No answer from Miss Clarendon, who held her mouth open wide, as desired, resolved not to satisfy his curiosity, but to let him blunder on. “Be that as it may, General Clarendon’s come to town—fine teeth he has too—and a fine kettle of fish—not very elegant, but expressive still—he and his ward have made, of that marriage announced. Fine young man, though, that Beauclerc—finest young man, almost, I ever saw!”
But here Mr. St. Leger Swift, starting suddenly, withdrawing his hand from Miss Clarendon’s mouth, exclaimed,—
“My finger, ma’am! but never mind, never mind, all in the day’s work. Casualty—contingencies—no consequence. But as I was saying, Mr. Granville Beauclerc——”
Then poured out, on the encouragement of one look of curiosity from Mrs. Pennant, all the on dits of Lady Katrine Hawksby, and all her chorus, and all the best authorities; and St. Leger Swift was ready to pledge himself to the truth of every word. He positively knew that the marriage was off, and thought, as everybody did, that the young gentleman was well off too; for besides the young lady’s great fortune turning out not a sous—and here he supplied the half-told tale by a drawn-up ugly face and shrugging gesture.
“Shocking! shocking! all came to an éclat—esclandre; a scene quite, last night, I am told, at my friend Lady Castlefort’s. Sad—sad—so young a lady! But to give you a general idea, love letters to come out in the Memoirs of that fashionable Roué—friend of mine too—fine fellow as ever breathed—only a little—you understand; Colonel D’Aubigny—Poor D’Atibigny, heigho!—only if the book comes out—Miss Stanley—”
Mrs. Pennant looked at her niece in benevolent anxiety; Miss Clarendon was firmly silent; but St. Leger, catching from the expression of both ladies’ countenances, that they were interested in the contrary direction to what he had anticipated, turned to the right about, and observed,—
“This may be all scandal, one of the innumerable daily false reports that are always flying about town; scandal all, I have no doubt—Your head a little to the right, if you please—And the publication will be stopped, of course, and the young lady’s friends—you are interested for her, I see; so am I—always am for the young and fair, that’s my foible; and indeed, confidentially I can inform you—If you could keep your head still, my dear madam.”
But Miss Clarendon could bear it no longer; starting from under his hand, she exclaimed, “No more, thank you—no more at present, sir: we can call another day—no more:” and added as she hastily left the room, “Better bear the toothache,” and ran down stairs. Mrs. Pennant slipped into the dentist’s hand, as he pulled the bell, a double fee; for though she did not quite think he deserved it much, yet she felt it necessary to make amends for her niece’s way of running off, which might not be thought quite civil.
“Thank you, ma’am—thank ye, ma’am—not the least occasion—don’t say a word about it—Young lady’s nervous, said so from the first. Nerves! nerves! all—open the door there—Nerves all,” were the last words, at the top of the stairs, St. Leger Swift was heard to say.
And the first words of kind Mrs. Pennant, as soon as she was in the carriage and had drawn up the glass, were, “Do you know, Esther, my dear, I am quite sorry for this poor Miss Stanley. Though I don’t know her, yet, as you described her to me, she was such a pretty, young, interesting creature! I am quite sorry.”