Chapter VII

"The town, the court, is beauty's proper sphere:
That is our Heaven, and we are angels there."

MISS SEYMOUR TO MRS. GALTON.

London, May 25,----

My dear, dear Aunt,

Your last letter has made me very unhappy. Is it possible that you
can really believe I have forgotten you?--I acknowledge that I have
been very very remiss about writing; but indeed my heart has always
been right towards you, though perhaps my conduct has not been so;
however, I acknowledge my fault in this instance, though Lady
Eltondale told me the other day, when I regretted not having
answered either of your two last letters, that nobody but me kept
a debtor and creditor account of correspondence; and that she was
sure you could not really be uneasy about me, as you could never
look at a newspaper without seeing my name in it, and of course
knowing I was both "alive and merry." And, indeed, I often wonder
how people have time to think and write so much about such a
foolish girl as I am.--Do you know, the milliners have called a new
cap, and a little satin hat, by my name?--Could you have believed,
that your poor Selina would ever have been godmother to such
bantlings? _Mais le vrai n'est pas toujours vraisemblable_; and I
verily am installed, without any probation, into all the dignities
of the _ton_. Mr. Sedley always tells me, I must be more than ever
attentive to my manners; as, if I was to walk like the
"Anthropophagi, whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders," I
should make it the fashion, and every other girl would do the
same. I do acknowledge, dear dear aunt, that I am quite delighted
with London. It far, far exceeds my expectation: indeed all the
descriptions of it I used to hear from Miss Cecilia Webberly are so
different from what I found the reality to be, that I wonder where
she can have met the originals of her extraordinary caricatures.
And as for Vauxhall and Astley's, that Miss Martin used to talk so
much about, I should hardly believe there were such places in
existence, if it was not for the advertisements I sometimes see in
the newspapers. Poor Lucy! I wonder what she is doing now at Deane,
vegetating in the country, as Lady Eltondale calls it, like a red
cabbage, all through the winter. Do you know, aunt, I never like to
think of the poor old Hall: I was so very happy there--so
cheerful--so contented--you all then loved me so dearly, I had not
a wish ungratified: now, in town, I am much more gay, but yet I
seldom go into a crowded room, without a kind of feverish anxiety
about a something, I know not what; and I seldom return home, at
night, without a languor on my spirits I never experienced in
former times;--but all that will soon wear away.--I am much fonder
now of going to parties than I was at first; for though I always
liked balls and the Opera, I did not much admire routs, but now I
think them very pleasant, for I generally meet Mr. Sedley, and he
is always entertaining, and always kind to me: and, after all, I am
determined to like the life I lead. For of what avail would it be
to me to regret those quiet peaceful days, which can now never
return? and if they did, they would probably appear insipid, after
the greater pleasures I have now been accustomed to: so whenever my
thoughts happen to turn to the poor dear old Hall, I jump up and
immediately seek out Lady Eltondale; and there is something so
calm, so elegant, and at the same time so freezing about her, that
no person could feel what she calls romance in her presence. Her
manners are like the snow on the Alps, they smooth down all the
surface, and give a dazzling brilliancy to the whole appearance;
but they are cold, almost to petrefaction, and I believe, after
all, cover only a heart of stone. Do you know, I have found out
lately I could never love Lady Eltondale. I have the greatest
reliance on her judgment, and I am sure there is nothing she could
_advise_ me to do (for she never _desires_ me to do any thing) that
I would not do; but if I was to live with her to all eternity, I
should never call her aunt, as I do you; or feel for her, in any
degree, as I feel for you. I believe the difference is this--I
would go any distance to be with you, or to prove how much I loved
you; but if you and Lady Eltondale were to give me contrary
directions, (don't be angry,) I should regret that I could not
fulfil yours, but I should feel with her there was no alternative.
We don't see as much of the Webberly family, at least of the
ladies, as I expected; for though they call very often, they are
not on Lady Eltondale's "at home" list; and, except one day that I
went with them to Somerset House, and last Sunday in Kensington
Gardens, I have scarcely met them any where since we came to town.
The last time, however, that I saw them, Mrs. Sullivan was all
bustle and importance, for she has received an invitation from one
of Mr. Sullivan's relations, to go and visit him in Ireland; and
she talks so much of his "_intense_ fortune, and great old castle,"
which Lady Eltondale, by the bye, says, is only a _ch‚teau en
Espagne_. But poor Mrs. Sullivan declares, "her Carline shall be an
air-ass after all, as she is sure Mr. Sullivan is so proud of his
geology, that he will take care to leave every thing after him to
his progenitors; and it is but fair he should give it to her
daughter, as all old retailed estates ought to ascend to the hairs
male." I sincerely hope, that dear charming Miss Wildenheim will
not be dragged after them into one of those horrid Irish bogs: what
a pity it is she should, in any way, be united to such a barbarous
family; theirs is certainly the connection of _la belle et la
bÍte_. But I had almost forgot to tell you, that Mrs. Sullivan and
her son and heir intend to do me the honour of adding me to their
establishment also. I wish I could describe Mr. Sedley's manner and
words, as he entertained Lady Eltondale and me last night at the
Opera, with an account of Mr. Webberly having invited him to
dinner, for the express purpose, he says, of informing him of his
intention to propose for me, in form, very shortly; and that Mr.
Webberly told Mr. Sedley this, lest he should have any intention of
doing so himself. I don't know whether the idea of Mr. Webberly's
own design, or his ridiculous suspicions of Mr. Sedley's, amused
Lady Eltondale or him most: however they both agreed, that it was
quite impossible I should ever marry a commoner. I wish you knew
Mr. Sedley well, as I am sure you would like him, and be convinced
that your prejudice last autumn, and your idea that he was
unprincipled, would soon vanish. He is uncommonly good natured, and
always tells me all my faults, and I am not the least afraid of him
as I am of Lady Eltondale; indeed he is the only person in town I
have real pleasure in conversing with. When I talk to any body
else, I am always afraid of their misconstruing either my vivacity
or my gravity. But Mr. Sedley's conversation is always adapted to
the turn of the moment. If I am gay, he does not accuse me of
levity; and if I am inclined to talk rationally, he does not call
it pedantry. Would you believe it, the other night, when I know Mr.
Webberly thought he was making love to me, we were literally
talking of Montesquieu's _Esprit des Loix_, which you may remember
was one of the last books we read together--I mean with Mr. Temple.
Lady Eltondale is to give a great ball next week; I believe soon
after that we shall leave town. Lord Osselstone, whom I meet
constantly----Lady Eltondale has this moment called me into the
drawing-room--I must go.--Good bye, dear dear aunt.

Yours most affectionately,

SELINA SEYMOUR.

The pretext the Viscountess made use of for interrupting Miss Seymour was, that she might comply with Mr. Sedley's request of showing him her drawings, as to see _them_ was ostensibly the purpose for which he had called that morning; though in truth a day seldom passed, in which he did not find some good reason for visiting Portman square. Selina made no hesitation in producing them; for, though she was not quite exempt from the foible of personal vanity, yet she was entirely free from that despicable affectation, which assumes the appearance of modesty, when the reality is most wanting. Her drawings were, in truth, beautiful, and much superior to the common school girl exhibitions of would-be artists. But her knowledge was even superior to her execution; and she so correctly appreciated the merits of her paintings, that she received both the encomiums and the criticisms they produced with equal candour. While her miniatures and her portfolio were lying on Lady Eltondale's table, Lord Osselstone was announced. At first he expressed the surprise he felt, at thus unexpectedly discovering Selina's talent, and then complimented her on her excellence with his usual politeness. But believing Sedley's gallantry was more agreeable than his own, he gradually withdrew with Lady Eltondale to another part of the room. Their attention was, however, soon attracted by a _brouillerie_ that had arisen between Sedley and Selina. It appeared, that he had possessed himself of a drawing out of her portfolio, which he seemed determined to retain; alleging it was a subject that particularly suited his taste; while she was still more anxious to regain the stolen treasure. In the struggle that ensued, the drawing fell to the ground; and Lord Osselstone, stooping to pick it up, discovered it to be a beautiful portrait of a pointer. The dog, at full length, was inimitably drawn; and over the different parts of the paper the same head was sketched in pencil, in a variety of different attitudes; and in one corner was written also in pencil these lines of Metastasio's Partenza:--

Soffri che in traccia almen
Di mia perduta pace,
Venga il penner sequace
Su l'orme del tuo piË.
Sempre nel tuo cammino,
Sempre m'avrai vicino[6].

[Footnote 6:

At least allow that in the track,
Once mark'd by joys now fled,
My wandering thoughts may trace the path
Which thy dear footsteps tread:
For once where'er those footsteps stray'd,
Still, still beside thee I delay'd.
]

"I have seen the original of that admirable portrait," said Lord Osselstone, in a tone of inquiry, as he politely returned the drawing to its mistress; while at the same time his dark penetrating eye rested full upon hers. She looked down instantly, and blushing deeply, replied, "Perhaps your Lordship may have seen the dog: I meant it for Carlo. I only drew it from recollection:--it's a mere daub of no value now;" and so saying, she tore the drawing into a thousand pieces. Mr. Sedley uttered a volume of apologies and regrets; and Lady Eltondale, half laughingly half sarcastically, remonstrated at her not having sooner been informed of Miss Seymour's talent for taking dogs' portraits; alleging that she would now make Mignon sit for his picture. Then seeing that Selina's embarrassment was increased, and Lord Osselstone's observation of it not withdrawn, she proposed adjourning to Selina's boudoir, to see some of her other miniatures that adorned it. Here her various occupations, her books, her harp, her work-box, all of which had evidently been lately used, served by Lady Eltondale's address as fresh subjects of conversation; and the current of Selina's thoughts being as rapidly turned, she soon resumed her natural gaiety; and perhaps Lord Osselstone's regret was scarcely less manifested than Sedley's, when the arrival of Lady Eltondale's carriage put an end to their visit.

The Viscountess made no further mention of Carlo's portrait, and both the original and the picture seemed to have entirely vanished from Selina's recollection, till a few days afterwards she discovered on her writing table in the boudoir an exact representation of Carlo himself in a _garde de feuille_. The dog was in bronze, on a marble pedestal, and on his collar were engraved the words, "_Je la garderai pour mon maitre._" Selina was not less delighted than surprised at this unexpected present; and immediately ran to thank Lady Eltondale for it, conceiving her to have been the donor. But she denied any knowledge of it, and they both concluded the gallantry must have been Sedley's. Accordingly the next time they met him, Selina made her acknowledgements for the gift. At first he expressed, in the most natural manner, his surprise at her address, and affected total ignorance of the occasion of her gratitude. But notwithstanding his laughable confusion and affected unconcern, both the Viscountess and her niece attributed the present to him;--a circumstance that gave room for reflection to both their minds, though the feelings it occasioned in each were far different.