"That you will go through it all with Miss Macspleuchan; or, couldn't we get up a sweet scene with my maid? Annette is a pretty little thing, and her broken English"——
"Your Ladyship is pleased to be exceedingly severe; but I feel that I deserve it. Still, knowing your Ladyship's good-nature, I will venture to ask one great favor, which, if you refuse, I will within an hour quit Yatton; that your Ladyship will, in mercy to my feelings, mention this little scene to no one."
"If you wish it, Mr. Tuft, I will preserve your secret," she replied in a kinder and more serious manner than he had ever witnessed in her; and, when he had escaped into solitude, he could hardly tell whom he hated most—himself, or the Lady Cecilia. Several days afterwards, the Marquis Gants-Jaunes de Millefleurs, purposing to quit Yatton on his way northward, sought a favorable opportunity to lay himself—the brilliant, irresistible marquis—at the feet of the all-conquering Lady Cecilia, the future Lady Drelincourt, peeress in her own right, and mistress of the family estates. He had done the same kind of thing half a dozen times to as many women—all of them of ample fortune, and most of them also of rank. His manner was exquisitely delicate and winning; but Lady Cecilia, with a slight blush, (for she was really pleased,) calmly refused him. He saw it was utterly in vain; and for a few moments felt in an unutterably foolish position. Quickly recovering himself, however, he assumed an air of delicate raillery, and put her into such good humor, that, forgetful in the moment of her promise to poor Tuft, she, in the "strictest confidence in the world," communicated to the marquis the offer which Mr. Tuft had been beforehand with him in making to her! The marquis's cheek flushed and tingled; and, without being able to analyze what passed through his mind, the result may be stated as an intolerable feeling, that he and Tuft were a couple of sneaking adventurers, and worse—of ridiculous and exposed adventurers. For almost the first time in his life, he felt such an embarrassment amid the momentary conflict of his thoughts and feelings, as kept him silent. At length, "I presume, Lady Cecilia," said he, in a low tone, with an air of distress, and a glance which did more in his behalf with Lady Cecilia than a thousand of his most flattering and eloquent speeches, "that I shall, in like manner, afford amusement to your Ladyship and Mr. Tuft?"
"Sir," said she, haughtily, and coloring—"Mr. Tuft and the Marquis Gants-Jaunes de Millefleurs, are two very different persons. I am surprised, Monsieur le Marquis, that you should have made such an observation!"
Hereupon he felt greatly consoled, and perfectly secure against being exposed to Tuft, as Tuft had been exposed to him. Yet he was mistaken. How can the reader forgive Lady Cecilia for her double breach of promise, when he is informed, that only a day or two afterwards, Tuft and she being thrown together, partly out of pity to her rejected and bitterly mortified suitor, partly from an impulse of womanly vanity, and partly from a sort of glimpse of even-handed justice requiring such a step, as a kind of reparation to Tuft for her exposure of him to the marquis—she ("in the strictest confidence," however) informed him that his example had been followed by the marquis; utterly forgetful of that excellent maxim, "begin nothing of which you have not well considered the end." It had not occurred to her Ladyship as being a thing almost certain to ensue upon her breach of faith, that Tuft would ask her whether she had violated his confidence. He did so: she blushed scarlet—and though, like her august papa, she could have equivocated when she could not have lied, here she was in a dilemma from which nothing but a fib could possibly extricate her; and in a confident tone, but with a burning cheek, she told a falsehood, and had, moreover, the pain of being conscious, by Mr. Tuft's look, that he did not believe her.—Nothing could exceed the comical air of embarrassment of the marquis and Mr. Tuft, whenever, after this, they were alone together! How fearful lest—how doubtful whether—each knew as much as the other!
To return, however, to the Earl of Dreddlington, (who was utterly in ignorance of the marquis and Mr. Tuft's proposals to Lady Cecilia,) the difficulty which at present harassed his Lordship was, how he could, without compromising his own dignity, or injuring his darling scheme by a premature development of his purpose, sound Titmouse upon the subject. How to break the ice—to broach the affair—was the great problem which the earl turned over and over again in his mind. Now, be it observed, that when a muddle-headed man is called upon at length to act—however long beforehand he may have had notice of it—however assured he may have been of the necessity for eventually taking one course or another, and consequently, however ample the opportunity had for consideration, he remains confused and irresolute up to the very last instant—when he acts, after all, merely as the creature of caprice and impulse! 'Twas thus with Lord Dreddlington. He had thought of half a dozen different ways of commencing with Titmouse, and decided upon adopting each; yet, on the arrival of the anxiously looked for moment, he had lost sight of them all, in his inward fluster and nervousness.
'Twas noon, and Titmouse, smoking a cigar, was walking slowly up and down, his hands stuck into his surtout pockets, and resting on his hips, in the fir-tree walk at the end of the garden—the spot to which he seemed, during the stay of his grand guests, to have been tacitly restricted for the enjoyment of the luxury in question. As soon as Titmouse was aware of the earl's approach, he hastily tossed aside his cigar. The earl "begged" he would take another; and tried to calm and steady himself, by a moment's reflection upon his overwhelming superiority over Titmouse in every respect; but it was in vain.
Now—to pause for a moment—what anxiety and embarrassment would not his Lordship have been spared, had he been aware of one little fact; viz. that Mr. Gammon was unconsciously, secretly, and potently, his friend, in the great matter which lay so near to his heart? For so, in truth, it was. He had used all the art he was master of, and availed himself of all his mysterious power over Titmouse, to get him to make, at all events, an advance to his distinguished kinswoman. Considering, however, how necessary it was "to be off with the old love before he was on with the new," he had commenced operations by satisfying Titmouse how vain and hopeless, and, indeed, unworthy of him, was his passion for poor Miss Aubrey. Here, however, Gammon had not so much difficulty to contend with as he had anticipated; for Miss Aubrey's image had been long ago jostled out of Titmouse's recollection, by the innumerable brilliant and fashionable women among whom he had been latterly thrown. When, therefore, Gammon veraciously informed him that Miss Aubrey had fallen into a decline! and that, moreover, when he (Gammon) had, according to his promise to Titmouse, taken an opportunity of pressing his wishes upon her, she had scornfully scouted the bare notion of such a thing!
"'Pon—my soul! The—devil—she did!" said Titmouse, with an air of insolent astonishment. "The gal's a devilish pretty gal, no doubt," he presently continued, knocking the ashes off his cigar with an indifferent air; "but—it's too good a joke—'pon my soul it is; but d' ye think, Gammon, she ever supposed I meant marriage? By Jove!" Here he winked his eye at Gammon, and then slowly expelled a mouthful of smoke. Gammon had grown pale with the conflict excited within him, by the last words of the execrable little miscreant. He controlled his feelings, however, and succeeded in preserving silence.
"Ah—well!" continued Titmouse, after another whiff or two, with an air of commiseration, "if the poor gal's booked for kingdom come—eh? it's no use; there's no harm done. Deuced poor, all of 'em, I hear! It's devilish hard, by the way, Gammon, that the prettiest gals are always the soonest picked off for the churchyard!" As soon as Gammon had completely mastered his feelings, he proceeded to excite the pride and ambition of Titmouse, by expatiating upon the splendor of an alliance with the last representative of the elder branch of so ancient and illustrious a house; in fact, when Gammon came, he said, to think of it, he feared it was too grand a stroke, and that Lady Cecilia would not entertain the notion for a moment. He told Titmouse that she had refused crowds of young lords: that she would be a peeress of the realm in her own right, with an independent income of £5,000 a-year; and have mansions, seats, and castles, in each of the four quarters of the kingdom! Topics such as these excited and inflated Titmouse to the full extent desired by Mr. Gammon; who, moreover, with great solemnity of manner, gave him distinctly to understand, that on his being able to effect an alliance with the Lady Cecilia, absolutely depended his continuance in, or expulsion from, the possession of the whole Yatton property. Thus it came to pass, that Titmouse was penetrated by a far keener desire to ally himself to the Lady Cecilia, than ever the earl had experienced to bring about such an auspicious event; and at the very moment of Titmouse's catching sight of the earl, while pacing up and down the fir-tree walk, inhaling the soothing influence of his cigar—as I a short time ago presented him to the reader—he was tormenting himself with apprehensions that such a prize was too splendid for him to draw, and asking himself the constantly recurring question, how, in the name of all that was funny, could he set the thing a-going? When Greek met Greek, then came—it was said—the tug of war: and when the Earl of Dreddlington and Titmouse—a great fool and a little fool?—came to meet each other, impelled by the same wishes, and restrained by similar apprehensions, it was like the encounter of two wily diplomatists, sitting down with the intention of outwitting each other, in obtaining an object, in respect of which their aim was, in fact—unknown to each other—precisely coincident; this hidden coincidence being the exact point which their exquisite manœuvres had succeeded in reciprocally masking: it being quite possible for Talleyrand and Pozzo di Borgo, thus pitted against each other, to have separated, after a dozen long conferences, each having failed to secure their common object—peace.