She had, on first arriving at “the Ferns,” been a little vexed that she could not awaken any visible partiality in her cousin’s mind; for though betrothed, she had a strong taste for admiration and flattery; but she had soon penetrated his secret, then gained his confidence, and warmly taken up his cause. The appearance of Captain Hepburn, his manner to Hilary, and her glances at him had alarmed her; and desirous to prevent her young friend from throwing away what she conceived to be the substance, in grasping at a shadow, she determined to give him
such information on the subject as would probably occasion him to draw back, and leave the ground open.
She did not know her companion’s character, and was quite mistaken in Hilary’s also; she was, moreover, too late in her interference to do any good. Captain Hepburn felt, as he heard Victoria’s suggestions, that he loved Hilary, and he believed that he had made his partiality evident to her and others. To draw back, therefore, because he had a rival was not to be thought of; it would compromise his own character for truth and honor. She might refuse him; of course, if she preferred Charles Huyton, she would; and he had as little taste for a refusal as any other man in England; but his character required that he should take his chance; and his feelings of honor, nay, his principles of integrity, were stronger than his vanity and self-love. He had given her reason to believe in his preference, he must give her the opportunity of answering it, not so much for her own sake, for she might not care, but for his! Then came fancy, whispering, would she not care? was there no soft glance in her ingenuous eyes, no thrilling tone in her voice, which might give him ground of hope? He was poor, compared to his rival; but she did not value riches; he thought, if she would not accept a man because he had them, neither would she refuse another because he had them not. His profession would probably soon call him away, and perhaps he could not offer her immediate marriage; but then she herself considered that incompatible with her family bonds; when these were lighter, would she not consent to become his? It seemed as if the very circumstances which, in most cases, would have been evils and drawbacks, were now advantages to support his claim. His own freedom from family ties, his having no settled home, no landed property which bound him to one spot; all these would be no objection in her case, whereas the reverse might have formed impediments to his wishes.
It did not take very long to think all these thoughts; and the consequence of these ideas was, that, instead of exhibiting depression and uneasiness at Victoria’s observations, he showed
a calm face and a self-possessed manner, which induced her to believe he, at least, was indifferent on the subject.
“Where does this path lead?” inquired he, ascending a slope on one side of the circle of yews, and looking round him.
“We are just above the lake, and I thought of going down that way,” replied Victoria. “Come along this winding path, and we shall reach some of the company. I hear voices down below. You are a sailor, will you not take me out in a boat for a sail? we will ask Hilary, or one or two other ladies, to go with us.”
“I am afraid you will think me a very ungallant and disobliging sailor, Miss Fielding; but I must say, of all things in the world, I dread a water-party of ladies, and never, if I can help it, embark in one.”
“Ah! it has no charms for you—no novelty. ‘Too much water hast thou,’ as the Queen says to Ophelia. I daresay it is stupid.”
“I may be stupid, perhaps, but I think it dangerous, and willingly avoid the responsibility. So few men understand how to sail a boat. Unless you had heard as much as I have, you could not imagine how often they upset; and when women are on board, what can be the consequence but mischief?”