“Use it now—hear me now—let us waste no time in words—here is a pen and ink—write, my dearest husband! and be yourself again.”
“You waste the energy of your mind on me,” cried Vivian, breaking from Lady Sarah, and striking his forehead violently; “I am not worthy of such attachment! It is done—it cannot be undone: I am a weak, ruined, dishonoured wretch!—I tell you, it CANNOT be undone!”
Lady Sarah rose, and stood in despair. Then, looking up to heaven, she was silent for some moments. After which, approaching her husband, she said, in an altered, calm voice, “Since it cannot be undone, I will urge you no more. But, whether in glory or in shame, you are secure that your wife will abide by you.”
Vivian embraced her with a tenderness which he had never before felt. “Excellent woman! in justice to myself, I must tell you,” cried he, “that I was deceived into this situation. I CAN say no more!”
At this moment a servant knocked at the door, bringing a message from Lord Glistonbury, to say that all the company were assembled, and that dinner waited for Mr. Vivian.
“You are not in a fit state to go. Shall I send an apology to my father?”
“Oh, no! I must go,” cried Vivian, starting up, “I must go, or it will be thought—or it will be suspected—I can’t explain it to you, my dear; but I must go—I must appear to-day, and in spirits too, if possible.”
He hurried away. A servant delivered to Lady Sarah a number of notes and cards. The notes were notes of congratulation, from many of her acquaintance, upon the report in circulation, that her father was immediately to be a marquis. The cards were from people who were to be at her assembly that night. This was one of her nights, which were usually crowded. Lady Sarah’s first wish was to write apologies, and to say that she was not well enough to see company; but, recollecting that her husband had said, “he must appear, and in spirits, too, if possible,” she thought that it might be more for their interest, and according to his wishes, that she should see company, and that no appearance of dejection should be discerned in his wife. She prepared herself accordingly, and, with a heavy heart, walked through her splendid apartments, to see whether the decorations had been properly executed.
In the mean time Vivian dined at Lord Glistonbury’s, with a large ministerial party. As soon as he could, after dinner, Vivian got away; and Lord Glistonbury attributed his retiring early to the awkwardness he might feel in the company of men whom he had, till now, so violently opposed. This his lordship thought a foolish young man’s feeling, which would soon wear away. Vivian returned home, anxious to escape from crowds, and to have some hours of leisure to pass alone; but, the moment he entered his own house, he saw the great staircase lined with roses and orange-trees; he found the rooms lighted up and prepared for company; and Lady Sarah dressed, for the first time, in all her mother’s diamonds.
“Good Heavens!—Do you see company to-night?” cried he.