Tales and Novels Volume III Part 30

"Then I am very glad of it!" said the boy, dropping the weed, and clapping his hands joyfully; "for then I hope you will always stay here, don't you, mamma?--don't _you_, Mr. Vincent? Oh, _you_ do, I am sure, for I heard you say so to papa the other day! But what makes you grow so red?"

His mother took him by the hand, as he was going to repeat the question, and leading him out of the room, desired him to show her the place where he found the food for the gold fishes.

Belinda, to Mr. Vincent's great relief, seemed not to take any notice of the child's question, nor to have any sympathy in his curiosity; she was intently copying Westall's sketch of Lady Anne Percival and her family, and she had been roused, by the first mention of Helena Delacour's name, to many painful and some pleasing recollections. "What a charming woman, and what a charming family!" said Mr. Vincent, as he looked at the drawing; "and how much more interesting is this picture of domestic happiness than all the pictures of shepherds and shepherdesses, and G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses, that ever were drawn!"

"Yes," said Belinda, "and how much more interesting this picture is to us, from our knowing that it is not a fancy-piece; that the happiness is real, not imaginary: that this is the natural expression of affection in the countenance of the mother; and that these children, who crowd round her, are what they seem to be--the pride and pleasure of her life!"

"There cannot," exclaimed Mr. Vincent, with enthusiasm, "be a more delightful picture! Oh, Miss Portman, is it possible that you should not feel what you can paint so well?"

"Is it possible, sir," said Belinda, "that you should suspect me of such wretched hypocrisy, as to affect to admire what I am incapable of feeling?"

"You misunderstand--you totally misunderstand me. Hypocrisy! No; there is not a woman upon earth whom I believe to be so far above all hypocrisy, all affectation. But I imagined--I feared--"

As he spoke these last words he was in some confusion, and hastily turned over the prints in a portfolio which lay upon the table.

Belinda's eye was caught by an engraving of Lady Delacour in the character of the comic muse. Mr. Vincent did not know the intimacy that had subsisted between her ladyship and Miss Portman--she sighed from the recollection of Clarence Hervey, and of all that had pa.s.sed at the masquerade.

"What a contrast!" said Mr. Vincent, placing the print of Lady Delacour beside the picture of Lady Anne Percival. "What a contrast! Compare their pictures--compare their characters--compare--"

"Excuse me," interrupted Belinda; "Lady Delacour was once my friend, and I do not like to make a comparison so much to her disadvantage. I have never seen any woman who would not suffer by a comparison with Lady Anne Percival."

"I have been more fortunate, I _have_ seen one--one equally worthy of esteem--admiration--love."

Mr. Vincent's voice faltered in p.r.o.nouncing the word love; yet Belinda, prepossessed by the idea that he was attached to some creole lady, simply answered, without looking up from her drawing, "You are indeed very fortunate--peculiarly fortunate. Are the West-Indian ladies----"

"West-Indian ladies!" interrupted Mr. Vincent. "Surely, Miss Portman cannot imagine that I am at this instant thinking of any West-Indian lady!" Belinda looked up with an air of surprise. "Charming Miss Portman," continued he, "I have learnt to admire _European beauty, European excellence_! I have acquired new ideas of the female character--ideas--feelings that must henceforward render me exquisitely happy or exquisitely miserable."

Miss Portman had been too often called "_charming_" to be much startled or delighted by the sound: the word would have pa.s.sed by unnoticed, but there was something so impa.s.sioned in Mr. Vincent's manner, that she could no longer mistake it for common gallantry, and she was in evident confusion. Now for the first time the idea of Mr. Vincent as a lover came into her mind: the next instant she accused herself of vanity, and dreaded that he should read her thoughts. "Exquisitely miserable!" said she, in a tone of raillery: "I should not suppose, from what I have seen of Mr. Vincent, that any thing could make him exquisitely miserable."

"Then you do not know my character--you do not know my heart: it is in _your_ power to make me exquisitely miserable. Mine is not the cold, hackneyed phrase of gallantry, but the fervid language of pa.s.sion,"

cried he, seizing her hand.

At this instant one of the children came in with some flowers to Belinda; and, glad of the interruption, she hastily put up her drawings and left the room, observing that she should scarcely have time to dress before dinner. However, as soon as she found herself alone, she forgot how late it was; and though she sat down before the gla.s.s to dress, she made no progress in the business, but continued for some time motionless, endeavouring to recollect and to understand all that had pa.s.sed. The result of her reflections was the conviction that her partiality for Clarence Hervey was greater than she ever had till this moment suspected. "I have told my aunt Stanhope," thought she, "that the idea of Mr. Hervey had no influence in my refusal of Sir Philip Baddely; I have said that my affections are entirely at my own command: then why do I feel this alarm at the discovery of Mr. Vincent's views? Why do I compare him with one whom I thought I had forgotten?--And yet how are we to judge of character? How can we form any estimate of what is amiable, of what will make us happy or miserable, but by comparison? Am I to blame for perceiving superiority? Am I to blame if one person be more agreeable, or seem to be more agreeable, than another? Am I to blame if I cannot love Mr. Vincent?"

Before Belinda had answered these questions to her satisfaction, the dinner-bell rang. There happened to dine this day at Mr. Percival's a gentleman who had just arrived from Lisbon, and the conversation turned upon the sailors' practice of stilling the waves over the bar of Lisbon by throwing oil upon the water. Charles Percival's curiosity was excited by this conversation, and he wished to see the experiment. In the evening his father indulged his wishes. The children were delighted at the sight, and little Charles insisted upon Belinda's following him to a particular spot, where he was well convinced that she could see better than any where else in the world. "Take care," cried Lady Anne, "or you will lead your friend into the river, Charles." The boy paused, and soon afterwards asked his father several questions about swimming and drowning, and bringing people to life after they had been drowned.

"Don't you remember, papa," said he, "_that_ Mr. Hervey, who was almost drowned in the Serpentine river in London?"--Belinda coloured at hearing unexpectedly the name of the person of whom she was at that instant thinking, and the child continued--"I liked that Mr. Hervey very much--I liked him from the first day I saw him. What a number of entertaining things he told us at dinner! We used to call him the good-natured gentleman: I like him very much--I wish he was here this minute. Did you ever see him, Miss Portman? Oh, yes, you must have seen him; for it was he who carried Helena's gold fishes to her mother, and he used often to be at Lady Delacour's--was not he?"

"Yes, my dear, often."

"And did not you like him very much?"--This simple question threw Belinda into inexpressible confusion: but fortunately the crimson on her face was seen only by Lady Anne Percival. To Belinda's great satisfaction, Mr. Vincent forbore this evening any attempt to renew the conversation of the morning; he endeavoured to mix, with his usual animation and gaiety, in the family society; and her embarra.s.sment was much lessened when she heard the next day, at breakfast, that he was gone to Harrowgate. Lady Anne Percival took notice that she was this morning unusually sprightly.

After breakfast, as they were pa.s.sing through the hall to take a walk in the park, one of the little boys stopped to look at a musical instrument which hung up against the wall.

"What is this, mamma?--It is not a guitar, is it?"

"No, my dear, it is called a banjore; it is an African instrument, of which the negroes are particularly fond. Mr. Vincent mentioned it the other day to Miss Portman, and I believe she expressed some curiosity to see one. Juba went to work immediately to make a banjore, I find. Poor fellow! I dare say that he was very sorry to go to Harrowgate, and to leave his African guitar half finished; especially as it was intended for an offering to Miss Portman. He is the most grateful, affectionate creature I ever saw."

"But why, mamma," said Charles Percival, "is Mr. Vincent gone away? I am sorry he is gone; I hope he will soon come back. In the mean time, I must run and water my carnations."

"His sorrow for his friend Mr. Vincent's departure does not seem to affect his spirits much," said Lady Anne. "People who expect sentiment from children of six years old will be disappointed, and will probably teach them affectation. Surely it is much better to let their natural affections have time to expand. If we tear the rosebud open we spoil the flower." Belinda smiled at this parable of the rosebud, which, she said, might be applied to men and women, as well as to children.

"And yet, upon reflection," said Lady Anne, "the heart has nothing in common with a rosebud. Nonsensical allusions pa.s.s off very prettily in conversation. I mean, when we converse with partial friends: but we should reason ill, and conduct ourselves worse, if we were to trust implicitly to poetical a.n.a.logies. Our affections," continued Lady Anne, "arise from circ.u.mstances totally independent of our will."

"That is the very thing I meant to say," interrupted Belinda, eagerly.

"They are excited by the agreeable or useful qualities that we discover in things or in persons."

"Undoubtedly," said Belinda.

"Or by those which our fancies discover," said Lady Anne.

Belinda was silent; but, after a pause, she said, "That it was certainly very dangerous, especially for women, to trust to fancy in bestowing their affections." "And yet," said Lady Anne, "it is a danger to which they are much exposed in society. Men have it in their power to a.s.sume the appearance of every thing that is amiable and estimable, and women have scarcely any opportunities of detecting the counterfeit."

"Without Ithuriel's spear, how can they distinguish the good from the evil?" said Belinda. "This is a common-place complaint, I know; the ready excuse that we silly young women plead, when we make mistakes for which our friends reproach us, and for which we too often reproach ourselves."

"The complaint is common-place precisely because it is general and just," replied Lady Anne. "In the slight and frivolous intercourse, which fashionable belles usually have with those fashionable beaux who call themselves their lovers, it is surprising that they can discover any thing of each other's real character. Indeed they seldom do; and this probably is the cause why there are so many unsuitable and unhappy marriages. A woman who has an opportunity of seeing her lover in private society, in domestic life, has infinite advantages; for if she has any sense, and he has any sincerity, the real character of both may perhaps be developed."

"True," said Belinda (who now suspected that Lady Anne alluded to Mr.

Vincent); "and in such a situation a woman would readily be able to decide whether the man who addressed her would suit her taste or not; so she would be inexcusable if, either from vanity or coquetry, she disguised her real sentiments."

"And will Miss Portman, who cannot, by any one to whom she is known, be suspected of vanity or coquetry, permit me to speak to her with the freedom of a friend?"

Belinda, touched by the kindness of Lady Anne's manner, pressed her hand, and exclaimed, "Yes, dear Lady Anne, speak to me with freedom--you cannot do me a greater favour. No thought of my mind, no secret feeling of my heart, shall be concealed from you."

"Do not imagine that I wish to encroach upon the generous openness of your temper," said Lady Anne; "tell me when I go too far, and I will be silent. One who, like Miss Portman, has lived in the world, has seen a variety of characters, and probably has had a variety of admirers, must have formed some determinate idea of the sort of companion that would make her happy, if she were to marry--unless," said Lady Anne, "she has formed a resolution against marriage."

"I have formed no such resolution," said Belinda. "Indeed, since I have seen the happiness which you and Mr. Percival enjoy in your own family, I have been much more disposed to think that a union--that a union such as yours, would increase my happiness. At the same time, my aversion to the idea of marrying from interest, or convenience, or from any motives but esteem and love, is increased almost to horror. O Lady Anne! there is nothing that I would not do to please the friends to whom I am under obligations, except sacrificing my peace of mind, or my integrity, the happiness of my life, by--"

Lady Anne, in a gentle tone, a.s.sured her, that she was the last person in the world who would press her to any union which would make her unhappy. "You perceive that Mr. Vincent has spoken to me of what pa.s.sed between you yesterday. You perceive that I am his friend, but do not forget that I am also yours. If you fear _undue influence_ from any of your relations in favour of Mr. Vincent's large fortune, &c. let his proposal remain a secret between ourselves, till you can decide, from farther acquaintance with him, whether it will be in your power to return his affection."

"I fear, my dear Lady Anne," cried Belinda, "that it is not in my power to return his affection."

"And may I ask your objections?"

"Is it not a sufficient objection, that I am persuaded I cannot love him?"

"No; for you may be mistaken in that persuasion. Remember what we said a little while ago, about _fancy and spontaneous affections_. Does Mr.

Vincent appear to you defective in any of the qualities which you think essential to happiness? Mr. Percival has known him from the time he was a man, and can answer for his integrity and his good temper. Are not these the first points you would consider? They ought to be, I am sure, and I believe they are. Of his understanding I shall say nothing, because you have had full opportunities of judging of it from his conversation."

"Mr. Vincent appears to have a good understanding," said Belinda.

"Then to what do you object?--Is there any thing disgusting to you in his person or manners?"

"He is very handsome, he is well bred, and his manners are unaffected,"

said Belinda; "but--do not accuse me of caprice--altogether he does not suit my taste; and I cannot think it sufficient not to feel disgust for a husband--though I believe this is the fashionable doctrine."

"It is not mine, I a.s.sure you," said Lady Anne. "I am not one of those who think it 'safest to begin with a little aversion;' but since you acknowledge that Mr. Vincent possesses the essential good qualities that ent.i.tle him to your esteem, I am satisfied. We gradually acquire knowledge of the good qualities of those who endeavour to please us; and if they are really amiable, their persons become agreeable to us by degrees, when we become accustomed to them."

"Accustomed!" said Belinda, smiling: "one does grow accustomed even to disagreeable things certainly; but at this rate, my dear Lady Anne, I do not doubt but one might grow _accustomed_ to Caliban."