“My sorrow is for Lord Colambre,” said Miss Nugent. “Where will he find such a wife?—Not in Miss Berryl, I am sure, pretty as she is; a mere fine lady!—Is it possible that Lord Colambre should prefer such a girl—Lord Colambre!”
Miss Broadhurst looked at her friend as she spoke, and saw truth in her eyes; saw that she had no suspicion that she was herself the person beloved.
“Tell me, Grace, are you sorry that Lord Colambre is going away?”
“No, I am glad. I was sorry when I first heard it; but now I am glad, very glad: it may save him from a marriage unworthy of him, restore him to himself, and reserve him for—, the only woman I ever saw who is suited to him, who is equal to him, who would value and love him as he deserves to be valued and loved.”
“Stop, my dear; if you mean me, I am not, and I never can be, that woman. Therefore, as you are my friend, and wish my happiness, as I sincerely believe you do, never, I conjure you, present such an idea before my mind again—it is out of my mind, I hope, for ever. It is important to me that you should know and believe this. At least I will preserve my friends. Now let this subject never be mentioned or alluded to again between us, my dear. We have subjects enough of conversation; we need not have recourse to pernicious sentimental gossipings. There is great difference between wanting a confidante, and treating a friend with confidence. My confidence you possess; all that ought, all that is to be known of my mind, you know, and—Now I will leave you in peace to dress for the concert.”
“Oh, don’t go! you don’t interrupt me. I shall be dressed in a few minutes; stay with me, and you may be assured, that neither now, nor at any other time, shall I ever speak to you on the subject you desire me to avoid. I entirely agree with you about confidantes and sentimental gossipings: I love you for not loving them.”
A loud knock at the door announced the arrival of company.
“Think no more of love, but as much as you please of admiration—dress yourself as fast as you can,” said Miss Broadhurst. “Dress, dress, is the order of the day.”
“Order of the day and order of the night, and all for people I don’t care for in the least,” said Grace. “So life passes!”
“Dear me, Miss Nugent,” cried Petito, Lady Clonbrony’s woman, coming in with a face of alarm, “not dressed yet! My lady is gone down, and Mrs. Broadhurst and my Lady Pococke’s come, and the Honourable Mrs. Trembleham; and signor, the Italian singing gentleman, has been walking up and down the apartments there by himself, disconsolate, this half hour. Oh, merciful! Miss Nugent, if you could stand still for one single particle of a second. So then I thought of stepping in to Miss Nugent; for the young ladies are talking so fast, says I to myself, at the door, they will never know how time goes, unless I give ‘em a hint. But now my lady is below, there’s no need, to be sure, to be nervous, so we may take the thing quietly, without being in a flustrum. Dear ladies, is not this now a very sudden motion of our young lord’s for Ireland? Lud a mercy! Miss Nugent, I’m sure your motions is sudden enough; and your dress behind is all, I’m sure, I can’t tell how.”