“Oh love, how are thy precious, sweetest minutes Thus ever crossed, thus vexed with disappointments; Now pride, now fickleness, fantastic quarrels, And sullen coldness give us pain by turns.”—Rowe.
At the expected time, the marquis and his family arrived with great splendor at Ulster Lodge, which was immediately crowded with visitors of the first consequence in the county, among whom were the Kilcorbans, whose affluent fortune gave them great respectability. Mr. Kilcorban wished, indeed, to be first in paying his compliments to the marquis, who had a borough in his disposal he was desirous of being returned for. Disappointed the last time he set up as one of the candidates for the county, this was his only chance of entering that house he had long been ambitious for a seat in. He knew, indeed, his oratorical powers were not very great—often saying, he had not the gift of the gab like many of the honorable gentlemen; but then he could stamp and stare, and look up to the gods and goddesses[B] for their approbation, with the best of them; and, besides, his being a member of parliament would increase his consequence, at least in the country.
[B] Ladies were admitted to the gallery of the Irish House of Commons.
The female part of his family went from Ulster Lodge to Castle Carberry, which they entered with a more consequential air than ever, as if they derived new consequence from the visit they had been paying. Instead of flying up to Amanda, as usual, the young ladies swam into the room, with what they imagined, a most bewitching elegance, and, making a sliding curtsey, flung themselves upon a sofa, exactly opposite a glass, and alternately viewed themselves, and pursued their remarks on Lady Euphrasia’s dress. “Well, certainly, Alicia,” said Miss Kilcorban, “I will have a morning gown made in imitation of her ladyship’s : that frill of fine lace about the neck is the most becoming thing in nature; and the pale blue lining sweetly adapted for a delicate complexion.” “I think, Charlotte,” cried Miss Alicia, “I will have my tambour muslin in the same style, but lined with pink to set off the work.”
“This aunt of yours, my dear,” exclaimed Mrs. Kilcorban, “is really a personable-looking woman enough, and her daughter a pretty little sort of body.”
“Oh! they are charming creatures,” cried both the young ladies; “so elegant, so irresistibly genteel.”
“Your ideas and mine, then,” said Lady Greystock, “differ widely about elegance and irresistibility, if you ascribe either to the ladies in question. Mr. Kilcorban,” continued she, turning to Amanda, “feared, I believe, my Lord Marquis would fly across the sea in a few hours; and that he might catch him ere he took wing, never ceased tormenting us, from the time breakfast was over till we entered the carriage, to make haste, though he might have known it was quite too early for fine folks to be visible.
“Well, we posted off to Ulster Lodge, as if life and death depended on our dispatch. Mr. Kilcorban was ushered into the marquis’s study, and we into an empty room, to amuse ourselves, if we pleased, with portraits of the marquis’s ancestors; whilst bells in all quarters were tingling—maids and footmen running up and down stairs—and cats, dogs, monkeys, and parrots, which I found composed part of the travelling retinue, were scratching, barking, chattering, and screaming, in a room contiguous to the one we occupied. At length a fine, perfumed jessamy made his appearance, and saying the ladies were ready to have the honor of receiving us, skipped up stairs like a harlequin. The marchioness advanced about two steps from her couch to receive us, and Lady Euphrasia half rose from her seat, and after contemplating us for a minute, as if to know whether we were to be considered as human creatures or not, sunk back into her former attitude of elegant languor, and continued her conversation with a young nobleman who had accompanied them from England.”
“Well, I hope you will allow he is a divine creature,” exclaimed Miss Kilcorban, in an accent of rapture. “Oh! what eyes he has,” cried her sister; “what an harmonious voice! I really never beheld any one so exquisitely handsome!”
“Lord Mortimer, indeed,” said Lady Greystock—Amanda started, blushed, turned pale, panted as if for breath, and stared as if in amazement. “Bless me, Miss Fitzalan,” asked her ladyship, “are you ill?” “No, madam,” replied Amanda, in a trembling voice; “’tis only—’tis only a little palpitation of the heart I am subject to. I have interrupted your ladyship; pray proceed.” “Well,” continued Lady Greystock, “I was saying that Lord Mortimer was one of the most elegant and engaging young men I had ever beheld. His expressive eyes seemed to reprove the folly of his fair companion; and her neglect made him doubly assiduous, which to me was a most convincing proof of a noble mind.”