“I have no doubt you looked very charming: but should that delight you so very much?”
“Oh, no!—not that alone: but, then, I was so much admired; and I made so many conquests in that one night—you’d be astonished to hear—”
“But what good will they do you?”
“What good! Think of any woman asking that!”
“Well, I should think one conquest would be enough; and too much, unless the subjugation were mutual.”
“Oh, but you know I never agree with you on those points. Now, wait a bit, and I’ll tell you my principal admirers—those who made themselves very conspicuous that night and after: for I’ve been to two parties since. Unfortunately the two noblemen, Lord G⸺ and Lord F⸺, were married, or I might have condescended to be particularly gracious to them; as it was, I did not: though Lord F⸺, who hates his wife, was evidently much struck with me. He asked me to dance with him twice—he is a charming dancer, by the by, and so am I: you can’t think how well I did—I was astonished at myself. My lord was very complimentary too—rather too much so in fact—and I thought proper to be a little haughty and repellent; but I had the pleasure of seeing his nasty, cross wife ready to perish with spite and vexation—”
“Oh, Miss Murray! you don’t mean to say that such a thing could really give you pleasure? However cross or—”
“Well, I know it’s very wrong;—but never mind! I mean to be good some time—only don’t preach now, there’s a good creature. I haven’t told you half yet. Let me see. Oh! I was going to tell you how many unmistakeable admirers I had:—Sir Thomas Ashby was one—Sir Hugh Meltham and Sir Broadley Wilson are old codgers, only fit companions for papa and mamma. Sir Thomas is young, rich, and gay; but an ugly beast, nevertheless: however, mamma says I should not mind that after a few months’ acquaintance. Then, there was Henry Meltham, Sir Hugh’s younger son; rather good-looking, and a pleasant fellow to flirt with: but being a younger son, that is all he is good for; then there was young Mr. Green, rich enough, but of no family, and a great stupid fellow, a mere country booby! and then, our good rector, Mr. Hatfield: an humble admirer he ought to consider himself; but I fear he has forgotten to number humility among his stock of Christian virtues.”
“Was Mr. Hatfield at the ball?”
“Yes, to be sure. Did you think he was too good to go?”
“I thought he might consider it unclerical.”
“By no means. He did not profane his cloth by dancing; but it was with difficulty he could refrain, poor man: he looked as if he were dying to ask my hand just for one set; and—oh! by the by—he’s got a new curate: that seedy old fellow Mr. Bligh has got his long-wished-for living at last, and is gone.”
“And what is the new one like?”
“Oh, such a beast! Weston his name is. I can give you his description in three words—an insensate, ugly, stupid blockhead. That’s four, but no matter—enough of him now.”
Then she returned to the ball, and gave me a further account of her deportment there, and at the several parties she had since attended; and further particulars respecting Sir Thomas Ashby and Messrs. Meltham, Green, and Hatfield, and the ineffaceable impression she had wrought upon each of them.
“Well, which of the four do you like best?” said I, suppressing my third or fourth yawn.
“I detest them all!” replied she, shaking her bright ringlets in vivacious scorn.
“That means, I suppose, ‘I like them all’—but which most?”
“No, I really detest them all; but Harry Meltham is the handsomest and most amusing, and Mr. Hatfield the cleverest, Sir Thomas the wickedest, and Mr. Green the most stupid. But the one I’m to have, I suppose, if I’m doomed to have any of them, is Sir Thomas Ashby.”
“Surely not, if he’s so wicked, and if you dislike him?”
“Oh, I don’t mind his being wicked: he’s all the better for that; and as for disliking him—I shouldn’t greatly object to being Lady Ashby of Ashby Park, if I must marry. But if I could be always young, I would be always single. I should like to enjoy myself thoroughly, and coquet with all the world, till I am on the verge of being called an old maid; and then, to escape the infamy of that, after having made ten thousand conquests, to break all their hearts save one, by marrying some highborn, rich, indulgent husband, whom, on the other hand, fifty ladies were dying to have.”
“Well, as long as you entertain those views, keep single by all means, and never marry at all: not even to escape the infamy of old-maidenhood.”
X
The Church
“Well, Miss Grey, what do you think of the new curate?” asked Miss Murray, on our return from church the Sunday after the recommencement of our duties.
“I can scarcely tell,” was my reply: “I have not even heard him preach.”
“Well, but you saw him, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but I cannot pretend to judge of a man’s character by a single cursory glance at his face.”
“But isn’t he ugly?”
“He did not strike me as being particularly so; I don’t dislike that cast of countenance: but the only thing I particularly noticed about him was his style of reading; which appeared to me good—infinitely better, at least, than Mr. Hatfield’s. He read the Lessons as if he were bent on giving full effect to every passage; it seemed as if the most careless person could not have helped attending, nor the most ignorant have failed to understand; and the prayers he read as if he were not reading at all, but praying earnestly and sincerely from his own heart.”
“Oh, yes, that’s all he is good for: he can plod
