“Why, Bingley,” cried he, with affected gayety, “I thought you too valiant a knight to be easily overcome by despair; and that without first trying every effort to win her favor, you never would give up a fair lady you had set your heart on.” “I leave such efforts for your lordship,” replied Sir Charles, “or those who have equal patience.” “But seriously, Bingley, I think this sudden resignation of Miss Fitzalan somewhat strange. Why, last night I could have sworn you were as much attached to her as ever. From Lord Cherbury’s friendship for Captain Fitzalan, I think her, in some degree, under his protection and mine. And as the particularity of your attention attracted observation, I think your abruptly withdrawing them requires explanation.” “As Lord Cherbury was the person I applied to relative to Miss Fitzalan,” exclaimed Sir Charles, “and as he was satisfied with the motive I assigned for my conduct, be assured, my lord, I shall never give another to you.” “Your words,” retorted Lord Mortimer, with warmth, “imply that there was another motive for your conduct than the one you avowed. What horrid inference may not be drawn from such an insinuation? Oh! Sir Charles! reputation is a fragile flower, which the slightest breath may injure.” “My lord, if Miss Fitzalan’s reputation is never injured but by my means, it will ever continue unsullied.”
“I cannot, indeed,” resumed Lord Mortimer, “style myself her guardian, but I consider myself her friend: and from the feelings of friendship, shall ever evince my interest in her welfare, and resent any conduct which can possibly render her an object of censure to any being.” “Allow me to ask your lordship one question,” cried Sir Charles, “and promise, on your honor, to answer it.” “I do promise,” said Lord Mortimer. “Then, my lord, did you ever really wish I should succeeded with Miss Fitzalan?”
Lord Mortimer colored. “You expect, Sir Charles, I shall answer you on my honor? Then, really, I never did.” “Your passions and mine,” continued Sir Charles, “are impetuous. We had better check them in time, lest they lead us to lengths we may hereafter repent of. Of Miss Fitzalan’s fame, be assured, no man can be more tenacious than I should. I love her with the truest ardor. Her acceptance of my proposals would have given me felicity. My suddenly withdrawing them can never injure her, when I declare my motive for so doing was her indifference. Lord Cherbury is satisfied with the reason I have assigned for resigning her. He is conscious that no man of sensibility could experience happiness with a woman in whose heart he had no interest. This, I suppose, your lordship will also allow.” “Certainly,” replied Lord Mortimer. “Then, it strikes me, my lord, that it is your conduct, not mine, which has a tendency to injure Miss Fitzalan. That it is your words, not mine, which convey an insinuation against her. You really appear as if conscious some other cause existed, which would have made me relinquish her, without the one I have already assigned for doing so.”
Lord Mortimer was instantly convicted of the justice of what Sir Charles said. He began to fear his warmth would really prove prejudicial to Amanda, betray the doubts that had obtruded on his mind, and communicate them to those who might not be equally influenced by tenderness and delicacy to conceal them.
“You are right, Sir Charles,” said he, “in what you have said; passion, like a bad advocate, hurts the cause in which it is engaged. From my knowledge of your character, I should have been convinced your honor would have prevented any improper conduct. You are going to Ireland. Permit me, Sir Charles, to offer you my best wishes for your future happiness.”
Sir Charles took Lord Mortimer’s extended hand. He respected and esteemed his lordship, and a mutual interchange of good wishes took place between them, as this was the last interview they expected for a long time.
The indisposition of Amanda was more of the mental than the bodily kind, and on the first intimation of a party to the play she agreed to join it, in hopes the amusement would remove her dejection. Her father’s letter, relative to Sir Charles Bingley, had given her some uneasiness; but as he left her free to act, she contented herself with using the negative he allowed her, by a solemn resolution of never acting contrary to his inclinations, and answered his letter to this purpose.
Lord Mortimer and Freelove attended the ladies in the evening to the play. His lordship found an opportunity of tenderly inquiring after Amanda’s health. When they were seated in the house he perceived a lady in another box to whom he wished to speak, and accordingly left his party. This lady offered him a seat by herself, which he accepted. She was a stranger to Amanda, young and extremely beautiful. Amanda, however, had none of that foolish weakness which could make her dread a rival in every new face, or feel uneasiness at Lord Mortimer’s attention to any woman but herself. Assured that his affections for her were founded on the basis of esteem, and that she should retain them while worthy of esteem, she could, without being discomposed by the agreeable conversation he appeared to be enjoying, fix her attention on the stage; so entirely, indeed, that she observed not from time to time, the glances Lord Mortimer directed towards her. Not so his fair companion. She noticed the wanderings of his eyes, and her own involuntarily pursued their course. She was speaking at the moment, but suddenly stopped, and Lord Mortimer saw her change color. He turned pale himself, and in a faltering voice, asked her, “if she knew the lady she had been long looking at?” “Know her?” replied she; “oh, heavens! but too well.”
Lord Mortimer trembled universally, and was compelled to have recourse to his handkerchief to hide his emotion.
It was by Adela, the lovely and neglected wife of Belgrave, he was sitting. She had been a short time in London, and her acquaintance with Lord Mortimer commenced at a ball, where she had danced with him. He was not one of those kind of men who, when in love, had neither eyes nor ears but for the object of that love. He could see perfections in other women besides his Amanda, and was particularly pleased with Mrs. Belgrave. He instantly perceived that she knew Amanda; also, that that knowledge was attended with pain. The well-known profligacy of her husband intruded on his memory, and he shuddered at the dreadful thoughts which arose in his mind.