An opportunity soon occurred—Horace had a beautiful little topaz ring with which Lady Katrine Hawksby fell into raptures; such a charming device!—Cupid and Momus making the world their plaything.
It was evident that Lady Katrine expected that the seal should be presented to her. Besides being extravagantly fond of baubles, she desired to have this homage from Horace. To her surprise and mortification, however, he was only quite flattered by her approving of his taste:—it was his favourite seal, and so “he kept the topaz, and the rogue was bit.”
Lady Katrine was the more mortified by this failure, because it was witnessed by many of the company, among whom, when she looked round, she detected smiles of provoking intelligence. Soon afterwards the dressing-bell rang and she quitted the room; one after another every one dropped off, except Helen, who was finishing a letter, and Horace, who stood on the hearth playing with his seal. When she came to sealing-time, he approached and besought her to honour him by the acceptance of this little seal. “If he could obliterate Momus—if he could leave only Cupid, it would be more appropriate. But it was a device invented for him by a French friend, and he hoped she would pardon his folly, and think only of his love!”
This was said so that it might pass either for mere jest or for earnest; his look expressed very sentimental love, and Helen seized the moment to explain herself decidedly.
It was a surprise—a great surprise to Mr. Churchill, a severe disappointment, not only to his vanity but to his heart, for he had one. It was some comfort, however, that he had not quite committed himself, and he recovered—even in the moment of disappointment he recovered himself time enough dexterously to turn the tables upon Helen.
He thanked her for her candour—for her great care of his happiness, in anticipating a danger which might have been so fatal to him; but he really was not aware that he had said anything which required so serious an answer.
Afterwards he amused himself with Lady Katrine at Miss Stanley’s expense, representing himself as in the most pitiable case of Rejected Addresses—rejected before he had offered. He had only been guilty of Folly, and he was brought in guilty of Love.
Poor Helen had to endure not only this persiflage, which was soon made to reach her ear, but also the reproaches of Lady Cecilia, who said, “I should have warned you, Helen, not to irritate that man’s relentless vanity; now you see the consequences.”
“But, after all, what harm can he do me?” thought Helen. “It is very disagreeable to be laughed at, but still my conscience is satisfied, and that is a happiness that will last; all the rest will soon be over. I am sure I did the thing awkwardly, but I am glad it is done.”
Mr. Churchill soon afterwards received an invitation—a command to join a royal party now at some watering-place; an illustrious person could not live another day without Horace le désiré. He showed the note, and acted despair at being compelled to go, and then he departed. To the splendid party he went, and drowned all recollections of whatever love he had felt in the fresh intoxication of vanity—a diurnal stimulus which, however degrading, and he did feel it degrading, was now become necessary to his existence.