In the end, because Mrs. Butters did not want her son’s household to raise a clamour, and because she shopped at the same butcher and greengrocer and poulterer who held the overdue accounts for her daughter-in-law, and she wanted no reproach attached to the fair name of “Butters,” the kindly widow opened her purse again and discharged many of her daughter-in-law’s household debts.
Her generosity was, as usual, not limited to her own family. As winter closed upon Camden Town, the charitable ladies of the Society for Bettering the Condition and Increasing the Comforts of the Poor discovered, to their dismay, that two small coal stoves were inadequate to heat the building.
Mr. Edifice could see his breath when he pronounced the morning prayer. The girls wiped their dripping noses on their sleeves and blew on their cold fingers. At Fanny’s request the Blodgetts donated some lengths of stout flannel so the students might make themselves warm petticoats, and Fanny and Madame Orly sat and knitted fingerless gloves in the evening, until every girl was supplied.
The society ladies debated and consulted, and consulted and debated, about the problem, until Mrs. Butters took matters into her own hands and paid for the installation of some braziers, and ordered more coal. What a relief it was to Fanny to arrive the next morning and not suffer, for watching her pupils shivering with the cold!
* * * * * * *
The good people of Thornton Lacey, especially the mothers and daughters, had long pitied the situation of their minister, condemned to be neither a bachelor nor a husband, in the prime of vigorous manhood.
And likewise, of Miss Julia Bertram it was declared a mystery that such a handsome young lady, all of three-and-twenty, returned from her frequent visits to London still single, with no directions to Mrs. Peckover to prepare wedding cakes.
But what was to be done?
The same sentiments also disturbed the serenity of their father, Sir Thomas Bertram, in far-off Norfolk. Sir Thomas, of course, was above stooping to manoeuvring on behalf of his daughter, but he thought it not inadvisable to suggest that Julia and her brother Edmund attend the Northampton assemblies during the holiday season, giving as his reason the desirability of maintaining old and valued, but neglected connections. There were families, and persons, he wrote in his letter to Edmund, whom the Bertrams had not seen since he and his lady had exiled themselves; it was only fitting that he should deputize his children to pay their respects at Christmas-time.
Edmund and Julia went to Northampton, more to oblige their father than from any expectation of pleasure; their Aunt Norris, it somehow came about, was to accompany them, and her delight at resuming her old office of chaperone, and joining former acquaintance at the card tables must suffice—her happiness must be theirs.
“How are you, my dear Mrs. Owen? I see your daughters are here tonight—all three, still unmarried? My niece Maria was married a few years ago, I suppose you know, and lives in Norfolk. Your Sarah, I should say, is almost as beautiful as Julia—no, no, I do say it, and I am sure all of your girls are very accomplished. Everyone says so. How is your son? Still a curate? Edmund has been at Thornton Lacey these two years, but of course he cannot step into his rightful living at Mansfield until Dr. Grant takes himself away, more’s the pity.
“Yes, dear Julia is over there by the fireplace. No, she has not chosen a husband, not just as yet. Naturally, she can be particular in her choice. Julia goes up to town frequently, and is very much admired there.
“How old is she? Err... about three-and-twenty, I believe. Now, who shall deal first?”
Julia had “come out” at the Northampton public assemblies six winters ago and she and her sister were then proclaimed the belles of the county, a circumstance which gratified but did not surprise either of the Miss Bertrams.
Julia blushed now, to recall the sentiments which animated her, the selfish ideas she entertained, the pride and the vanity which consumed her, those long years ago.
Most of the young ladies she had stood up with in previous seasons were married with children, and now, their younger sisters gathered expectantly, waiting for an invitation to take to the floor. She, who had nothing more to hope for, stood and watched while the dance went on without her. Her own season, her own brief time was over, but she took a wistful pleasure in watching the younger set rushing up to take her place, to experience for themselves the fleeting pleasures that bloom, youth, and beauty bring, when all the senses are alive, and so much meaning hangs upon a smile, a glance, the lingering touch of a hand. Thus was hope and love and promise perpetually reborn while she was left only with her memories and the purity of her constant attachment to a man who would not have her.
Her resigned, distant air and pensive smile rendered her a figure of some interest, and her high-flown meditations were interrupted by none other than James, Viscount Lynnon, the son of Lord and Lady Delingpole, who asked her to reserve the last two dances before supper. She was surprised to be addressed by him, as she was a few years older than he; moreover, he was of noble birth, and every lady in attendance that evening was beneath his notice, unless he chose to take notice of them.
Lynnon was fond of dancing, excelled in it, and had resolved to take in the assemblies in a true spirit of egalitarianism. Julia enjoyed her turn with
