised of the proposal that had been made, and congratulated him, and all the parties concerned, on the prospect of such an agreeable connexion. Vivian was quite unprepared to speak to any one, much less to a lawyer, upon this subject; he had not even thought of the means of obeying Lady Julia, by withdrawing his suit; therefore, with a mixture of vexation and embarrassment in his manner, he answered in commonplace phrases, meant to convey no precise meaning, and endeavoured to disengage himself from his companion; but the lawyer, who had fastened upon him, linking his arm in Vivian’s, continued to walk him up and down under the great gateway, saying that he had a word or two of importance for his private ear. This man had taken much pains to insinuate himself into Vivian’s favour, by the most obsequious and officious attentions: though his flattery had at first been disgusting, yet, by persevering in his show of civility, he had at length inclined Vivian to think that he was too harsh in his first judgment, and to believe that, “after all, Mainwaring was a good friendly fellow, though his manner was against him.”
Mr. Mainwaring, with many professions of regard for Vivian, and with sundry premisings that he hazarded himself by the communication, took the liberty of hinting, that he guessed, from Mr. Vivian’s manner this morning, that obstacles had arisen on the part of a young lady who should be nameless; and he should make bold to add that, in his private opinion, the said obstacles would never be removed whilst a certain person remained in the castle, and whilst the young lady alluded to was allowed to spend so much of her time studying with her brother when well, or nursing him when sick. Mr. Mainwaring declared that he was perfectly astonished at Lord Glistonbury’s blindness or imprudence in keeping this person in the house, after the hints his lordship had received, and after all the proofs that must or may have fallen within his cognizance, of the arts of seduction that had been employed. Here Vivian interrupted Mr. Mainwaring, to beg that he would not keep him longer in suspense by inuendoes, but that he would name distinctly the object of his suspicions. This, however, Mr. Mainwaring begged to be excused from doing: he would only shake his head and smile, and leave people to their own sagacity and penetration. Vivian warmly answered, that, if Mr. Mainwaring meant Mr. Russell, he was well assured that Mr. Mainwaring was utterly mistaken in attributing to him any but the most honourable conduct.