Chapter V (5)

"Deceived!" said Mr. Mountague--"but is any body deceived by a person's saying, 'I have the honour to be, madam, your obedient, humble servant?' Besides, as to pleasing--what do we mean? pleasing for a moment, for a day, or for life?"

"Pleasing for a moment," said Helen, smiling, "is of some consequence; for, if we take care of the moments, the years will take care of themselves, you know."

"Pleasing for _one_ moment, though," said Mr. Mountague, "is very different, as you must perceive, from pleasing _every_ moment."

Here the country dance suddenly stopped, and three or four couple were thrown into confusion. The gentlemen were stooping down, as if looking for something on the floor. "Oh, I beg, I insist upon it; you can't think how much you distress me!" cried a voice which sounded like Lady Augusta's. Mr. Mountague immediately went to see what was the matter. "It is only my bracelet," said she, turning to him. "Don't, pray don't trouble yourself," cried she, as he stooped to assist in collecting the scattered pearls, which she received with grace in the whitest hand imaginable. "Nay, now I must insist upon it," said she to Mr. Mountague, as he stooped again--"you shall not plague yourself any longer." And in her anxiety to prevent him from plaguing himself any longer, she laid upon his arm the white hand, which he had an instant before so much admired. Whether all Mr. Mountague's sober contempt of coquetry was, at this moment, the prevalent feeling in his mind, we cannot presume to determine; we must only remark, that the remainder of the evening was devoted to Lady Augusta; he sat beside her at supper, and paid her a thousand compliments, which Helen in vain endeavoured to persuade herself meant nothing more than--"I am, madam, your obedient, humble servant."

"It is half after two," said Mrs. Temple, when she rose to go.

"Half after two!" said Mr. Mountague, as he handed Mrs. Temple to her carriage--"bless me! can it be so late?"

All the way home Emma and Mrs. Temple were obliged to support the conversation; for Helen was so extremely entertained with watching the clouds passing over the moon, that nothing else could engage her attention.

The gossiping old lady's information respecting Mr. Mountague was as accurate as the information of gossips usually is found to be. Mr. Mountague, notwithstanding her opinion and sagacity, _had thoughts of Miss Helen Temple_. During some months which he had spent at his uncle's, who lived very near Mrs. Temple, he had had opportunities of studying Helen's character and temper, which he found perfectly well suited to his own; but he had never yet declared his attachment to her. Things were in this undecided situation, when he saw, and was struck with the beauty of Lady Augusta ----, at this archery-ball. Lord George ---- introduced him to Lady S----; and, in consequence of a pressing invitation he received from her ladyship, he went to spend a few days at S---- Hall.

"So Mr. Mountague is going to spend a week at S---- Hall, I find," said Mrs. Temple, as she and her daughters were sitting at work the morning after the archery-ball. To this simple observation of Mrs. Temple a silence, which seemed as if it never would be broken, ensued.

"Helen, my dear!" said Mrs. Temple, in a soft voice.

"Ma'am!" said Helen, starting.

"You need not start so, my dear; I am not going to say any thing very tremendous. When you and your sister were children, if you remember, I often used to tell you that I looked forward, with pleasure, to the time when I should live with you as friends and equals. That time is come; and I hope, now that your own reason is sufficiently matured to be the guide of your conduct, that you do not think I any longer desire you to be governed by my _will_. Indeed," continued she, "I consider you as my equals in every respect but in _age_; and I wish to make that inequality useful to you, by giving you, as far as I can, that advantage, which only _age_ can give--experience."

"You are very kind, dear mother," said Helen.

"But you must be sensible," said Mrs. Temple, in a graver tone, "that it will depend upon yourselves, in a great measure, whether I _can_ be so much your friend as I shall wish."

"Oh, mother," said Helen, "_be_ my friend! I shall never have a better; and, indeed, I want a friend," added she, the tears starting from her eyes. "You'll think me very silly, very vain. He never gave me any reason, I'm sure, to think so; but I did fancy that Mr. Mountague liked me."

"And," said Mrs. Temple, taking her daughter's hand, "without being very silly or very vain, may not one sometimes be mistaken? Then you thought you had won Mr. Mountague's heart? But what did you think about your own? Take care you don't make another mistake (smiling). Perhaps you thought he never could win yours?"

"I never thought much about that," replied Helen, "till yesterday."

"And to-day," said Mrs. Temple--"what do you think about it to-day?"

"Why," said Helen, "don't you think, mother, that Mr. Mountague has a great many good qualities?"

"Yes; a great many good qualities, a great many advantages, and, amongst them, the power of pleasing you."

"He would not think _that_ any advantage," said Helen; "therefore I should be sorry that he had it."

"And so should I," said Mrs. Temple, "be very sorry that my daughter's happiness should be out of her own power."

"It is the uncertainty that torments me," resumed Helen, after a pause. "One moment I fancy that he prefers _me_, the next moment I am certain he prefers another. Yesterday, when we were coming away from the green, I heard Mrs. Hargrave say to Lady S---- but why, mother, should I take up your time with these minute circumstances? I ought not to think any more about it."

"Ought not!" repeated Mrs. Temple; "my dear, it is a matter of prudence, rather than duty. By speaking to your mother with so much openness, you secure her esteem and affection; and, amongst the goods of this life, you will find the esteem and affection of a mother worth having," concluded Mrs. Temple, with a smile; and Helen parted from her mother with a feeling of gratitude, which may securely be expected from an ingenuous well-educated daughter, who is treated with similar kindness.

No one was ready for breakfast the morning that Mr. Mountague arrived at S---- Hall, and he spent an hour alone in the breakfast-room. At length the silence was interrupted by a shrill female voice, which, as it approached nearer, he perceived to be the voice of a foreigner half suffocated with ineffectual desire to make her anger intelligible. He could only distinguish the words--"I ring, ring, ring, ay, twenty time, and nobody mind my bell nor me, no more dan noting at all." With a violent push, the breakfast-room door flew open, and Mlle. Panache, little expecting to find any body there, entered, volubly repeating--"Dey let me ring, ring, ring!" Surprised at the sight of a gentleman, and a young gentleman, she repented having been so loud in her anger. However, upon the second reconnoitring glance at Mr. Mountague, she felt much in doubt how to behave towards him. Mademoiselle boasted often of the well-bred instinct, by which she could immediately distinguish "_un homme comme il faut_" from any other; yet sometimes, like Falstaff's, her instinct was fallacious. Recollecting that Lady S---- had sent for an apothecary, she took it into her head that Mr. Mountague was this apothecary. "Miladi is not visible yet, sir," said she; "does she know you are here?"

"I hope not, ma'am; for I should be very sorry she were to be disturbed, after sitting up so late last night."

"Oh, dat will do her no harm, for I gave her, _pardonnez_, some excellent white wine whey out of my own head last night, when she got into her bed. I hope you don't make no objection to white wine whey, sir?"

"I!--not in the least, ma'am."

"Oh, I'm glad you don't disapprove of what I've done! You attend many family in dis country, sir?"

"Madam!" said Mr. Mountague, taking an instant's time to consider what she could mean by _attend_.

"You _visit_ many family in dis country, sir?" persisted mademoiselle.

"Very few, ma'am; I am a stranger in this part of the world, except at Mrs. Temple's."

"Madame Temple, ah, _oui_! I know her very well; she has two fine daughters--I mean when dey have seen more of de world. It's a great pity, too, dey have never had de advantage of a native, to teach de good pronunciation _de la langue Francaise_. Madame Temple will repent herself of dat when it is too late, as I tell her always. But, sir, you have been at her house. I am sorry we did not hear none of de family had been indisposed."

"They are all now perfectly well, ma'am," replied Mr. Mountague, "except, indeed, that Mrs. Temple had a slight cold last week."

"But she is re-establish by your _advise_, I suppose? and she--did she recommend you to miladi?"

"No, madam," said Mr. Mountague, not a little puzzled by mademoiselle's phraseology: "Lord George ---- did me the honour to introduce me to Lady S----."

"Ah, Milord George! are you a long time acquainted wid milord?"

"Yes, ma'am, I have known Lord George many years."

"Ah, many year!--you be de family physician, _apparemment_?"

"The family physician! Oh no, ma'am!" said Mr. Mountague, smiling.

"Eh!" said mademoiselle, "but dat is being too modest. Many take _de titre_ of physician, I'll engage, wid less pretensions. And," added she, looking graciously, "_absolument_, I will not have you call yourself de family _apothicaire_."

At this moment Lord George came in, and shook his family apothecary by the hand, with an air of familiarity which astounded mademoiselle. "_Qu'est ce que c'est_?" whispered she to Dashwood, who followed his lordship: "is not dis his _apothicaire_?" Dashwood, at this question, burst into a loud laugh. "Mr. Mountague," cried he, "have you been prescribing for mademoiselle? she asks if you are not an apothecary."

Immediately Lord George, who was fond of a joke, especially where there was a chance of throwing ridicule upon any body superior to him in abilities, joined most heartily in Dashwood's mirth; repeating the story, as "an excellent thing," to every one, as they came down to breakfast; especially to Lady Augusta, whom he congratulated, the moment she entered the room, upon her having danced the preceding evening with an apothecary. "Here he is!" said he, pointing to Mr. Mountague.

"_Ma chère amie! mon coeur!_ tink of my mistaking your Mr. Mountague for such a sort of person! If you had only told me, sir, dat you were Miladi Augusta's partner last night, it would have saved me de necessity of making ten million apologies for my stupidity, dat could not find it out. _Ma chère amie! Mon coeur!_ Miladi Augusta, will you make my excuse?"

"_Ma chère amie! mon coeur!_" repeated Mr. Mountague to himself: "is it possible that this woman can be an intimate friend of Lady Augusta?" What was his surprise, when he discovered that Mlle. Panache had been her ladyship's governess! He fell into a melancholy reverie for some moments. "So she has been educated by a vulgar, silly, conceited French governess!" said he to himself; "but that is her misfortune, not her fault. She is very young, and a man of sense might make her what he pleased." When Mr. Mountague recovered from his reverie, he heard the company, as they seated themselves at the breakfast-table, begin to talk over the last night's ball. "You did not tire yourself last night with dancing, my lord," said Dashwood.

"No; I hate dancing," replied Lord George: "I wish the ladies would take to dancing with one another; I think that would be an excellent scheme." An aunt of his lordship, who was present, took great offence at this suggestion of her nephew. She had been used to the deference paid in former times to the sex; and she said she could not bear to see women give up their proper places in society. "Really, George," added she, turning to her nephew, "I wish you would not talk in this manner. The young men now give themselves the strangest airs. Lady S----, I will expose him; do you know, last night, he was lolling at his full length upon a bench in the ball-room, while three young handsome ladies were standing opposite to him, tired to death."

"They could not be more tired than I was, I am sure, ma'am."

"Why, you had not been dancing, and they had."

"Had they, ma'am? that was not my fault. I did not ask 'em to dance, and I don't see it was my business to ask 'em to sit down. I did not know who they were, at any rate," concluded his lordship, sullenly.

"You knew they were women, and as such entitled to your respect."

Lord George gave a sneering smile, looked at Dashwood, and pulled up his boot.

"Another thing--you were in the house three weeks with Miss Earl last summer; you met her yesterday evening, and you thought proper not to take the least notice of her."

"Miss, Earl, ma'am; was she there?"

"Yes, close to you, and you never even bowed to her."

"I did not see her, ma'am."

"Mrs. Earl spoke to you."

"I didn't hear her, ma'am."

"I told you of it at the moment."

"I didn't understand you, ma'am."

"Besides, ma'am," interposed Dashwood, "as to Miss Earl, if she meant that my lord should bow to her, she should have curtsied first to him."

"Curtsied first to him!"

"Yes, that's the rule--that's the thing now. The ladies are always to speak first."

"I have nothing more to say, if that be the case. Lady Augusta, what say you to all this?"

"Oh, that it's shocking to be sure!" said Lady Augusta, "if one thinks of it; so the only way is not to think about it."

"An excellent bon-mot!" exclaimed Dashwood. "It's _thinking_ that spoils conversation, and every thing else."

"But," added Lady Augusta, who observed that her bon-mot was not so much admired by all the company as by Dashwood, "I really only mean, that one must do as other people do."

"_Assurément_," said mademoiselle; "not dat I approve of the want of gallantry in our gentlemen, neider. But, I tink, Mademoiselle Earl is as stiff as de poker, and I don't approve of dat, neider--_Je n'aime pas les prudes, moi_."

"But, without prudery, may not there be dignity of manners?" said the old lady, gravely.

"_Dignité!_--Oh, I don't say noting against _dignité_, neider; not but I tink de English reserve is _de trop_. I tink a lady of a certain rank has always good _principes_ enough, to be sure, and as to the rest _qu'importe?_--dat's my notions."

Mr. Mountague looked with anxiety at Lady Augusta, to see what she thought of her governess's notions; but all that he could judge from her countenance was that she did not think at all. "Well, she has time enough before her to learn to think," said he to himself. "I am glad she did not assent to mademoiselle's _notions_, at least. I hope she has learnt nothing from her but '_the true French pronunciation_.'"

No sooner was breakfast finished than Lord George ---- gave his customary morning yawn, and walked as usual to the window. "Come," said Dashwood, in his free manner--"come, mademoiselle, you must come down with us to the water-side, and Lady Augusta, I hope."

"Ay," whispered Lord George to Dashwood, "and let's settle our wager about mademoiselle and my blackamore--don't think I'll let you off that."

"Off!--I'm ready to double the bet, my lord," said Dashwood aloud, and in the same moment turned to mademoiselle with some high-flown compliment about the beauty of her complexion, and the dangers of going without a veil on a hot sunny day.

"Well, Mr. Dashwood, when you've persuaded mademoiselle to take the veil, we'll set out, if you please," said Lady Augusta.

Mr. Mountague, who kept his attention continually upon Lady Augusta, was delighted to see that she waited for the elderly lady, who, at breakfast, had said so much in favour of dignity of manners. Mr. Mountague did not, at this moment, consider that this elderly lady was Lord George's aunt, and that the attention paid to her by Lady Augusta might possibly proceed from motives of policy, not from choice. Young men of open tempers and generous dispositions are easily deceived by coquettes, because they cannot stoop to invent the meanness of their artifices. As Mr. Mountague walked down to the river, Lady Augusta contrived to entertain him so completely, that Helen Temple never once came into his mind; though he had sense enough to perceive his danger, he had not sufficient _courage_ to avoid it: it sometimes requires courage to fly from danger. From this agreeable _tête-à-tête_ he was roused, however, by the voice of Mlle. Panache, who, in an affected agony, was struggling to get away from Dashwood, who held both her hands--"No! no!--_Non! non!_ I will not--I will not, I tell you, I will not."

"Nay, nay," said Dashwood; "but I have sworn to get you into the boat."

"Ah! into de boat _à la bonne heure_; but not wid dat vilain black."

"Well, then, persuade Lord George to send back his man; and you'll acknowledge, my lord, in that case it's a drawn bet," said Dashwood.

"I! not I. I'll acknowledge nothing," replied his lordship; and he swore his black Tom should not be sent away: "he's a capital boatman, and I can't do without him."

"Den I won't stir," said mademoiselle, passionately, to Dashwood.

"Then I must carry you, must I?" cried Dashwood, laughing; and immediately, to Mr. Mountague's amazement, a romping scene ensued between this tutor and governess, which ended in Dashwood's carrying mademoiselle in his arms into the boat, amidst the secret derision of two footmen, and the undisguised laughter of black Tom, who were spectators of the scene.

Mr. Mountague trembled at the thoughts of receiving a wife from the hands of a Mlle. Panache; but, turning his eye upon Lady Augusta, he thought she blushed, and this blush at once saved her, in his opinion, and increased his indignation against her governess. Mademoiselle being now alarmed, and provoked by the laughter of the servants, the dry sarcastic manner of Lord George, the cool air of Mr. Mountague, and the downcast looks of her pupil, suddenly turned to Dashwood, and in a high angry tone assured him, "that she had never seen nobody have so much assurance;" and she demanded, furiously--"how he could ever tink to take such liberties wid her? Only tell me how you could dare to tink of it?"

"I confess I did not _think_ as I ought to have done, mademoiselle," replied Dashwood, looking an apology to Lady Augusta, which, however, he took great care mademoiselle should not observe. "But your bet, my lord, if you please," added he, attempting to turn it off in a joke: "there was no scream--my bet's fairly won."

"I assure you, sir, dis won't do: it's no good joke, I promise you. _Ma chère amie, mon coeur_," cried mademoiselle to Lady Augusta--"_viens_--come, let us go--Don't touch that," pursued she, roughly, to black Tom, who was going to draw away the plank that led to the shore. "I will go home dis minute, and speak to Miladi S----. _Viens! viens, ma chère amie!_"--and she darted out of the boat, whilst Dashwood followed, in vain attempting to stop her. She prudently, however, took the longest way through the park, that she might have a full opportunity of _listening to reason_, as Dashwood called it; and before she reached home, she was perfectly convinced of the expediency of moderate measures. "Let the thing rest where it is," said Dashwood: "it's a joke, and there's an end of it; but if you take it in earnest, you know the story might not tell so well, even if you told it, and there would never be an end of it." All this, followed by a profusion of compliments, ratified a peace, which the moment he had made, he laughed at himself for having taken so much trouble to effect; whilst mademoiselle rested in the blessed persuasion that Dashwood was desperately in love with her; nay, so little knowledge had she of the human heart as to believe that the scene which had just passed was a proof of his passion.

"I wonder where's Miladi Augusta? I thought she was wid me all this time," said she.

"She's coming; don't you see her at the end of the grove with Mr. Mountague? We have walked fast,"

"Oh, she can't never walk so fast as me; I tink I am as young as she is."

Dashwood assented, at the same time pondering upon the consequences of the attachment which he saw rising in Mr. Mountague's mind for Lady Augusta. If a man of sense were to gain an influence over her, Dashwood feared that all his hopes would be destroyed, and he resolved to use all his power over mademoiselle to prejudice her, and by her means to prejudice her pupil against this gentleman. Mademoiselle's having begun by taking him for an _apothicaire_, was a circumstance much in favour of Dashwood's views, because she felt herself pledged to justify, or at least to persist, in her opinion, that he did not look like _un homme comme il faut_.

In the mean time Mr. Mountague was walking slowly towards them with Lady Augusta, who found it necessary to walk as slowly as possible, because of the heat. He had been reflecting very soberly upon her ladyship's late blush, which, according to his interpretation, said, as plainly as a blush could say, all that the most refined sense and delicacy could dictate. Yet such is, upon some occasions, the inconsistency of the human mind, that he by no means felt _sure_ that the lady had blushed at all. Her colour was, perhaps, a shade higher than usual; but then it was hot weather, and she had been walking. The doubt, however, Mr. Mountague thought proper to suppress; and the reality of the blush, once thoroughly established in his imagination, formed the foundation of several ingenious theories of moral sentiment, and some truly logical deductions. A passionate admirer of grace and beauty, he could not help wishing that he might find Lady Augusta's temper and understanding equal to her personal accomplishments. When we are very anxious to discover perfections in any character, we generally succeed, or fancy that we succeed. Mr. Mountague quickly discovered many amiable and interesting qualities in this fair lady, and, though he perceived some defects, he excused them to himself with the most philosophic ingenuity.

"Affectation," the judicious Locke observes, "has always the laudable aim of pleasing:" upon this principle Mr. Mountague could not reasonably think of it with severity. "From the desire of pleasing," argued he, "proceeds not only all that is amiable, but much of what is most estimable in the female sex. This desire leads to affectation and coquetry, to folly and vice, only when it is extended to unworthy objects. The moment a woman's wish to please becomes discriminative, the moment she feels any attachment to a man superior to the vulgar herd, she not only ceases to be a coquette, but she exerts herself to excel in every thing that he approves, and, from her versatility of manners, she has the happy power of adapting herself to his taste, and of becoming all that his most sanguine wishes could desire." The proofs of this discriminative taste, and the first symptoms of this salutary attachment to a man superior to the vulgar herd, Mr. Mountague thought he discerned very plainly in Lady Augusta, nor did he ever forget that she was but eighteen. "She is so very young," said he to himself, "that it is but reasonable I should constantly consider what she may become, rather than what she is." To do him justice, we shall observe, that her ladyship at this time, with all the address of which so young a lady was capable, did every thing in her power to confirm Mr. Mountague in his favourable sentiments of her.

Waiting for some circumstance to decide his mind, he was at length determined by the generous enthusiasm, amiable simplicity, and candid good sense which Lady Augusta showed in speaking of a favourite friend of hers, of whom he could not approve. This friend, Lady Diana, was one of the rude ladies who had laughed with so much ill-nature at Helen's white and black shoes at the archery ball. She was a dashing, rich, extravagant, fashionable widow, affecting bold horsemanlike manners, too often "touching the brink of all we hate," without exciting any passions allied to love. Her look was almost an oath--her language was suitable to her looks--she swore and dressed to the height of the fashion--she could drive four horses in hand--was a desperate huntress--and so loud in the praises of her dogs and horses, that she intimidated even sportsmen and jockeys. She talked so much of her favourite horse _Spanker_, that she acquired amongst a particular set of gentlemen the appellation of my Lady Di Spanker. Lady Augusta perceived that the soft affectations remarkable in her own manners were in agreeable contrast in the company of this masculine dame; she therefore cultivated her acquaintance, and Lady S---- could make no objection to a woman who was well received every where; she was rather flattered to see her daughter taken notice of by this dashing belle; consequently, Lady Di. Spanker, for by that name we also shall call her, frequently rode over from Cheltenham, which was some miles distant from S---- Hall. One morning she called upon Lady Augusta, and insisted upon her coming out to try her favourite horse. All the gentlemen went down immediately to assist in putting her ladyship on horseback: this was quite unnecessary, for Lady Diana took that office upon herself. Lady Augusta was all timidity, and was played off to great advantage by the rough raillery of her friend. At length she conquered her fears so much as to seat herself upon the side-saddle; her riding mistress gathered up the reins for her, and fixed them properly in her timid hands; then armed her with her whip, exhorting her, "for God's sake, not to be such a coward!" Scarcely was the word _coward_ pronounced, when Lady Augusta, by some unguarded motion of her whip, gave offence to her high-mettled steed, which instantly began to rear: there was no danger, for Mr. Mountague caught hold of the reins, and Lady Augusta was dismounted in perfect safety. "How now, Spanker!" exclaimed Lady Di., in a voice calculated to strike terror into the nerves of a horse--"how now, Spanker!" and mounting him with masculine boldness of gesture--"I'll teach you, sir, who's your mistress," continued she; "I'll make you pay for these tricks!" Spanker reared again, and Lady Di. gave him what she called "a complete dressing!" In vain Lady Augusta screamed; in vain the spectators entreated the angry amazon to spare the whip; she persisted in beating Spanker till she fairly mastered him. When he was perfectly subdued, she dismounted with the same carelessness with which she had mounted; and, giving the horse to her groom, pushed back her hat, and looked round for applause. Lord George, roused to a degree of admiration, which he had never before been heard to express for any thing female, swore that, in all his life, he had never seen any thing better done; and Lady Di. Spanker received his congratulations with a loud laugh, and a hearty shake of the hand. "Walk him about, Jack," added she, turning to the groom, who held her horse; "walk him about, for he's all in a lather; and when he's cool, bring him up here again. And then, my dear child," said she to Lady Augusta, "you shall give him a fair trial."

"I!--Oh! never, never!" cried Lady Augusta, shrinking back with a faint shriek: "this is a trial to which you must not put my friendship. I must insist upon leaving Spanker to your management; I would not venture upon him again for the universe."

"How can you talk so like a child--so like a woman?" cried her friend.

"I confess, I am a very woman," said Lady Augusta, with a sigh: "and I fear I shall never be otherwise."

"_Fear_!" repeated Mr. Mountague, to whom even the affectation of feminine softness and timidity appeared at this instant charming, from the contrast with the masculine intrepidity and disgusting coarseness of Lady Diana Spanker's manners. The tone in which he pronounced the single word _fear_ was sufficient to betray his feelings towards both the ladies. Lady Di. gave him a look of sovereign contempt. "All I know and can tell you," cried she, "is, that fear should never get a-horseback." Lord George burst into one of his loud laughs. "But as to the rest, _fear_ may be a confounded good thing in its proper place; but they say it's catching; so I must run away from you, child," said she to Lady Augusta. "Jack, bring up Spanker. I've twenty miles to ride before dinner. I've no time to lose," pulling out her watch: "faith, I've fooled away an hour here; Spanker must make it up for me. God bless you all! Good bye!" and she mounted her horse, and galloped off full speed.

"God bless ye! good bye to ye, Lady Di. Spanker," cried Dashwood, the moment she was out of hearing. "Heaven preserve us from amazons!" Lord George did not say, _Amen_. On the contrary, he declared she was a fine dashing woman, and seemed to have a great deal of blood about her. Mr. Mountague watched Lady Augusta's countenance in silence, and was much pleased to observe that she did not assent to his lordship's encomium. "She has good sense enough to perceive the faults of her new friend, and now her eyes are open she will no longer make a favourite companion, I hope, of this odious woman," thought he. "I am afraid, I am sadly afraid you are right," said Lady Augusta, going up to the elderly lady, whom we formerly mentioned, who had seen all that had passed from the open windows of the drawing-room. "I own I _do_ see something of what you told me the other day you disliked so much in my friend, Lady Di.;" and Lady Augusta gave the candid sigh of expiring friendship as she uttered these words.

"Do you know," cried Dashwood, "that this spanking horsewoman has frightened us all out of our senses? I vow to Heaven, I never was so much terrified in my life as when I saw you, Lady Augusta, upon that vicious animal."

"To be sure," said Lady Augusta, "it was very silly of me to venture; I almost broke my neck, out of _pure friendship_."

"It is well it is no worse," said the elderly lady: "if a fall from a horse was the worst evil to be expected from a friendship with a woman of this sort, it would be nothing very terrible."

Lady Augusta, with an appearance of ingenuous candour, sighed again, and replied--"It is so difficult to see any imperfections in those one loves! Forgive me, if I spoke with too much warmth, madam, the other day, in vindication of my friend. I own I ought to have paid more deference to your judgment and knowledge of the world, so much superior to my own; but certainly I must confess, the impropriety of her amazonian manners, as Mr. Dashwood calls them, never struck my partial eyes till this morning. Nor could I, nor would I, believe half the world said of her; indeed, even now, I am persuaded she is, in the main, quite irreproachable; but I feel the truth of what you said to me, madam, that young women cannot be too careful in the choice of their female friends; that we are judged of by our companions; how unfairly one must be judged of sometimes!" concluded her ladyship, with a look of pensive reflection.

Mr. Mountague never thought her half so beautiful as at this instant. "How _mind_ embellishes beauty!" thought he; "and what quality of the mind more amiable than candour!--All that was wanting to her character was reflection; and could one expect so much reflection as this from a girl of eighteen, who had been educated by a Mlle. Panache?" Our readers will observe that this gentleman now reasoned like a madman, but not like a fool; his deductions from the appearances before him were admirable; but these appearances were false. He had not observed that Lady Augusta's eyes were open to the defects of her amazonian friend, in the very moment that Lord George ---- was roused to admiration by this horseman belle. Mr. Mountague did not perceive that the candid reflections addressed to his lordship's aunt were the immediate consequence of female jealousy.

The next morning, at breakfast, Lord George was summoned three times before he made his appearance: at length he burst in, with a piece of news he had just heard from his groom--"That Lady Di. Spanker, in riding home full gallop the preceding day, had been thrown from her horse by an old woman. Faith, I couldn't believe the thing," added Lord George, with a loud laugh; "for she certainly sits a horse better than any woman in England; but my groom had the whole story from the grand-daughter of the old woman who was run over."

"Run over!" exclaimed Lady Augusta; "was the poor woman run over?--was she hurt?"

"Hurt! yes, she was hurt, I fancy," said Lord George. "I never heard of any body's being run over without being hurt. The girl has a petition that will come up to us just now, I suppose. I saw her in the back yard as I came in."

"Oh! let us see the poor child," said Lady Augusta: "do let us have her called to this window." The window opened down to the ground, and, as soon as the little girl appeared with the petition in her hand, Lady Augusta threw open the sash, and received it from her timid hand with a smile, which to Mr. Mountague seemed expressive of sweet and graceful benevolence. Lady Augusta read the petition with much feeling, and her lover thought her voice never before sounded so melodious. She wrote her name eagerly at the head of a subscription. The money she gave was rather more than the occasion required; but, thought Mr. Mountague,

"If the generous spirit flow
Beyond where prudence fears to go
Those errors are of nobler kind,
Than virtues of a narrow mind{2}."

{Footnote 2: Soame Jenyns.}

By a series of petty artifices Lady Augusta contrived to make herself appear most engaging and amiable to this artless young man: but the moment of success was to her the moment of danger. She was little aware, that when a man of sense began to think seriously of her as a wife, he would require very different qualities from those which please in public assemblies. Her ladyship fell into a mistake not uncommon in her sex; she thought that "Love blinds when once he wounds the swain{3}." Coquettes have sometimes penetration sufficient to see what will please their different admirers: but even those who have that versatility of manners, which can be all things to all men, forget that it is possible to support an assumed character only for a time; the moment the immediate motive for dissimulation diminishes, the power of habit acts, and the real disposition and manners appear.

{Footnote 3: Collius's Eclogues.}

When Lady Augusta thought herself sure of her captive, and consequently when the power of habit was beginning to act with all its wonted force, she was walking out with him in a shrubbery near the house, and mademoiselle, with Mr. Dashwood, who generally was the gallant partner of her walks, accompanied them. Mademoiselle stopped to gather some fine carnations; near the carnations was a rose-tree. Mr. Mountague, as three of those roses, one of them in full blow, one half blown, and another a pretty bud, caught his eye, recollected a passage in Berkeley's romance of _Gaudentio di Lucca_. "Did you ever happen to meet with Gaudentio di Lucca? do you recollect the story of Berilla, Lady Augusta?" said he.

"No; I have never heard of Berilla: what is the story?" said she.

"I wish I had the book," said Mr. Mountague; "I cannot do it justice, but I will borrow it for you from Miss Helen Temple. I lent it to her some time ago; I dare say she has finished reading it."

At these words, Lady Augusta's desire to have Gaudentio di Lucca suddenly increased; and she expressed vast curiosity to know the story of Berilla. "And pray what put you in mind of this book just now?" said she.

"These roses. In Berkeley's Utopia, which he calls Mezzorania--(every philosopher, you know, Mr. Dashwood, must have a Utopia, under whatever name he pleases to call it)--in Mezzorania, Lady Augusta, gentlemen did not, as amongst us, make declarations of love by artificial words, but by natural flowers{4}. The lover in the beginning of his attachment declared it to his mistress by the offer of an opening bud; if she felt favourably inclined towards him, she accepted and wore the bud. When time had increased his affection--for in Mezzorania it is supposed that time increases affection for those that deserve it--the lover presented a half-blown flower; and, after this also was graciously accepted, he came, we may suppose not very long afterwards, with a full-blown flower, the emblem of mature affection. The ladies who accepted these full-blown flowers, and wore them, were looked upon amongst the simple Mezzoranians as engaged for life; nor did the gentlemen, when they offered their flowers, make one single protestation or vow of eternal love, yet they were believed, and deserved, it is said, to be believed."

{Footnote 4: Gaudentio di Lucca, p. 202.}

"_Qu'est ce que c'est? Qu'est ce que c'est?_" repeated mademoiselle several times to Dashwood, whilst Mr. Mountague was speaking: she did not understand English sufficiently to comprehend him, and Dashwood was obliged to make the thing intelligible to her in French. Whilst he was occupied with her, Mr. Mountague gathered three roses, a bud, a half-blown and a full-blown rose, and playfully presented them to Lady Augusta for her choice.--"I'm dying to see this Gaudentio di Lucca; you'll get the book for me to-morrow from Miss Helen Temple, will you?" said Lady Augusta, as she with a coquettish smile took the rose-bud, and put it into her bosom.

"_Bon!_" cried mademoiselle, stooping to pick up the full-blown rose, which Mr. Mountague threw away carelessly. "_Bon!_ but it is great pity dis should be thrown away."

"It is not thrown away upon Mlle. Panache!" said Dashwood.

"Dat maybe," said mademoiselle; "but I observe, wid all your fine compliment, you let me stoop to pick it up for myself--_á l'Anglaise!_"

"_A la Française_, then," said Dashwood, laughing, "permit me to put it into your nosegay."

"Dat is more dan you deserve," replied mademoiselle.--"_Eh! non, non_. I can accommodate it, I tell you, to my own taste best." She settled and resettled the flower: but suddenly she stopped, uttered a piercing shriek, plucked the full-blown rose from her bosom, and threw it upon the ground with a theatrical look of horror. A black earwig now appeared creeping out of the rose; it was running away, but mademoiselle pursued, set her foot upon it, and crushed it to death. "Oh! I hope to Heaven, Mr. Mountague, there are none of these vile creatures in the bud you've given me!" exclaimed Lady Augusta. She looked at her bud as she spoke, and espied upon one of the leaves a small green caterpillar: with a look scarcely less theatrical than mademoiselle's, she tore off the leaf and flung it from her; then, from habitual imitation of her governess, she set her foot upon the harmless caterpillar, and crushed it in a moment.

In the same moment Lady Augusta's whole person seemed metamorphosed to the eyes of her lover. She ceased to be beautiful: he seemed to see her countenance distorted by malevolence; he saw in her gestures disgusting cruelty; and all the graces vanished.

When Lady Augusta was a girl of twelve years old, she saw Mlle. Panache crush a spider to death without emotion: the lesson on humanity was not lost upon her. From imitation, she learned her governess's foolish terror of insects; and from example, she was also taught that species of cruelty, by which at eighteen she disgusted a man of humanity who was in love with her. Mr. Mountague said not one word upon the occasion. They walked on. A few minutes after the caterpillar had been crushed, Lady Augusta exclaimed, "Why, mademoiselle, what have you done with Fanfan? I thought my dog was with us: for Heaven's sake, where is he?"

"He is run, he is run on," replied mademoiselle.

"Oh, he'll be lost! he'll run down the avenue, quite out upon the turnpike road.--Fanfan! Fanfan!"

"Don't alarm, don't distress yourself," cried Dashwood: "if your ladyship will permit me, I'll see for Fanfan instantly, and bring her back to you, if she is to be found in the universe."

"O Lord! don't trouble yourself; I only spoke to mademoiselle, who regularly loses Fanfan when she takes him out with her." Dashwood set out in search of the dog; and Lady Augusta, overcome with affectation, professed herself unable to walk one yard further, and sank down upon a seat under a tree, in a very graceful, languid attitude. Mr. Mountague stood silent beside her. Mademoiselle went on with a voluble defence of her conduct towards Fanfan, which lasted till Dashwood reappeared, hurrying towards them with the dog in his arms--"_Ah, la voilà! chère_ Fanfan!" exclaimed mademoiselle.

"I am sure I really am excessively obliged to Mr. Dashwood, I must say," cried Lady Augusta, looking reproachfully at Mr. Mountague.

Dashwood now approached with panting, breathless eagerness, announcing a terrible misfortune, that Fanfan had got a thorn or something in his fore-foot. Lady Augusta received Fanfan upon her lap, with expressions of the most tender condolence; and Dashwood knelt down at her feet to sympathize in her sorrow, and to examine the dog's paw. Mademoiselle produced a needle to extract the thorn.

"I wish we had a magnifying-glass," said Dashwood, looking with strained solicitude at the wound.

"Oh, you insensible monster! positively you shan't touch Fanfan," cried Lady Augusta, guarding her lapdog from Mr. Mountague, who stooped now, for the first time, to see what was the matter. "Don't touch him, I say; I would not trust him to you for the universe; I know you hate lapdogs. You'll kill him--you'll kill him."

"I kill him! Oh no," said Mr. Mountague; "I would not even kill a caterpillar."

Lady Augusta coloured at these words; but she recovered herself when Dashwood laughed, and asked Mr. Mountague how long it was since he had turned brahmin; and how long since he had professed to like caterpillars and earwigs.

"_Bon Dieu!_--earwig!" interrupted mademoiselle: "is it possible that monsieur or any body dat has sense, can like _dose_ earwig?"

"I do not remember," answered Mr. Mountague, calmly, "ever to have professed any _liking_ for earwigs."

"Well, _pity_; you profess pity for them," said Mr. Dashwood, "and pity, you know, is 'akin to love.'--Pray, did your ladyship ever hear of the man who had a pet toad?"{5}

{Footnote 5: Vide Smellie's Natural History, vol. ii.}

"Oh, the odious wretch!" cried Lady Augusta, affectedly; "but how could the man bring himself to like a toad?"

"He began by _pitying_ him, I suppose," said Dashwood. "For my part, I own I must consider that man to be in a most enviable situation whose heart is sufficiently at ease to sympathize with the insect creation."

"Or with the brute creation," said Mr. Mountague, smiling and looking at Fanfan, whose paw Dashwood was at this instant nursing with infinite tenderness.

"Oh, gentlemen, let us have no more of this, for Heaven's sake!" said Lady Augusta, interposing, with affected anxiety, as if she imagined a quarrel would ensue. "Poor dear Fanfan, you would not have any body quarrel about you, would you, Fanfan?" She rose as she spoke, and, delivering the dog to Dashwood to be carried home, she walked towards the house, with an air of marked displeasure towards Mr. Mountague.

Her ladyship's displeasure did not affect him as she expected. Her image--her gesture stamping upon the caterpillar, recurred to her lover's mind many times in the course of the evening; and in the silence of the night, and whenever the idea of her came into his mind, it was attended with this picture of active cruelty.

"Has your ladyship," said Mr. Mountague, addressing himself to Lady S----, "any commands for Mrs. Temple? I am going to ride over to see her this morning."

Lady S---- said that she would trouble him with a card for Mrs. Temple; a card of invitation for the ensuing week. "And pray don't forget my kindest remembrances," cried Lady Augusta, "especially to Miss Helen Temple; and if she should have entirely finished the book we were talking of, I shall be glad to see it."

When Mr. Mountague arrived at Mrs. Temple's, he was shown into the usual sitting-room: the servant told him that none of the ladies were at home, but that they would soon return, he believed, from their walk, as they were gone only to a cottage at about half a mile's distance.

The room in which he had passed so many agreeable hours awakened in his mind a number of dormant associations--work, books, drawing, writing! he saw every thing had been going forward just as usual in his absence. All the domestic occupations, thought he, which make _home_ delightful, are here: I see nothing of these at S---- Hall. Upon the table, near a neat work-basket, which he knew to be Helen's, lay an open book; it was Gaudentio di Lucca. Mr. Mountague recollected the bud he had given to Lady Augusta, and he began to whistle, but not for want of thought. A music-book on the desk of the piano-forte caught his eye; it was open at a favourite lesson of his, which he remembered to have heard Helen play the last evening he was in her company. Helen was no great proficient in music; but she played agreeably enough to please her friends, and she was not ambitious of exhibiting her accomplishments. Lady Augusta, on the contrary, seemed never to consider her accomplishments as occupations, but as the means of attracting admiration. To interrupt the comparison, which Mr. Mountague was beginning to enter into between her ladyship and Helen, he thought the best thing he could do was to walk to meet Mrs. Temple; wisely considering, that putting the body in motion sometimes stops the current of the mind. He had at least observed, that his schoolfellow, Lord George ----, seemed to find this a specific against thought; and for once he was willing to imitate his lordship's example, and to hurry about from place to place, without being in a hurry. He rang the bell, inquired in haste which way the ladies were gone, and walked after them, like a man who had the business of the nation upon his hands; yet he slackened his pace when he came near the cottage where he knew that he was to meet Mrs. Temple and her daughters. When he entered the cottage, the first object that he saw was Helen, sitting by the side of a decrepit old woman, who was resting her head upon a crutch, and who seemed to be in pain. This was the poor woman who had been ridden over by Lady Di. Spanker. A farmer who lived near Mrs. Temple, and who was coming homewards at the time the accident happened, had the humanity to carry the wretched woman to this cottage, which was occupied by one of Mrs. Temple's tenants. As soon as the news reached her, she sent for a surgeon, and went with her daughters to give that species of consolation which the rich and happy can so well bestow upon the poor and Miserable--the consolation not of gold, but of sympathy.

There was no affectation, no ostentation of sensibility, Mr. Mountague observed, in this cottage scene; the ease and simplicity of Helen's manner never appeared to him more amiable. He recollected Lady Augusta's picturesque attitude, when she was speaking to this old woman's grand-daughter; but there was something in what he now beheld that gave him more the idea of nature and reality: he heard, he saw, that much had actually been _done_ to relieve distress, and done when there were no spectators to applaud or admire. Slight circumstances show whether the mind be intent upon self or not. An awkward servant girl brushed by Helen whilst she was speaking to the old woman, and with a great black kettle, which she was going to set upon the fire, blackened Helen's white dress, in a manner which no lady intent upon her personal appearance could have borne with patience. Mr. Mountague saw the black streaks before Helen perceived them, and when the maid was reproved for her carelessness, Helen's good-natured smile assured her "that there was no great harm done."

When they returned home, Mr. Mountague found that Helen conversed with him with all her own ingenuous freedom, but there was something more of softness and dignity, and less of sprightliness, than formerly in her manner. Even this happened to be agreeable to him, for it was in contrast with the constant appearance of effort and artificial brilliancy conspicuous in the manners of Lady Augusta. The constant round of cards and company, the noise and bustle at S---- Hall, made it more like town than country life, and he had often observed that, in the intervals between dressing, and visiting, and gallantry, his fair mistress was frequently subject to _ennui_. He recollected that, in the many domestic hours he had spent at Mrs. Temple's, he had never beheld this French demon, who makes the votaries of dissipation and idleness his victims. What advantage has a man, in judging of female character, who can see a woman in the midst of her own family, "who can read her history" in the eyes of those who know her most intimately, who can see her conduct as a daughter and a sister, and in the most important relations of life can form a certain judgment from what she has been, of what she is likely to be? But how can a man judge what sort of wife he may probably expect in a lady, whom he meets with only at public places, or whom he never sees even at her own house, without all the advantages or disadvantages of _stage decoration_? A man who marries a showy, entertaining coquette, and expects that she will make him a charming companion for life, commits as absurd a blunder as that of the famous nobleman, who, delighted with the wit and humour of Punch at a puppet-show, bought Punch, and ordered him to be sent home for his private amusement.

Whether all or any of these reflections occurred to Mr. Mountague during his morning visit at Mrs. Temple's we cannot pretend to say; but his silence and absence seemed to show that his thoughts were busily engaged. Never did Helen appear to him so amiable as she did this morning, when the dignity, delicacy, and simplicity of her manners were contrasted in his imagination with the caprice and coquetry of his new mistress. He felt a secret idea that he was beloved, and a sober certainty that Helen had a heart capable of sincere and permanent affection, joined to a cultivated understanding and reasonable principles, which would wear through life, and ensure happiness, with power superior to the magic of passion.