“I wonder, child,” said Lady Greystock, as she opened the letter, “what your father can write to me about. I don’t suppose it can be about the affair he mentioned the other day. Why, really,” continued she, after she had perused it, “I believe he takes me for a fool. I am astonished, after his insolent conduct, how he can possibly have the assurance to make application to me for relief. No, no, child, he neglected the opportunity he had of securing me his friend. ’Twould really be a sin to give him the power of bringing up his family in idleness. No, no, child, he must learn you and the other little dainty misses he has, to do something for yourselves.”
The poor girl blushed; a tear trembled in her eye; she tried to suppress it, but it forced its way, and dropped into her bosom. Amanda, inexpressibly shocked, could support the scene no longer. She retired precipitately, and descended to the parlor. Sympathy, as well as compassion, made her feel for this daughter of affliction, for she herself knew what it was to feel the “insolence of prosperity, the proud man’s scorn, and all those ills which patient merit of the unworthy takes.”
In a few minutes Miss Rushbrook quitted the drawing-room, and stopped in the hall to wipe away her tears. Amanda had been watching for her, and now appeared. She started, and was hurrying away, when Amanda caught her hand, and leading her softly into the parlor, endeavored, with angelic sweetness, to calm her emotion. Surprised at this unexpected attention, and overcome by her feelings, the poor girl sunk on her chair, and dropping her head on Amanda’s bosom, wet it with a shower of tears, as she exclaimed: “Alas! my unfortunate parents, how can I return to behold your misery? The grave is the only refuge for you and your wretched children!” “You must not encourage such desponding thoughts,” said Amanda. “Providence, all bounteous and all powerful, is able in a short time to change the gloomiest scene into one of brightness. Tell me,” she continued, after a pause, “where do you reside?” “At Kensington.” “Kensington!” repeated Amanda. “Surely, in your present situation, you are unable to take such a walk.” “I must attempt it, however,” replied Miss Rushbrook.
Amanda walked from her to the window, revolving a scheme which had just darted into her mind, “If you know any house,” said she, “where you could stay for a short time, I would call on you in a carriage, and leave you at home.”
This offer was truly pleasing to the poor weak trembling girl, but she modestly declined it, from the fear of giving trouble. Amanda besought her not to waste time in such unnecessary scruples, but to give her the desired information. She accordingly informed her there was a haberdasher’s in Bond Street, mentioning the name, where she could stay till called for.
This point settled, Amanda, fearful of being surprised, conducted her softly to the hall-door, and immediately returned to the drawing-room, where she found Lady Euphrasia just beginning Rushbrook’s letter, for her mother’s amusement. Its style evidently denoted the painful conflicts there were between pride and distress, ere the former could be sufficiently subdued, to allow an application for relief to the person who occasioned the latter. The sight of a tender and beloved wife, languishing in the arms of sickness, and surrounded by a family, under the pressure of the severest want, had forced him to a step, which, on his own account, no necessity could have compelled him to take. He and his family, he said, had drank of the cup of misery to the very dregs. He waived the claims of justice; he only asserted those of humanity, in his present application to her ladyship; and these, he flattered himself, she would allow. He had sent a young petitioner in his behalf, whose tearful eye, whose faded cheek, were sad evidences of the misery he described.
The marchioness declared she was astonished at his insolence in making such an application, and Lady Euphrasia protested the letter was the most ridiculous stuff she had ever read.
Amanda, in this, as well as in many other instances, differed from her ladyship; but her opinion, like a little project she had in view about the Rushbrooks, was carefully concealed.
Out of the allowance her father made her for clothes and other expenses about ten guineas remained, which she had intended laying out in the purchase of some ornaments for her appearance at a ball, to be given in the course of the ensuing week by the Duchess of B——, and, for which, at the time of invitation, Lord Mortimer had engaged her for his partner. To give up going to this ball, to consecrate to charity the money devoted to vanity, was her project; and most fortunate did she deem the application of Rushbrook, ere her purchase was made, and she consequently prevented from giving her mite. Her soul revolted from the inhumanity of the marchioness, her daughter, and Lady Greystock. Exempt from the calamities of want themselves, they forgot the pity due to those calamities in others. If this coldness, this obduracy, she cried, within herself, is the effect of prosperity; if thus it closes the avenues of benevolence and compassion, oh! never may the dangerous visitor approach me—for ill should I think the glow of compassion and sensibility exchanged for all its gaudy pleasures.
The ladies had mentioned their intention of going to an auction, where, to use Lady Euphrasia’s phrase, “they expected to see all the world.” Amanda excused herself from being of the party, saying, “she wanted to make some purchases in the city.” Her excuse was readily admitted, and when they retired to their respective toilets, she sent for a coach, and being prepared against it come, immediately stepped into it, and was driven to Bond Street, where she found Miss Rushbrook, with trembling anxiety, waiting her arrival.