Caroline smiled, and said she recollected her father’s telling her that “the Prince de Ligne, the most agreeable man of his day, declared that his secret depended, not on his wit or talents for conversation, but on his power of concealing the ennui he felt in stupid company.”
“Well, my dear, I tell you so, as well as the Prince de Ligne, and let me see that you benefit by it to-morrow.”
The next night they went to a large party at a very fine lady’s. It was dull, but Caroline did her best to look happy, and exerted herself to talk to please Lady Jane, who, from her card-table, from time to time, looked at her, nodded and smiled. When they got into their carriage, Lady Jane, before she had well drawn up the glass, began to praise her for her performance this evening. “Really, my dear, you got on very well to-night; and I hear Miss Caroline Percy is very agreeable. And, shall I tell you who told me so?—No; that would make you too vain. But I’ll leave you to sleep upon what has been said—to-morrow you shall hear more.”
The next morning, Caroline had stolen away from visitors, and quietly in her own room was endeavouring to proceed in her copy of the miniature for Mr. Gresham, when Lady Jane came into her apartment, with a letter and its cover in her hand. “A letter in which you, Caroline, are deeply concerned.”
A sudden hope darted across Caroline’s imagination and illuminated her countenance. As suddenly it vanished, when she saw on the cover of the letter, no foreign post-mark, no foreign hand—but a hand unknown to her.
“Deeply concerned! How can I—how—how am I concerned in this, ma’am?” she asked—with difficulty commanding her voice to articulate the words.
“Only a proposal for you, my dear,” said Lady Jane, smiling: “not a proposal for which you need blush, as you’ll see if you’ll read.”
But observing that Caroline was not at this moment capable of reading, without seeming to notice the tremor of her hand, and that she was holding the letter upside down before her eyes, Lady Jane, with kind politeness, passed on to the picture at which her young friend had been at work, and stooping to examine the miniature with her glass, made some observations on the painting, and gave Caroline time to recover. Nor did her ladyship look up till Caroline exclaimed, “John Clay!—English Clay!”
“Yes—Clay, of Clay-hall, as Mrs. Falconer would say. You see, my love, I told you truly, it was no blushing matter. I am sorry I startled you by my abruptness. Surprises are generally ill-judged—and always ill-bred. Acquit me, I beseech you, of all but thoughtlessness,” said Lady Jane, sitting down by Caroline, and kindly taking her hand: “I hope you know I am not Mrs. Falconer.”
“I do, indeed,” said Caroline, pressing her hand: “I feel all your kindness, all your politeness.”