The unconscious worship which Gwyneth bestowed on an idea, embodied to her fancy in the person of Mr. Ufford, was a far more ennobling sensation. She was admiring, sincerely admiring virtue and worth; and though deluding herself in supposing that these were inherent in an extraordinary degree in her idol’s character, she was perfectly unselfish and true in her feelings. When her time came to be undeceived, she would not, at least, have to confess that she had been mean and mercenary, that she deserved to be disappointed, and had no right to complain. Not so Isabel Barham; she was entangling herself, in her own endeavors to catch another; for if she escaped with feelings uninjured by love, she had, at least, a mind debased
by cunning efforts, a heart soiled and profaned by being bent on mean objects—worldly pomp and worldly riches. Disappointment was impending over her. Disappointment of the bitterest kind!
Mr. Huyton came back to London rather earlier than had been expected; and soon after walked up from his lodgings to Eaton-place, where, as we have already noticed, he spent much of his time. Mr. Barham was within, and after some discussion of political questions, in which he had of late been trying to interest Charles Huyton, the elder gentleman observed casually—
“Miss Barham and her sister are gone down to Woolwich!”
“Indeed, again! not to the Erratic, I suppose,” said Charles, carelessly.
“Not exactly; but connected with the steamer, I believe their engagement is.”
“There must have been some strong attraction there, to draw the young ladies out so early.”
“Why, yes. I understand that one of Miss Barham’s young friends was to be married this morning to an officer at Woolwich; and as a graceful compliment to one whom she esteems as rightly occupying her proper station in society, my daughter consented to attend as bridesmaid.”
“Who is the bride?” inquired Charles, with quickness; a strange, wild thrill of anger, pain, and bitter jealousy shooting across his heart: something forewarned him whose name he should hear; it was with difficulty he could control himself.
“A young lady you know, I believe; the daughter of the Vicar of Hurstdene: a most respectable man he is, and one whose connection with our family entitles him to more consideration from us, than it is exactly requisite to show to others in the same station.”