"We must be prompt," said the duke, "at all events. I don't like delay."
"True!" replied Edmund, starting from a reverie into which he had fallen; "I must get myself nominated a member of the council, and we must arrange our other plans afterwards."
The party now separated, and Elvira, left alone with her companion, indulged in dreams of future grandeur. "I am sorry for the death of Claudia," said she, "but I never loved her; she was so cold and uninteresting—such a mere matter-of-fact being—she had no soul, Emma, and how can one love a being so totally passionless and insipid? I wonder," continued she, after a short pause, "what Henry Seymour will think of this?"
Emma smiled. "Poor Lord Edmund!" said she.
"I know what you would say," returned Elvira; "I am sorry for him, and I admire his conduct extremely. There is really something very noble about him."
Emma again smiled, for she saw, in spite of this admiration, that in a week poor Lord Edmund would be forgotten.
In the mean time, poor Rosabella's mind was a prey to the most violent passions. A billet from Father Morris had informed her of the death of her cousin, and of the designs brooding against her interests. "I will be revenged," said she; "I will show them mine is not a soul to dwell upon impotent grief. I will assemble my friends; my father's party was strong in the state; it cannot be quite extinct. Let me see, to whom shall I apply?"
"The Lords Noodle and Doodle (both of ancient families) were both devoted to your father, and were under great obligations to him when they were young," observed Marianne.
"But they are such fools!" said Rosabella.
"They are well connected," returned her confidant; "and power does not always attend upon talent."