"AND now," said Lady Emily, "that I have listened to your story, which after all is really a very poor affair, do you listen to mine. The heroine in both is the same, but the hero differs by some degrees. Know, then, as the ladies in novels say, that the day which saw you depart from Beech Park was the day destined to decide your fate, and dash your hopes, if ever you had any, of becoming Duchess of Altamont. The Duke arrived, I know, for the express purpose of being enamoured of you; but, alas! you were not. And there was Adelaide so sweet—so gracious—so beautiful—the poor gull was caught, and is now, I really believe, as much in love as it is in the nature of a stupid man to be. I must own she has played her part admirably, and has made more use of her time than I, with all my rapidity, could have thought possible. In fact, the Duke is now all but her declared lover, and that merely stands upon a point of punctilio."
"But Lord Lindore!" exclaimed Mary in astonishment.
"Why, that part of the story is what I don't quite comprehend. Sometimes I think it is a struggle with Adelaide. Lindore, poor, handsome, captivating, on one hand; his Grace, rich, stupid, magnificent, on the other. As for Lindore, he seems to stand quite aloof. Formerly, you know, he never used to stir from her side, or notice anyone else. Now he scarcely notices her, at least in presence of the Duke, Sometimes he affects to look unhappy, but I believe it is mere affectation. I doubt if he ever thought seriously of Adelaide, or indeed anybody else, that he could have in a straightforward Ally Croker sort of a way—but something too much of this. While all this has been going on in one corner, there comes regularly everyday Mr. William Downe Wright, looking very much as if he had lost his shoestring, or pocket handkerchief, and had come there to look for it. I had some suspicion of the nature of the loss, but was hopeful he would have the sense to keep it to himself. No such thing: he yesterday stumbled upon Lady Juliana all alone, and, in the weakest of his weak moments, informed her that the loss he had sustained was no less than the loss of that precious jewel his heart; and that the object of his search was no other than that of Miss Mary Douglas to replace it! He even carried his bêtise so far as to request her permission, or her influence, or, in short, something that her Ladyship never was asked for by any mortal in their senses before, to aid him in his pursuit. You know how it delights her to be dressed in a little brief authority; so you may conceive her transports at seeing the sceptre of power thus placed in her hands. In the heat of her pride she makes the matter known to the whole household. Redgills, cooks, stable-boys, scullions, all are quite au fait to your marriage with Mr. Downe Wright; so I hope you'll allow that it was about time _you _should be made acquainted with it yourself. But why so pale and frightened-looking?"
Poor Mary was indeed shocked at her cousin's intelligence. With the highest feelings of filial reverence, she found herself perpetually called upon either to sacrifice her own principles or to act indirect opposition to her mother's will, and upon this occasion she saw nothing but endless altercation awaiting her; for her heart revolted from the indelicacy of such measures, and she could not for a moment brook the idea of being bestowed in marriage. But she had little time for reflection. They were now at Beech Park; and as she alighted a servant informed her Lady Juliana wished to see her in her dressing-room immediately. Thither she repaired with a beating heart and agitated step. She was received with greater kindness than she had ever yet experienced from her mother.
"Come in, my dear," cried she, as she extended two fingers to her, and slightly touched her cheek. "You look very well this morning—much better than usual. Your complexion is much improved. At the same time you must be sensible how few girls are married merely for their looks—that is, married well—unless, to be sure, their beauty is something à merveilleuse—such as your sister's, for instance. I assure you, it is an extraordinary piece of good fortune in a merely pretty girl to make what is vulgarly called a good match. I know, at least, twenty really very nice young women at this moment who cannot get themselves established."
Mary was silent; and her mother, delighted at her own good sense and judicious observations, went on—
"That being the case, you may judge how very comfortable I must feel at having managed to procure for you a most excessive good establishment—just the very thing I have long wished, as I have felt quite at a loss about you of late, my dear. When your sister marries, I shall, of course, reside with her; and as I consider your _liaison _with those Scotch people as completely at an end, I have really been quite wretched as to what was to become of you. I can't tell you, therefore, how excessively relieved I was when Mr. Downe Wright yesterday asked my permission to address you. Of course I could not hesitate an instant; so you will meet him at dinner as your accepted. By-the-bye, your hair is rather blown. I shall send Fanchon to dress it for you. You have really got very pretty hair; I wonder never remarked it before. Oh! and Mrs. Downe Wright is to wait upon me to-morrow, I think; and then I believe we must return the visit. There is a sort of etiquette, you know, in all these matters—that is the most unpleasant part of it; but when that is over you will have nothing to think of but ordering your things."
For a few minutes Mary was too much confounded by her mother's rapidity to reply. She had expected to be urged to accept of Mr. Downe Wright; but to be told that was actually done for her was more than she was prepared for. At length she found voice to say that Mr. Downe Wright was almost a stranger to her, and she must therefore be excused from receiving his addresses at present.
"How excessively childish!" exclaimed Lady Juliana angrily. "I won't hear of anything so perfectly foolish. You know (or, at any rate, I do) all that is necessary to know. I know that he is a man of family and fortune, heir to a title, uncommonly handsome, and remarkably sensible and well-informed. I can't conceive what more you would wish to know!"
"I would wish to know something of his character, his principles, his habits, temper, talents—in short, all those things on which my happiness would depend."