Modern Flirtations: A Novel

by Catherine Sinclair

  CHAPTER XIII.

  Sir Patrick, like most men who are gifted with more head than heart,disbelieved in all such generous emotions and exalted affections as hehad not himself experienced. With a lively defiance of receivedopinions, his vivacity was unchecked by the fear of giving pain or ofcausing offence, being perfectly reckless on that score, provided onlyhe could enliven the dull routine of ordinary society. Marion'smingled expression of shyness and animation, her light laughter andardent feelings, were refreshing to a mind so hackneyed as his, andthough he often checked her sensitive spirit in its full flow ofaffectionate confidence, by a retort courteous, or ratherdiscourteous, he was nevertheless vain of the admiration sheinvariably excited, and read, in the eyes of others, the value heought to place on her beauty and talents.

  Agnes' whole mind was so frothed over with folly, and encrusted withselfishness, that unless the wheel of fortune touched upon herpersonal comforts, she was as impervious to all external impressionsas a tortoise beneath the shell, and it was a useless waste ofgenerous sentiments and kind emotions, whenever the heart of Marionwas laid open to her. Agnes, who had long since adopted a companymanner, and even a company voice, persuaded herself that Marion alsohad very cleverly "got up" a character on some imaginary model ofexcellence, which she acted over to the very life. It seemed to her anaked certainty that the refinement and delicacy natural to Marion'smind were in reality artificial; and though the radiance of herintellect, and the sensibility of her eye, were but in harmony withher actions, all testifying disinterested self-denial and invariableaffection, still Agnes convinced herself that Marion lived "foreffect."

  If Marion ever acted a part at all, it was only in concealing fromthose who might have ridiculed her, the unfathomable depth of herfeelings, since she might as well have asked for sympathy from anice-berg as from Agnes. Knowing that every evidence of sensibilitywould be received with scepticism, she silently and hopefully waitedtill some scope might be afforded her for testifying that all whichshe might have wished to profess was nothing to what she would do orsuffer for those she loved; and if ever Marion repined at any onecircumstance in her lot, it was, that she might perhaps pass throughlife unknown to those she loved the best, because she dared notexpress, even by a few insignificant words, that affectionateattachment to Agnes and Sir Patrick, which she would have thought anysacrifice a pleasure, to evince in its full and heartfelt measure.

  One privilege of friendship Marion enjoyed in unbounded measure withboth her brother and sister. She became the usual depositary of theirmany grievances and disappointments. Marion had the art,--or ratherthe instinct, for to her all art was unknown,--of listening inperfection. If Agnes received a dress from her London milliner whichdid not fit, or if Sir Patrick did not obtain an invitation to somejovial party which he had expected to enliven, Marion became ofimmediate importance. The annoyance he felt on such occasions couldscarcely be exceeded--the death of his nearest relation, or of all hisrelations together, would have been nothing to it; but Marion couldalways administer some gentle anodyne to the irritated sufferer, anddisplayed a wonderful ingenuity in turning up the best side ofeverything, for the advantage and comfort of others. Nothing meltedMarion's heart so entirely as to see Sir Patrick for a momentdepressed, as the very pride and haughtiness of his spirit renderedit, in her estimation, the more affecting when he seemed at allsubdued, and on the evening of Lady Towercliffe's ball, she could notbut fancy, before he set off with Agnes, that there was a forcedvivacity in his spirits which she had never perceived before, and thatthe tone of his voice had a melancholy modulation when he bid her goodnight, accompanied by an unusual degree of kindness, always the veryworst indication of Sir Patrick's spirits, the consciousness of which,and a thousand conjectures respecting its cause and extent, dismissedher to bed with an anxious mind and a prayer, even more fervent thanusual, for his happiness.

  In one house, Marion was understood and loved as she wished to be, andall her young enthusiasm found its best refuge and welcome in the agedheart of Sir Arthur, who felt refreshed and cheered by thecompanionship of thoughts and feelings as fresh and natural as theflowers in spring, while they reminded him of the time when his ownhad been as buoyant and untrodden, as hopeful and gay, as full of kindintentions and generous wishes.

  The morning after Marion's arrival at St. John's Lodge, she arose bythe peep of the day, intent on surprising her uncle with a visitduring his early breakfast, and gayly anticipating the look of joyfulsurprise and perplexity with which she would be welcomed, while sherehearsed in her own happy mind, how best to increase Sir Arthur'sastonishment. The day was indeed one of matchless beauty, the sunshineperfectly superb, and all around resplendent with light, gayety, andhappiness, the white clouds skimming along like swans on the blue sky,the air perfumed with blossoms, every leaf spangled with dew, thepainted butterflies, like winged flowers, hovering over the meadows,and the country people exhibiting looks full of mirth, hilarity, andgood humor, as they hastened past to their tasks of daily toil,enjoying those common gifts of a bountiful Providence, the lightbreeze, the balmy sunshine, the music of birds, the perfume offlowers, and the joy of natural, unfevered spirits.

  "And now, while bloom and breeze their charms unite, And all is glowing with a rich delight, God! who can tread upon the breathing ground, Nor feel Thee present, where Thy smiles abound?"

  The whole air seemed full of incense and poetry when the light-footedMarion, with a bounding and elastic step, set forth on her solitarywalk towards Portobello, joyous as a bird in spring, pleased with thewhole world, and admiring everything with a lightness of heart thatcast its sunshine on all she saw. Marion delighted in a wild sense ofliberty now, when she contrasted it with her long years of enduranceat Mrs. Penfold's; and equipped in exactly such a pink gingham dressas Agnes had censured on Clara Granville, with the free air, likeliquid sunshine, playing about her glowing cheek, and her lightringlets fluttering in the breeze, the excitement of her spiritsbecame such that she could have run with pleasure across the daisiedmeadows, and, "glad as the wild bee on his glossy wing," longed toreach the craggy heights of Arthur Seat, or to linger beneath the oldthorns already fragrant with blossoms, and steeped in dew.

  Marion had picked some flowers as fresh and blooming as herself, whileshe hurried through the more inhabited parts of the sanctuary, butwhen passing beneath the palace windows, her steps were arrested for amoment by hearing the sounds of mirth and music. "Can it be!" thoughtshe, in astonishment, "Lady Towercliffe's ball is yet at its zenith!"

  Pitying the dancers much more than she envied them, Marion looked atthe scene of glorious beauty around her, and was hurrying forward,humming a light barcarolle in concert with the thousand birds in fullchorus on every side, when suddenly a loud shout caused her to startand turn around. Marion now perceived with astonishment that a windowof Lady Towercliffe's apartment had been hastily opened, and SirPatrick stood on the balcony waving his handkerchief impetuously forher to stop, and a moment afterwards she saw him eagerly running afterher across the fields without his hat.

  "Marion! you lucky girl! stop there!" exclaimed he with breathlessanimation. "We are all at breakfast, and require one lady more to makeup a last quadrille, so come along; you are my prisoner! What makesyou look so aghast? Who ever heard of a girl not liking her firstball?"

  "Patrick, you are certainly mad!" said Marion, unable to help laughingat the almost delirious eagerness of his manner. "Pray consider! I amnot in a ball dress! I am not invited! I shall look like ahouse-maid!----"

  "Nonsense! I wish everybody looked half as well! All these reasons,and fifty more, go for nothing. I have set my heart upon it, and youshall not stand in your own light, like the man in the moon. No,Marion! you are to be published immediately under my auspices. Youhave often expressed a willingness to die for me any day, but that isnot necessary just at present. All I ask is that you shall dance forme! Now, fling that bonnet off, shake your little forest of ringlets,and come along. You will pass muster ve
ry well without Cinderella'sgod-mother to make a metamorphosis."

  Unable to resist the outburst of her brother's extravagant mirth, yetshrinking and abashed, almost ready to cry with vexation, Marion wasunwillingly led, or almost dragged by her laughing persecutor into thedrawing-room, where, with a look of _naivete_, and an aspect lovely inthe first blush and freshness of girlhood, she gazed in muteastonishment and almost with dismay at this her first peep into thegreat world of fashion, wishing for her own part that she could haveadopted invisibility, and enjoyed the scene as if she were in a privatebox at the theatre, for as yet her feelings were "_trop pres de lapeine pour etre un plaisir_."

  A bright sunshine streamed into the room, while the gas lamps stilldimly glared over the breakfast table, at present surrounded by threeor four hot, flushed, dusty-looking young ladies, with exaggeratedcolors, soiled dresses, torn gloves, withered bouquets, andexceedingly disordered ringlets, falling in dishevelled masses overtheir naked shoulders. These ladies, assuming forced spirits, and anappearance of over-done gaiety, kept up a rattling, flippant dialoguewith about twice or three times the number of gentlemen, some inglittering uniforms, padded and stuffed to the very chin, and othersin plain clothes, but all over-heated, over-excited, andover-fatigued, while, in spite of parched lips and blood-shot eyes,they were still endeavoring, with all their might, to be fascinating.

  To Marion's unaccustomed eye the whole party seemed like a set ofsecond rate actors from the theatre, not calculated, by their aspect,to elicit very rapturous applauses, and she privately wondered theywere not ashamed to look each other in the face when in so ridiculousa plight. Even Agnes, her own beautiful sister, looked very unlikeAgnes! and she felt astonished to find that it might actually bepossible to spend an hour in her company and not be admiring her, butin Marion's very private opinion, her appearance was now as if somesign post painter had done a resemblance of her sister in the verycoarsest coloring, and in the most overdone style of dress andexpression.

  Agnes had a great deal to say, and no diffidence to prevent her sayingit all, therefore she was now plunged into the midst of a veryanimated dialogue with Captain De Crespigny, talking with a look ofconscious beauty and conscious success, in the only style she couldtalk, nonsense, and making a lavish expenditure of smiles, attitudes,and exclamations, to give herself the appearance of vivacity. Her hairwas in a most disastrous state, and her complexion everything but whatit should be, while her dress had so completely fallen off at theshoulders, that she might appropriately have sung her favorite air,"One struggle more and I am free."

  The expression of Agnes' countenance became at once perfectly natural,when she turned round, and for the first time observed, with a startof genuine astonishment, that Marion was beside her, looking at themoment like some being of a better world, or like some graceful waterlily rearing its pure and beautiful head above the turbid pool.

  Marion glanced at her sister in a state of smiling embarrassment, asif desirous to claim her protection amidst a scene so new and strange,and taking possession, with a confiding look, of Agnes' arm, joyseemed rushing out of her bright animated eyes, and dimpling in hercheeks, when, under her sister's protection, she gazed around with anexpression of timid amusement and curiosity.

  "Marion, what mad freak is this?" exclaimed Agnes, with a hot redblush of angry surprise; "Patrick, do take her home!"

  "Not till she has been my _vis a vis_ in this quadrille, and then wemust all disperse," replied Sir Patrick, with a boyish mischievouslaugh, while noticing a haughty flash pass swiftly over the brow ofAgnes; "I had difficulty enough in getting Marion to come at all, soshe shall not escape me now. De Crespigny, have you engaged a partner?"

  "If I had I would have strangled her!" replied Captain De Crespigny,with an admiring glance at Marion, who stood with her downcast eyesshaded with their long deep fringes, while an arch young smile playedround her mouth, and dimpled her cheek.

  "Will you then take the very great trouble of dancing with Marion?"

  "I shall be too happy," replied he, throwing a world of expressioninto his fine animated eyes. "I shall do so with all my heart!"

  "Marion, your old friend and cousin, Louis De Crespigny. Did you eversee such an ugly fellow?"

  "That is the very thing I pique myself upon! I am like the Skyeterriers, admired chiefly for my surpassing ugliness," said Captain DeCrespigny laughingly, observing the smile and the blush with whichMarion listened. "You think me plain; but I wish you saw my uncle!"

  "Wear a mask, De Crespigny, if you ever become as hideous! But inrespect to looks, the most unendurable of all living beings is ahandsome vulgar man, like the description I hear of that creatureHoward, Sir Arthur's pen-and-ink man. I could forgive his vulgarity,if Marion did not tell me that he presumes to be handsome, whichrenders him utterly insufferable! I wish somebody would put him todeath!"

  "The fellow has never yet shown himself to me," replied Captain DeCrespigny, carelessly. "Now, Miss Dunbar, allow me the honor of thenext quadrille with you; and if there be a dozen more," added he, withhis most ineffable smile, "so much the better! I consider any othergentleman who asks you to-night as my personal enemy!"

  Marion stole a frightened glance at Agnes, while timidly accepting theoffered arm of Captain De Crespigny; but her sister had turned awaywith a look of superb disdain, and was engaged in lively conversationwith Lord Wigton, a tall stripling, who seemed as if he was never tobe done growing, and who copied Captain De Crespigny in everything,from the pattern of his watch-chain to the choice of his partners.

  Agnes felt invariably more astonished at any deficiency of attention,than at the most devoted assiduity, having accustomed herself tobelieve that she was always the first object of interest to everygentleman in the room, though diffidence or caution might cause themto exercise their self-denial for a time, by keeping aloof; and it waswith more commiseration for Captain De Crespigny's privation in losingher, than for her own, that she accepted the school-boy Peer as apartner, while secretly amused and flattered by the ludicrousexpression of awe and admiration with which he usually offeredhimself. Having talked, flirted, and laughed, through one quadrilleand several reels, the clock struck eight. It was an unspeakabletriumph to Lady Towercliffe, that her ball had thus been kept up thelatest of any during the season; and now the whole prepared forretiring to their fevered pillows.

  Captain De Crespigny, after uttering, as usual, in his mostingratiating manner, a million of absurd nothings, took a sentimentalleave of Marion, saying, with his very best smile, and a sighto correspond, "I shall always remember this evening withpleasure--always! Ten minutes of unmixed happiness are something inthis world to be thankful for. Life has nothing more delightful."

  These words were said in his usual gay, off-hand tone, while Captain DeCrespigny felt perfectly charmed to think what an impression they mustbe making on the heart of his young and unsophisticated partner. He wasat the same time astonished himself, to find on this occasion how muchmore his heart was on his lips than it had ever been before. Marion wasthe only girl Captain De Crespigny had yet seen whom he did not feel awish to trifle with; for during the last half hour, he had been notonly amused, but deeply interested, by discovering in her conversationa degree of matured reflection, of _naivete_, humor, and good sense,accompanied by a brightness of expression in her deeply-speaking eyes,much in contrast with what he had ever been accustomed to before.Nothing is so rare in manner as to be perfectly natural, without a_soupcon_ of affectation; and to this charm was added another, quiteas new and unexpected to Captain De Crespigny, though by no means soacceptable, as he became not only astonished, but piqued, at the gay,indifferent carelessness with which Marion heard, as words of course,not more belonging to her than if they had been addressed to any oneelse, his well-turned compliments and insinuated admiration.

  Not to be met half-way was new and astonishing to Captain De Crespigny!It seemed perfectly unaccountable, little as he knew how long hischaracter for a ruthless flirt had been placarded be
fore the eyes ofMarion, who no more credited the sincerity of his professions now, thanif he had been an actor performing on the stage. She considered that itwas his part for the evening to scatter civilities indiscriminatelyaround him, while his real feelings were, she believed, privatelyconsecrated to one, and to one only. Marion's own heart was in armor,protected by the belief of Captain De Crespigny being her affiancedbrother; and therefore she received his _adieux_ with a quiet, demurelook, succeeded by an arch smile, as the idea crossed her mind howcompletely she was in the secret of his attachment, and how little heseemed to guess that she was.

  When Captain De Crespigny observed Marion's good-humored, carelessmanner in taking leave of him, he began to fancy it just possible shemight still be quite indifferent to his attentions; but he ratherindignantly resolved that this should not continue long. It would be adistinction, he knew, to follow in the train of a young beauty soadmired as he saw that Marion must be; for a hundred tongues werealready talking around him of her matchless loveliness, while he alonehad yet enjoyed an opportunity of discovering that much as she was tobe admired by those who saw her, she was still more to be loved bythose who knew her; for she seemed to unite in herself all that he hadever praised in a thousand others before, though he carried no plummetin his mind fitted to measure the depth of hers. Captain De Crespignyhad been accustomed, hitherto, always to feign more than he felt; butnow, for the first time, he found it necessary to conceal, even fromhimself, the extent of his feelings; for it seemed as if the last fewhours had rendered Marion perfectly known, and for ever dear to him.Slowly strolling homewards, therefore, he gave vent to his thoughts,by singing, in a voice like moonlight, soft and clear, the words of afavorite song:--

  "And fare thee well, my only love And fare thee well a while! And I will come again, my love, Though it were ten thousand mile."