Penelope

by William Pitt Scargill

Thereupon the two gentlemen, with cordial grasp and tearful eyes, shook each other by the hand most heartily, and parted very well pleased with each other.

CHAPTER XIX.

Mr Primrose on the following morning set off for London in a post-chaise, being unwilling to risk his neck a second time in a stage-coach; for he had taken it into his head that a stage-coach must be overturned at the bottom of a steep hill. He travelled alone; and we will for the present leave him alone; though it might be very entertaining to observe how pettishly he brooked the tediousness of that mode of travelling, and how teasing he was to the post-boys, sometimes urging them to drive fast, and then rebuking them for using their horses so cruelly. What the poor man could find to amuse himself with for the long journey, which occupied him nearly three days, we cannot tell. In the meantime, we find it necessary to return to that part of our narrative in which we related that the partial exhibition to which Penelope had been exposed at the Countess of Smatterton’s select little party, had produced an almost serious illness.

Nothing could exceed the kind attentions of the Countess. Every hour was she making enquiries, and all that could possibly be said or done by way of alleviation or consolation did her ladyship say and do for her heart-broken patient. It never for one single moment entered the mind of Lady Smatterton that Miss Primrose could feel the slightest repugnance in the world to the profession which had been chosen for her; nor could her ladyship think that any sorrow or deep feeling was on the mind of Penelope for the death of her uncle, or that there was any harassing anxiety on her spirits at the thought of her father’s probable arrival in England. The Countess of Smatterton might have been a woman of very great feeling; but, from difference of situation, she could not by any means sympathize with Penelope. There is an infinite difference between five hundred acquaintances and an only dear friend. The pleasures of Penelope were not of the same nature as those of the Countess of Smatterton, nor was there much similarity in their pains.

There were also other considerations by which it may be accounted for, that the sympathy of her ladyship was not exactly adapted to the feelings of Penelope. The Countess was a patron, Penelope a dependent. The Countess had but the mere vanity of rank, Penelope a natural and essential pride of spirit; and it not unfrequently happens, that persons in the higher walks of society regard the rest of the world as made to be subservient to their caprices and the instruments of their will. This last consideration, however, is not altogether the fault of the higher classes; much of it, perhaps most of it, is owing to the hungry venal sycophancy of their inferiors,—but there never will be an act of parliament passed against servility, and therefore we need not waste our time in declaiming against it, for nothing but an act of parliament can thoroughly cure it.

Penelope was not sufficiently ill to keep her apartment for any great length of time. The medical attendant thought it desirable that the patient should be amused as much as possible; the air also was recommended, and, if possible, a little change of scene. To all these suggestions prompt and immediate attention was paid. It was fortunate that the Earl of Smatterton had a residence in the immediate vicinity of London, and it was the intention of the family to spend the Christmas holidays there. It would therefore be very opportune to afford the young lady a change of air and scene: for from her childhood Penelope had never wandered beyond the two villages of Smatterton and Neverden. The proposal was made to her to accompany the family, and the proposal was made so kindly, she could not possibly refuse it, even had it not been agreeable.

There was something perplexing to the inartificial and unsophisticated mind of Penelope Primrose, in the wonderful difference between fashionable manners under different circumstances. She had not the slightest doubt that Lord Smatterton and her ladyship were people of high fashion, nor could she have the least hesitation in concluding that the Duchess of Steeple Bumstead was also a woman of high fashion; but she recollected how rudely the Duchess had stared at her, and she had also a general feeling that many more persons of fashion at the select party had appeared, both in their manner towards her, and their deportment towards each other, absolutely disagreeable, unfeeling, and insolent. There also occurred to her recollection, amidst other thoughts of a similar nature, the impertinent and conceited airs which Lord Spoonbill had exhibited when she had formerly met him by accident; and she compared, with some degree of astonishment, his present very agreeable with his past very disagreeable manners.

The day on which Lord Smatterton and his family removed to their suburban villa was the very day that saw Mr Primrose depart from Smatterton on his way to London. And if on this occasion we should, by way of being very sentimental and pathetic, say, “Little did they think, the one that the father was coming to town, and the other that the daughter was leaving it,”—we should be only saying what our readers might very readily conjecture to be the case without any assistance from us: but we should not be perhaps exceeding the limits of truth. For, in truth, it was a thought which actually did enter the mind of Mr Primrose just as he set out on his journey: feeling somewhat angry at the disappointment which he had experienced, he actually said to himself at the very moment that he entered the chaise: “Now I suppose, when I get to town, Lord Smatterton and his family will be gone out of town again.”

It was all very well for the medical attendant to talk about change of air and change of scene: men of science know very well that persons in a certain rank will do what they will, and so it is not amiss that they should be told how very suitable and right it is. Change of scene is pretty enough and wholesome enough for baby minds that want new playthings; but no local changes can reach the affliction and sorrow of heart which sits brooding within. Penelope found that his lordship’s suburban villa, though built in the present taste, furnished with the greatest magnificence, and situated in one of the most delightful of those ten thousand beauteous pieces of scenery which surround the metropolis, was still unable to disperse the gloom that hung upon her mind, and to reconcile her to that profession which the imperious kindness of the Countess of Smatterton had destined for her.

Lord Spoonbill took infinite pains to render the change of scene agreeable to the young lady. The weather was, for the time of year, cheerful and bright, and though cold, not intensely so: and in spite of the numerous hints which the Earl gave him of the impropriety of such excessive condescension, the heir of Smatterton would accompany the plebeian dependent in the chariot, and point out to her the various beauties of the surrounding scenery. A person who can see has a great advantage over one that is blind. Such advantage had Lord Spoonbill over Penelope Primrose. In her mind there did not exist the slightest or most distant apprehension whatever of the design which his lordship had in these attentions. Had there been such apprehension, or such suspicion, vain would have been all his lordship’s endeavours to render himself agreeable to the young lady. As it was, however, Penelope certainly began to entertain a much higher opinion of his lordship’s good qualities than she had before. He did not indeed talk like a philosopher, or utter oracles, but he manifested kind feelings and generous sentiments. On many subjects he talked fluently, though his talk was common-place; and he perhaps might adapt himself to the supposed limited information of his companion. The young lady was also pleased with the apparent indifference which in his conversation he manifested to the distinctions of rank. And as Penelope was pleased with the young nobleman’s attentions, and grateful for the considerate and almost unexpected kindness which she experienced from the Smatterton family, her manner became less constrained, and, even though unwell, she was cheerful, and the gracefulness of gratitude gave to her natural beauty a charm which heightened and embellished it. Thus, the beauty by which Lord Spoonbill’s attention had been first attracted, appeared to him infinitely more fascinating when connected with such mental and moral charms: so that, to use an expression which has no meaning, but which is generally understood, his lordship had fairly lost his heart.