“The distant places are, in my estimation, the best. The further the mind is removed from the contamination incidental to the centres of long-established luxury, the more chance it has of developing itself according to the intention of the Creator, when he bestowed his gifts of intellect upon us.” Lady Rowley, when she heard this eloquence, could hardly believe that such a man as Mr. Glascock should really be intent upon marrying such a lady as this who was sitting next to her.
In the meantime, Nora and the real rival were together, and they also were talking of Mr. Glascock. Caroline Spalding had said that Mr. Glascock had spoken to her of Nora Rowley, and Nora acknowledged that there had been some acquaintance between them in London. “Almost more than that, I should have thought,” said Miss Spalding, “if one might judge by his manner of speaking of you.”
“He is a little given to be enthusiastic,” said Nora, laughing.
“The least so of all mankind, I should have said. You must know he is very intimate in this house. It begun in this way;—Olivia and I were travelling together, and there was—a difficulty, as we say in our country when three or four gentlemen shoot each other. Then there came up Mr. Glascock and another gentleman. By the by, the other gentleman was your brother-in-law.”
“Poor Mr. Trevelyan!”
“He is very ill;—is he not?”
“We think so. My sister is with us, you know. That is to say, she is at Siena today.”
“I have heard about him, and it is so sad. Mr. Glascock knows him. As I said, they were travelling together, when Mr. Glascock came to our assistance. Since that, we have seen him very frequently. I don’t think he is enthusiastic—except when he talks of you.”
“I ought to be very proud,” said Nora.
“I think you ought—as Mr. Glascock is a man whose good opinion is certainly worth having. Here he is. Mr. Glascock, I hope your ears are tingling. They ought to do so, because we are saying all manner of fine things about you.”
“I could not be well spoken of by two on whose good word I should set a higher value,” said he.
“And whose do you value the most?” said Caroline.
“I must first know whose eulogium will run the highest.”
Then Nora answered him. “Mr. Glascock, other people may praise you louder than I can do, but no one will ever do so with more sincerity.” There was a pretty earnestness about her as she spoke, which Lady Rowley ought to have heard. Mr. Glascock bowed, and Miss Spalding smiled, and Nora blushed.
“If you are not overwhelmed now,” said Miss Spalding, “you must be so used to flattery, that it has no longer any effect upon you. You must be like a drunkard, to whom wine is as water, and who thinks that brandy is not strong enough.”
“I think I had better go away,” said Mr. Glascock, “for fear the brandy should be watered by degrees.” And so he left them.
Nora had become quite aware, without much process of thinking about it, that her former lover and this American young lady were very intimate with each other. The tone of the conversation had shown that it was so;—and, then, how had it come to pass that Mr. Glascock had spoken to this American girl about her—Nora Rowley? It was evident that he had spoken of her with warmth, and had done so in a manner to impress his hearer. For a minute or two they sat together in silence after Mr. Glascock had left them, but neither of them stirred. Then Caroline Spalding turned suddenly upon Nora, and took her by the hand. “I must tell you something,” said she, “only it must be a secret for awhile.”
“I will not repeat it.”
“Thank you, dear. I am engaged to him—as his wife. He asked me this very afternoon, and nobody knows it but my aunt. When I had accepted him, he told me all the story about you. He had very often spoken of you before, and I had guessed how it must have been. He wears his heart so open for those whom he loves, that there is nothing concealed. He had seen you just before he came to me. But perhaps I am wrong to tell you that now. He ought to have been thinking of you again at such a time.”
“I did not want him to think of me again.”
“Of course you did not. Of course I am joking. You might have been his wife if you wished it. He has told me all that. And he especially wants us to be friends. Is there anything to prevent it?”
“On my part? Oh, dear, no;—except that you will be such grand folk, and we shall be so poor.”
“We!” said Caroline, laughing. “I am so glad that there is a ‘we.’ ”
LXXVII
The Future Lady Peterborough
“If you have not sold yourself for British gold, and for British acres, and for British rank, I have nothing to say against it,” said Miss Wallachia Petrie that same evening to her friend Caroline Spalding.
“You know that I have not sold myself, as you call it,” said Caroline. There had been a long friendship between these two ladies, and the younger one knew that it behoved her to bear a good deal from the elder. Miss Petrie was honest, clever, and in earnest. We in England are not usually favourably disposed to women who take a pride in a certain antagonism to men in general, and who are anxious to show the world that they can get on very well without male assistance; but there are many such in America who have noble aspirations, good intellects, much energy, and who are by no means unworthy of friendship. The hope in regard to all such women—the hope entertained not by themselves, but by those who are solicitous for them—is that they will be cured at
