Lady Susan

by Austen · Cluster: Greek Mythology · Lust Sexual Desire · Desire

Abstract

An early epistolary novella whose anti-heroine, the beautiful, scheming widow Lady Susan, manipulates suitors and her own daughter; themes of deception, seduction, marriage as strategy, and feminine cunning.

Capitoli / Chapters

Readability (prose)64.4 Flesch ease9.3 FK grade12.3 Fog11% complex20.2 words/sent

Connections

Archetypes: Femme Fatale, Temptress Motifs: Letters and Writing, Marriage Themes & Concepts: Deception, Marriage and Fidelity, Appearance vs Reality, Lust Sexual Desire, Satire of Society, Romantic Love Forms & Genres: Novel, Social Novel (Novel of Manners), Satire Historical References: Regency Georgian England Settings: Rural England Characters: Lady Susan Vernon, Reginald De Courcy, Catherine Vernon, Frederica Vernon, Mrs Johnson

Testo integrale / Full text

LADY SUSAN

by Jane Austen

CONTENTS

III

VII

VIII

XII

XIII

XIV

XVI

XVII

XVIII

XIX

XXI

XXII

XXIII

XXIV

XXV

XXVI

XXVII

XXVIII

XXIX

XXX

XXXI

XXXII

XXXIII

XXXIV

XXXV

XXXVI

XXXVII

XXXVIII

XXXIX

XLI

CONCLUSION

Lady Susan Vernon to Mr. Vernon.

Langford, Dec.

MY DEAR BROTHER,—I can no longer refuse myself the pleasure of

profiting by your kind invitation when we last parted of spending some

weeks with you at Churchhill, and, therefore, if quite convenient to

you and Mrs. Vernon to receive me at present, I shall hope within a few

days to be introduced to a sister whom I have so long desired to be

acquainted with. My kind friends here are most affectionately urgent

with me to prolong my stay, but their hospitable and cheerful

dispositions lead them too much into society for my present situation

and state of mind; and I impatiently look forward to the hour when I

shall be admitted into your delightful retirement.

I long to be made known to your dear little children, in whose hearts I

shall be very eager to secure an interest. I shall soon have need for

all my fortitude, as I am on the point of separation from my own

daughter. The long illness of her dear father prevented my paying her

that attention which duty and affection equally dictated, and I have

too much reason to fear that the governess to whose care I consigned

her was unequal to the charge. I have therefore resolved on placing her

at one of the best private schools in town, where I shall have an

opportunity of leaving her myself in my way to you. I am determined,

you see, not to be denied admittance at Churchhill. It would indeed

give me most painful sensations to know that it were not in your power

to receive me.

Your most obliged and affectionate sister,

S. VERNON.

Lady Susan Vernon to Mrs. Johnson.

Langford.

You were mistaken, my dear Alicia, in supposing me fixed at this place

for the rest of the winter: it grieves me to say how greatly you were

mistaken, for I have seldom spent three months more agreeably than

those which have just flown away. At present, nothing goes smoothly;

the females of the family are united against me. You foretold how it

would be when I first came to Langford, and Mainwaring is so uncommonly

pleasing that I was not without apprehensions for myself. I remember

saying to myself, as I drove to the house, “I like this man, pray

Heaven no harm come of it!” But I was determined to be discreet, to

bear in mind my being only four months a widow, and to be as quiet as

possible: and I have been so, my dear creature; I have admitted no

one’s attentions but Mainwaring’s. I have avoided all general

flirtation whatever; I have distinguished no creature besides, of all

the numbers resorting hither, except Sir James Martin, on whom I

bestowed a little notice, in order to detach him from Miss Mainwaring;

but, if the world could know my motive there they would honour me. I

have been called an unkind mother, but it was the sacred impulse of

maternal affection, it was the advantage of my daughter that led me on;

and if that daughter were not the greatest simpleton on earth, I might

have been rewarded for my exertions as I ought.

Sir James did make proposals to me for Frederica; but Frederica, who

was born to be the torment of my life, chose to set herself so

violently against the match that I thought it better to lay aside the

scheme for the present. I have more than once repented that I did not

marry him myself; and were he but one degree less contemptibly weak I

certainly should: but I must own myself rather romantic in that

respect, and that riches only will not satisfy me. The event of all

this is very provoking: Sir James is gone, Maria highly incensed, and

Mrs. Mainwaring insupportably jealous; so jealous, in short, and so

enraged against me, that, in the fury of her temper, I should not be

surprized at her appealing to her guardian, if she had the liberty of

addressing him: but there your husband stands my friend; and the

kindest, most amiable action of his life was his throwing her off for

ever on her marriage. Keep up his resentment, therefore, I charge you.

We are now in a sad state; no house was ever more altered; the whole

party are at war, and Mainwaring scarcely dares speak to me. It is time

for me to be gone; I have therefore determined on leaving them, and

shall spend, I hope, a comfortable day with you in town within this

week. If I am as little in favour with Mr. Johnson as ever, you must

come to me at 10 Wigmore street; but I hope this may not be the case,

for as Mr. Johnson, with all his faults, is a man to whom that great

word “respectable” is always given, and I am known to be so intimate

with his wife, his slighting me has an awkward look.

I take London in my way to that insupportable spot, a country village;

for I am really going to Churchhill. Forgive me, my dear friend, it is

my last resource. Were there another place in England open to me I

would prefer it. Charles Vernon is my aversion; and I am afraid of his

wife. At Churchhill, however, I must remain till I have something

better in view. My young lady accompanies me to town, where I shall

deposit her under the care of Miss Summers, in Wigmore street, till she

becomes a little more reasonable. She will made good connections there,

as the girls are all of the best families. The price is immense, and

much beyond what I can ever attempt to pay.

Adieu, I will send you a line as soon as I arrive in town.

Yours ever,

S. VERNON.

III

Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy.

Churchhill.

My dear Mother,—I am very sorry to tell you that it will not be in our

power to keep our promise of spending our Christmas with you; and we

are prevented that happiness by a circumstance which is not likely to

make us any amends. Lady Susan, in a letter to her brother-in-law, has

declared her intention of visiting us almost immediately; and as such a

visit is in all probability merely an affair of convenience, it is

impossible to conjecture its length. I was by no means prepared for

such an event, nor can I now account for her ladyship’s conduct;

Langford appeared so exactly the place for her in every respect, as

well from the elegant and expensive style of living there, as from her

particular attachment to Mr. Mainwaring, that I was very far from

expecting so speedy a distinction, though I always imagined from her

increasing friendship for us since her husband’s death that we should,

at some future period, be obliged to receive her. Mr. Vernon, I think,

was a great deal too kind to her when he was in Staffordshire; her

behaviour to him, independent of her general character, has been so

inexcusably artful and ungenerous since our marriage was first in

agitation that no one less amiable and mild than himself could have

overlooked it all; and though, as his brother’s widow, and in narrow

circumstances, it was proper to render her pecuniary assistance, I

cannot help thinking his pressing invitation to her to visit us at

Churchhill perfectly unnecessary. Disposed, however, as he always is to

think the best of everyone, her display of grief, and professions of

regret, and general resolutions of prudence, were sufficient to soften

his heart and make him really confide in her sincerity; but, as for

myself, I am still unconvinced, and plausibly as her ladyship has now

written, I cannot make up my mind till I better understand her real

meaning in coming to us. You may guess, therefore, my dear madam, with

what feelings I look forward to her arrival. She will have occasion for

all those attractive powers for which she is celebrated to gain any

share of my regard; and I shall certainly endeavour to guard myself

against their influence, if not accompanied by something more

substantial. She expresses a most eager desire of being acquainted with

me, and makes very gracious mention of my children but I am not quite

weak enough to suppose a woman who has behaved with inattention, if not

with unkindness, to her own child, should be attached to any of mine.

Miss Vernon is to be placed at a school in London before her mother

comes to us which I am glad of, for her sake and my own. It must be to

her advantage to be separated from her mother, and a girl of sixteen

who has received so wretched an education, could not be a very

desirable companion here. Reginald has long wished, I know, to see the

captivating Lady Susan, and we shall depend on his joining our party

soon. I am glad to hear that my father continues so well; and am, with

best love, &c.,

CATHERINE VERNON.

Mr. De Courcy to Mrs. Vernon.

Parklands.

My dear Sister,—I congratulate you and Mr. Vernon on being about to

receive into your family the most accomplished coquette in England. As

a very distinguished flirt I have always been taught to consider her,

but it has lately fallen in my way to hear some particulars of her

conduct at Langford: which prove that she does not confine herself to

that sort of honest flirtation which satisfies most people, but aspires

to the more delicious gratification of making a whole family miserable.

By her behaviour to Mr. Mainwaring she gave jealousy and wretchedness

to his wife, and by her attentions to a young man previously attached

to Mr. Mainwaring’s sister deprived an amiable girl of her lover.

I learnt all this from Mr. Smith, now in this neighbourhood (I have

dined with him, at Hurst and Wilford), who is just come from Langford

where he was a fortnight with her ladyship, and who is therefore well

qualified to make the communication.

What a woman she must be! I long to see her, and shall certainly accept

your kind invitation, that I may form some idea of those bewitching

powers which can do so much—engaging at the same time, and in the same

house, the affections of two men, who were neither of them at liberty

to bestow them—and all this without the charm of youth! I am glad to

find Miss Vernon does not accompany her mother to Churchhill, as she

has not even manners to recommend her; and, according to Mr. Smith’s

account, is equally dull and proud. Where pride and stupidity unite

there can be no dissimulation worthy notice, and Miss Vernon shall be

consigned to unrelenting contempt; but by all that I can gather Lady

Susan possesses a degree of captivating deceit which it must be

pleasing to witness and detect. I shall be with you very soon, and am

ever,

Your affectionate brother,

R. DE COURCY.

Lady Susan Vernon to Mrs. Johnson.

Churchhill.

I received your note, my dear Alicia, just before I left town, and

rejoice to be assured that Mr. Johnson suspected nothing of your

engagement the evening before. It is undoubtedly better to deceive him

entirely, and since he will be stubborn he must be tricked. I arrived

here in safety, and have no reason to complain of my reception from Mr.

Vernon; but I confess myself not equally satisfied with the behaviour

of his lady. She is perfectly well-bred, indeed, and has the air of a

woman of fashion, but her manners are not such as can persuade me of

her being prepossessed in my favour. I wanted her to be delighted at

seeing me. I was as amiable as possible on the occasion, but all in

vain. She does not like me. To be sure, when we consider that I did

take some pains to prevent my brother-in-law’s marrying her, this want

of cordiality is not very surprizing, and yet it shows an illiberal and

vindictive spirit to resent a project which influenced me six years

ago, and which never succeeded at last.

I am sometimes disposed to repent that I did not let Charles buy Vernon

Castle, when we were obliged to sell it; but it was a trying

circumstance, especially as the sale took place exactly at the time of

his marriage; and everybody ought to respect the delicacy of those

feelings which could not endure that my husband’s dignity should be

lessened by his younger brother’s having possession of the family

estate. Could matters have been so arranged as to prevent the necessity

of our leaving the castle, could we have lived with Charles and kept

him single, I should have been very far from persuading my husband to

dispose of it elsewhere; but Charles was on the point of marrying Miss

De Courcy, and the event has justified me. Here are children in

abundance, and what benefit could have accrued to me from his

purchasing Vernon? My having prevented it may perhaps have given his

wife an unfavourable impression, but where there is a disposition to

dislike, a motive will never be wanting; and as to money matters it has

not withheld him from being very useful to me. I really have a regard

for him, he is so easily imposed upon! The house is a good one, the

furniture fashionable, and everything announces plenty and elegance.

Charles is very rich I am sure; when a man has once got his name in a

banking-house he rolls in money; but they do not know what to do with

it, keep very little company, and never go to London but on business.

We shall be as stupid as possible. I mean to win my sister-in-law’s

heart through the children; I know all their names already, and am

going to attach myself with the greatest sensibility to one in

particular, a young Frederic, whom I take on my lap and sigh over for

his dear uncle’s sake.

Poor Mainwaring! I need not tell you how much I miss him, how

perpetually he is in my thoughts. I found a dismal letter from him on

my arrival here, full of complaints of his wife and sister, and

lamentations on the cruelty of his fate. I passed off the letter as his

wife’s, to the Vernons, and when I write to him it must be under cover

to you.

Ever yours,

S. VERNON.

Mrs. Vernon to Mr. De Courcy.

Churchhill.

Well, my dear Reginald, I have seen this dangerous creature, and must

give you some description of her, though I hope you will soon be able

to form your own judgment. She is really excessively pretty; however

you may choose to question the allurements of a lady no longer young, I

must, for my own part, declare that I have seldom seen so lovely a

woman as Lady Susan. She is delicately fair, with fine grey eyes and

dark eyelashes; and from her appearance one would not suppose her more

than five and twenty, though she must in fact be ten years older. I was

certainly not disposed to admire her, though always hearing she was

beautiful; but I cannot help feeling that she possesses an uncommon

union of symmetry, brilliancy, and grace. Her address to me was so

gentle, frank, and even affectionate, that, if I had not known how much

she has always disliked me for marrying Mr. Vernon, and that we had

never met before, I should have imagined her an attached friend. One is

apt, I believe, to connect assurance of manner with coquetry, and to

expect that an impudent address will naturally attend an impudent mind;

at least I was myself prepared for an improper degree of confidence in

Lady Susan; but her countenance is absolutely sweet, and her voice and

manner winningly mild. I am sorry it is so, for what is this but

deceit? Unfortunately, one knows her too well. She is clever and

agreeable, has all that knowledge of the world which makes conversation

easy, and talks very well, with a happy command of language, which is

too often used, I believe, to make black appear white. She has already

almost persuaded me of her being warmly attached to her daughter,

though I have been so long convinced to the contrary. She speaks of her

with so much tenderness and anxiety, lamenting so bitterly the neglect

of her education, which she represents however as wholly unavoidable,

that I am forced to recollect how many successive springs her ladyship

spent in town, while her daughter was left in Staffordshire to the care

of servants, or a governess very little better, to prevent my believing

what she says.

If her manners have so great an influence on my resentful heart, you

may judge how much more strongly they operate on Mr. Vernon’s generous

temper. I wish I could be as well satisfied as he is, that it was

really her choice to leave Langford for Churchhill; and if she had not

stayed there for months before she discovered that her friend’s manner

of living did not suit her situation or feelings, I might have believed

that concern for the loss of such a husband as Mr. Vernon, to whom her

own behaviour was far from unexceptionable, might for a time make her

wish for retirement. But I cannot forget the length of her visit to the

Mainwarings, and when I reflect on the different mode of life which she

led with them from that to which she must now submit, I can only

suppose that the wish of establishing her reputation by following

though late the path of propriety, occasioned her removal from a family

where she must in reality have been particularly happy. Your friend Mr.

Smith’s story, however, cannot be quite correct, as she corresponds

regularly with Mrs. Mainwaring. At any rate it must be exaggerated. It

is scarcely possible that two men should be so grossly deceived by her

at once.

Yours, &c.,

CATHERINE VERNON

VII

Lady Susan Vernon to Mrs. Johnson.

Churchhill.

My dear Alicia,—You are very good in taking notice of Frederica, and I

am grateful for it as a mark of your friendship; but as I cannot have

any doubt of the warmth of your affection, I am far from exacting so

heavy a sacrifice. She is a stupid girl, and has nothing to recommend

her. I would not, therefore, on my account, have you encumber one

moment of your precious time by sending for her to Edward Street,

especially as every visit is so much deducted from the grand affair of

education, which I really wish to have attended to while she remains at

Miss Summers’s. I want her to play and sing with some portion of taste

and a good deal of assurance, as she has my hand and arm and a

tolerable voice. I was so much indulged in my infant years that I was

never obliged to attend to anything, and consequently am without the

accomplishments which are now necessary to finish a pretty woman. Not

that I am an advocate for the prevailing fashion of acquiring a perfect

knowledge of all languages, arts, and sciences. It is throwing time

away to be mistress of French, Italian, and German: music, singing, and

drawing, &c., will gain a woman some applause, but will not add one

lover to her list—grace and manner, after all, are of the greatest

importance. I do not mean, therefore, that Frederica’s acquirements

should be more than superficial, and I flatter myself that she will not

remain long enough at school to understand anything thoroughly. I hope

to see her the wife of Sir James within a twelvemonth. You know on what

I ground my hope, and it is certainly a good foundation, for school

must be very humiliating to a girl of Frederica’s age. And, by-the-by,

you had better not invite her any more on that account, as I wish her

to find her situation as unpleasant as possible. I am sure of Sir James

at any time, and could make him renew his application by a line. I

shall trouble you meanwhile to prevent his forming any other attachment

when he comes to town. Ask him to your house occasionally, and talk to

him of Frederica, that he may not forget her. Upon the whole, I commend

my own conduct in this affair extremely, and regard it as a very happy

instance of circumspection and tenderness. Some mothers would have

insisted on their daughter’s accepting so good an offer on the first

overture; but I could not reconcile it to myself to force Frederica

into a marriage from which her heart revolted, and instead of adopting

so harsh a measure merely propose to make it her own choice, by

rendering her thoroughly uncomfortable till she does accept him—but

enough of this tiresome girl. You may well wonder how I contrive to

pass my time here, and for the first week it was insufferably dull.

Now, however, we begin to mend, our party is enlarged by Mrs. Vernon’s

brother, a handsome young man, who promises me some amusement. There is

something about him which rather interests me, a sort of sauciness and

familiarity which I shall teach him to correct. He is lively, and seems

clever, and when I have inspired him with greater respect for me than

his sister’s kind offices have implanted, he may be an agreeable flirt.

There is exquisite pleasure in subduing an insolent spirit, in making a

person predetermined to dislike acknowledge one’s superiority. I have

disconcerted him already by my calm reserve, and it shall be my

endeavour to humble the pride of these self important De Courcys still

lower, to convince Mrs. Vernon that her sisterly cautions have been

bestowed in vain, and to persuade Reginald that she has scandalously

belied me. This project will serve at least to amuse me, and prevent my

feeling so acutely this dreadful separation from you and all whom I

love.

Yours ever,

S. VERNON.

VIII

Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy.

Churchhill.

My dear Mother,—You must not expect Reginald back again for some time.

He desires me to tell you that the present open weather induces him to

accept Mr. Vernon’s invitation to prolong his stay in Sussex, that they

may have some hunting together. He means to send for his horses

immediately, and it is impossible to say when you may see him in Kent.

I will not disguise my sentiments on this change from you, my dear

mother, though I think you had better not communicate them to my

father, whose excessive anxiety about Reginald would subject him to an

alarm which might seriously affect his health and spirits. Lady Susan

has certainly contrived, in the space of a fortnight, to make my

brother like her. In short, I am persuaded that his continuing here

beyond the time originally fixed for his return is occasioned as much

by a degree of fascination towards her, as by the wish of hunting with

Mr. Vernon, and of course I cannot receive that pleasure from the

length of his visit which my brother’s company would otherwise give me.

I am, indeed, provoked at the artifice of this unprincipled woman; what

stronger proof of her dangerous abilities can be given than this

perversion of Reginald’s judgment, which when he entered the house was

so decidedly against her! In his last letter he actually gave me some

particulars of her behaviour at Langford, such as he received from a

gentleman who knew her perfectly well, which, if true, must raise

abhorrence against her, and which Reginald himself was entirely

disposed to credit. His opinion of her, I am sure, was as low as of any

woman in England; and when he first came it was evident that he

considered her as one entitled neither to delicacy nor respect, and

that he felt she would be delighted with the attentions of any man

inclined to flirt with her. Her behaviour, I confess, has been

calculated to do away with such an idea; I have not detected the

smallest impropriety in it—nothing of vanity, of pretension, of levity;

and she is altogether so attractive that I should not wonder at his

being delighted with her, had he known nothing of her previous to this

personal acquaintance; but, against reason, against conviction, to be

so well pleased with her, as I am sure he is, does really astonish me.

His admiration was at first very strong, but no more than was natural,

and I did not wonder at his being much struck by the gentleness and

delicacy of her manners; but when he has mentioned her of late it has

been in terms of more extraordinary praise; and yesterday he actually

said that he could not be surprised at any effect produced on the heart

of man by such loveliness and such abilities; and when I lamented, in

reply, the badness of her disposition, he observed that whatever might

have been her errors they were to be imputed to her neglected education

and early marriage, and that she was altogether a wonderful woman. This

tendency to excuse her conduct or to forget it, in the warmth of

admiration, vexes me; and if I did not know that Reginald is too much

at home at Churchhill to need an invitation for lengthening his visit,

I should regret Mr. Vernon’s giving him any. Lady Susan’s intentions

are of course those of absolute coquetry, or a desire of universal

admiration; I cannot for a moment imagine that she has anything more

serious in view; but it mortifies me to see a young man of Reginald’s

sense duped by her at all.

I am, &c.,

CATHERINE VERNON.

Mrs. Johnson to Lady S. Vernon.

Edward Street.

My dearest Friend,—I congratulate you on Mr. De Courcy’s arrival, and I

advise you by all means to marry him; his father’s estate is, we know,

considerable, and I believe certainly entailed. Sir Reginald is very

infirm, and not likely to stand in your way long. I hear the young man

well spoken of; and though no one can really deserve you, my dearest

Susan, Mr. De Courcy may be worth having. Mainwaring will storm of

course, but you easily pacify him; besides, the most scrupulous point

of honour could not require you to wait for his emancipation. I have

seen Sir James; he came to town for a few days last week, and called

several times in Edward Street. I talked to him about you and your

daughter, and he is so far from having forgotten you, that I am sure he

would marry either of you with pleasure. I gave him hopes of

Frederica’s relenting, and told him a great deal of her improvements. I

scolded him for making love to Maria Mainwaring; he protested that he

had been only in joke, and we both laughed heartily at her

disappointment; and, in short, were very agreeable. He is as silly as

ever.

Yours faithfully,

ALICIA.

Lady Susan Vernon to Mrs. Johnson.

Churchhill.

I am much obliged to you, my dear Friend, for your advice respecting

Mr. De Courcy, which I know was given with the full conviction of its

expediency, though I am not quite determined on following it. I cannot

easily resolve on anything so serious as marriage; especially as I am

not at present in want of money, and might perhaps, till the old

gentleman’s death, be very little benefited by the match. It is true

that I am vain enough to believe it within my reach. I have made him

sensible of my power, and can now enjoy the pleasure of triumphing over

a mind prepared to dislike me, and prejudiced against all my past

actions. His sister, too, is, I hope, convinced how little the

ungenerous representations of anyone to the disadvantage of another

will avail when opposed by the immediate influence of intellect and

manner. I see plainly that she is uneasy at my progress in the good

opinion of her brother, and conclude that nothing will be wanting on

her part to counteract me; but having once made him doubt the justice

of her opinion of me, I think I may defy her. It has been delightful to

me to watch his advances towards intimacy, especially to observe his

altered manner in consequence of my repressing by the cool dignity of

my deportment his insolent approach to direct familiarity. My conduct

has been equally guarded from the first, and I never behaved less like

a coquette in the whole course of my life, though perhaps my desire of

dominion was never more decided. I have subdued him entirely by

sentiment and serious conversation, and made him, I may venture to say,

at least half in love with me, without the semblance of the most

commonplace flirtation. Mrs. Vernon’s consciousness of deserving every

sort of revenge that it can be in my power to inflict for her

ill-offices could alone enable her to perceive that I am actuated by

any design in behaviour so gentle and unpretending. Let her think and

act as she chooses, however. I have never yet found that the advice of

a sister could prevent a young man’s being in love if he chose. We are

advancing now to some kind of confidence, and in short are likely to be

engaged in a sort of platonic friendship. On my side you may be sure of

its never being more, for if I were not attached to another person as

much as I can be to anyone, I should make a point of not bestowing my

affection on a man who had dared to think so meanly of me. Reginald has

a good figure and is not unworthy the praise you have heard given him,

but is still greatly inferior to our friend at Langford. He is less

polished, less insinuating than Mainwaring, and is comparatively

deficient in the power of saying those delightful things which put one

in good humour with oneself and all the world. He is quite agreeable

enough, however, to afford me amusement, and to make many of those

hours pass very pleasantly which would otherwise be spent in

endeavouring to overcome my sister-in-law’s reserve, and listening to

the insipid talk of her husband. Your account of Sir James is most

satisfactory, and I mean to give Miss Frederica a hint of my intentions

very soon.

Yours, &c.,

S. VERNON.

Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy.

Churchhill

I really grow quite uneasy, my dearest mother, about Reginald, from

witnessing the very rapid increase of Lady Susan’s influence. They are

now on terms of the most particular friendship, frequently engaged in

long conversations together; and she has contrived by the most artful

coquetry to subdue his judgment to her own purposes. It is impossible

to see the intimacy between them so very soon established without some

alarm, though I can hardly suppose that Lady Susan’s plans extend to

marriage. I wish you could get Reginald home again on any plausible

pretence; he is not at all disposed to leave us, and I have given him

as many hints of my father’s precarious state of health as common

decency will allow me to do in my own house. Her power over him must

now be boundless, as she has entirely effaced all his former

ill-opinion, and persuaded him not merely to forget but to justify her

conduct. Mr. Smith’s account of her proceedings at Langford, where he

accused her of having made Mr. Mainwaring and a young man engaged to

Miss Mainwaring distractedly in love with her, which Reginald firmly

believed when he came here, is now, he is persuaded, only a scandalous

invention. He has told me so with a warmth of manner which spoke his

regret at having believed the contrary himself. How sincerely do I

grieve that she ever entered this house! I always looked forward to her

coming with uneasiness; but very far was it from originating in anxiety

for Reginald. I expected a most disagreeable companion for myself, but

could not imagine that my brother would be in the smallest danger of

being captivated by a woman with whose principles he was so well

acquainted, and whose character he so heartily despised. If you can get

him away it will be a good thing.

Yours, &c.,

CATHERINE VERNON.

XII

Sir Reginald De Courcy to his Son.

Parklands.

I know that young men in general do not admit of any enquiry even from

their nearest relations into affairs of the heart, but I hope, my dear

Reginald, that you will be superior to such as allow nothing for a

father’s anxiety, and think themselves privileged to refuse him their

confidence and slight his advice. You must be sensible that as an only

son, and the representative of an ancient family, your conduct in life

is most interesting to your connections; and in the very important

concern of marriage especially, there is everything at stake—your own

happiness, that of your parents, and the credit of your name. I do not

suppose that you would deliberately form an absolute engagement of that

nature without acquainting your mother and myself, or at least, without

being convinced that we should approve of your choice; but I cannot

help fearing that you may be drawn in, by the lady who has lately

attached you, to a marriage which the whole of your family, far and

near, must highly reprobate. Lady Susan’s age is itself a material

objection, but her want of character is one so much more serious, that

the difference of even twelve years becomes in comparison of small

amount. Were you not blinded by a sort of fascination, it would be

ridiculous in me to repeat the instances of great misconduct on her

side so very generally known.

Her neglect of her husband, her encouragement of other men, her

extravagance and dissipation, were so gross and notorious that no one

could be ignorant of them at the time, nor can now have forgotten them.

To our family she has always been represented in softened colours by

the benevolence of Mr. Charles Vernon, and yet, in spite of his

generous endeavours to excuse her, we know that she did, from the most

selfish motives, take all possible pains to prevent his marriage with

Catherine.

My years and increasing infirmities make me very desirous of seeing you

settled in the world. To the fortune of a wife, the goodness of my own

will make me indifferent, but her family and character must be equally

unexceptionable. When your choice is fixed so that no objection can be

made to it, then I can promise you a ready and cheerful consent; but it

is my duty to oppose a match which deep art only could render possible,

and must in the end make wretched. It is possible her behaviour may

arise only from vanity, or the wish of gaining the admiration of a man

whom she must imagine to be particularly prejudiced against her; but it

is more likely that she should aim at something further. She is poor,

and may naturally seek an alliance which must be advantageous to

herself; you know your own rights, and that it is out of my power to

prevent your inheriting the family estate. My ability of distressing

you during my life would be a species of revenge to which I could

hardly stoop under any circumstances.

I honestly tell you my sentiments and intentions: I do not wish to work

on your fears, but on your sense and affection. It would destroy every

comfort of my life to know that you were married to Lady Susan Vernon;

it would be the death of that honest pride with which I have hitherto

considered my son; I should blush to see him, to hear of him, to think

of him. I may perhaps do no good but that of relieving my own mind by

this letter, but I felt it my duty to tell you that your partiality for

Lady Susan is no secret to your friends, and to warn you against her. I

should be glad to hear your reasons for disbelieving Mr. Smith’s

intelligence; you had no doubt of its authenticity a month ago. If you

can give me your assurance of having no design beyond enjoying the

conversation of a clever woman for a short period, and of yielding

admiration only to her beauty and abilities, without being blinded by

them to her faults, you will restore me to happiness; but, if you

cannot do this, explain to me, at least, what has occasioned so great

an alteration in your opinion of her.

I am, &c., &c,

REGINALD DE COURCY

XIII

Lady De Courcy to Mrs. Vernon.

Parklands.

My dear Catherine,—Unluckily I was confined to my room when your last

letter came, by a cold which affected my eyes so much as to prevent my

reading it myself, so I could not refuse your father when he offered to

read it to me, by which means he became acquainted, to my great

vexation, with all your fears about your brother. I had intended to

write to Reginald myself as soon as my eyes would let me, to point out,

as well as I could, the danger of an intimate acquaintance, with so

artful a woman as Lady Susan, to a young man of his age, and high

expectations. I meant, moreover, to have reminded him of our being

quite alone now, and very much in need of him to keep up our spirits

these long winter evenings. Whether it would have done any good can

never be settled now, but I am excessively vexed that Sir Reginald

should know anything of a matter which we foresaw would make him so

uneasy. He caught all your fears the moment he had read your letter,

and I am sure he has not had the business out of his head since. He

wrote by the same post to Reginald a long letter full of it all, and

particularly asking an explanation of what he may have heard from Lady

Susan to contradict the late shocking reports. His answer came this

morning, which I shall enclose to you, as I think you will like to see

it. I wish it was more satisfactory; but it seems written with such a

determination to think well of Lady Susan, that his assurances as to

marriage, &c., do not set my heart at ease. I say all I can, however,

to satisfy your father, and he is certainly less uneasy since

Reginald’s letter. How provoking it is, my dear Catherine, that this

unwelcome guest of yours should not only prevent our meeting this

Christmas, but be the occasion of so much vexation and trouble! Kiss

the dear children for me.

Your affectionate mother,

C. DE COURCY.

XIV

Mr. De Courcy to Sir Reginald.

Churchhill.

My dear Sir,—I have this moment received your letter, which has given

me more astonishment than I ever felt before. I am to thank my sister,

I suppose, for having represented me in such a light as to injure me in

your opinion, and give you all this alarm. I know not why she should

choose to make herself and her family uneasy by apprehending an event

which no one but herself, I can affirm, would ever have thought

possible. To impute such a design to Lady Susan would be taking from

her every claim to that excellent understanding which her bitterest

enemies have never denied her; and equally low must sink my pretensions

to common sense if I am suspected of matrimonial views in my behaviour

to her. Our difference of age must be an insuperable objection, and I

entreat you, my dear father, to quiet your mind, and no longer harbour

a suspicion which cannot be more injurious to your own peace than to

our understandings. I can have no other view in remaining with Lady

Susan, than to enjoy for a short time (as you have yourself expressed

it) the conversation of a woman of high intellectual powers. If Mrs.

Vernon would allow something to my affection for herself and her

husband in the length of my visit, she would do more justice to us all;

but my sister is unhappily prejudiced beyond the hope of conviction

against Lady Susan. From an attachment to her husband, which in itself

does honour to both, she cannot forgive the endeavours at preventing

their union, which have been attributed to selfishness in Lady Susan;

but in this case, as well as in many others, the world has most grossly

injured that lady, by supposing the worst where the motives of her

conduct have been doubtful. Lady Susan had heard something so

materially to the disadvantage of my sister as to persuade her that the

happiness of Mr. Vernon, to whom she was always much attached, would be

wholly destroyed by the marriage. And this circumstance, while it

explains the true motives of Lady Susan’s conduct, and removes all the

blame which has been so lavished on her, may also convince us how

little the general report of anyone ought to be credited; since no

character, however upright, can escape the malevolence of slander. If

my sister, in the security of retirement, with as little opportunity as

inclination to do evil, could not avoid censure, we must not rashly

condemn those who, living in the world and surrounded with temptations,

should be accused of errors which they are known to have the power of

committing.

I blame myself severely for having so easily believed the slanderous

tales invented by Charles Smith to the prejudice of Lady Susan, as I am

now convinced how greatly they have traduced her. As to Mrs.

Mainwaring’s jealousy it was totally his own invention, and his account

of her attaching Miss Mainwaring’s lover was scarcely better founded.

Sir James Martin had been drawn in by that young lady to pay her some

attention; and as he is a man of fortune, it was easy to see her

views extended to marriage. It is well known that Miss M. is absolutely

on the catch for a husband, and no one therefore can pity her for

losing, by the superior attractions of another woman, the chance of

being able to make a worthy man completely wretched. Lady Susan was far

from intending such a conquest, and on finding how warmly Miss

Mainwaring resented her lover’s defection, determined, in spite of Mr.

and Mrs. Mainwaring’s most urgent entreaties, to leave the family. I

have reason to imagine she did receive serious proposals from Sir

James, but her removing from Langford immediately on the discovery of

his attachment, must acquit her on that article with any mind of common

candour. You will, I am sure, my dear Sir, feel the truth of this, and

will hereby learn to do justice to the character of a very injured

woman. I know that Lady Susan in coming to Churchhill was governed only

by the most honourable and amiable intentions; her prudence and economy

are exemplary, her regard for Mr. Vernon equal even to his deserts;

and her wish of obtaining my sister’s good opinion merits a better

return than it has received. As a mother she is unexceptionable; her

solid affection for her child is shown by placing her in hands where

her education will be properly attended to; but because she has not the

blind and weak partiality of most mothers, she is accused of wanting

maternal tenderness. Every person of sense, however, will know how to

value and commend her well-directed affection, and will join me in

wishing that Frederica Vernon may prove more worthy than she has yet

done of her mother’s tender care. I have now, my dear father, written

my real sentiments of Lady Susan; you will know from this letter how

highly I admire her abilities, and esteem her character; but if you are

not equally convinced by my full and solemn assurance that your fears

have been most idly created, you will deeply mortify and distress me.

I am, &c., &c.,

R. DE COURCY.

Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy.

Churchhill

My dear Mother,—I return you Reginald’s letter, and rejoice with all my

heart that my father is made easy by it: tell him so, with my

congratulations; but, between ourselves, I must own it has only

convinced me of my brother’s having no present intention of

marrying Lady Susan, not that he is in no danger of doing so three

months hence. He gives a very plausible account of her behaviour at

Langford; I wish it may be true, but his intelligence must come from

herself, and I am less disposed to believe it than to lament the degree

of intimacy subsisting between them, implied by the discussion of such

a subject. I am sorry to have incurred his displeasure, but can expect

nothing better while he is so very eager in Lady Susan’s justification.

He is very severe against me indeed, and yet I hope I have not been

hasty in my judgment of her. Poor woman! though I have reasons enough

for my dislike, I cannot help pitying her at present, as she is in real

distress, and with too much cause. She had this morning a letter from

the lady with whom she has placed her daughter, to request that Miss

Vernon might be immediately removed, as she had been detected in an

attempt to run away. Why, or whither she intended to go, does not

appear; but, as her situation seems to have been unexceptionable, it is

a sad thing, and of course highly distressing to Lady Susan. Frederica

must be as much as sixteen, and ought to know better; but from what her

mother insinuates, I am afraid she is a perverse girl. She has been

sadly neglected, however, and her mother ought to remember it. Mr.

Vernon set off for London as soon as she had determined what should be

done. He is, if possible, to prevail on Miss Summers to let Frederica

continue with her; and if he cannot succeed, to bring her to Churchhill

for the present, till some other situation can be found for her. Her

ladyship is comforting herself meanwhile by strolling along the

shrubbery with Reginald, calling forth all his tender feelings, I

suppose, on this distressing occasion. She has been talking a great

deal about it to me. She talks vastly well; I am afraid of being

ungenerous, or I should say, too well to feel so very deeply; but I

will not look for her faults; she may be Reginald’s wife! Heaven forbid

it! but why should I be quicker-sighted than anyone else? Mr. Vernon

declares that he never saw deeper distress than hers, on the receipt of

the letter; and is his judgment inferior to mine? She was very

unwilling that Frederica should be allowed to come to Churchhill, and

justly enough, as it seems a sort of reward to behaviour deserving very

differently; but it was impossible to take her anywhere else, and she

is not to remain here long. “It will be absolutely necessary,” said

she, “as you, my dear sister, must be sensible, to treat my daughter

with some severity while she is here; a most painful necessity, but I

will endeavour to submit to it. I am afraid I have often been too

indulgent, but my poor Frederica’s temper could never bear opposition

well: you must support and encourage me; you must urge the necessity of

reproof if you see me too lenient.” All this sounds very reasonable.

Reginald is so incensed against the poor silly girl! Surely it is not

to Lady Susan’s credit that he should be so bitter against her

daughter; his idea of her must be drawn from the mother’s description.

Well, whatever may be his fate, we have the comfort of knowing that we

have done our utmost to save him. We must commit the event to a higher

power.

Yours ever, &c.,

CATHERINE VERNON.

XVI

Lady Susan to Mrs. Johnson.

Churchhill.

Never, my dearest Alicia, was I so provoked in my life as by a letter

this morning from Miss Summers. That horrid girl of mine has been

trying to run away. I had not a notion of her being such a little devil

before, she seemed to have all the Vernon milkiness; but on receiving

the letter in which I declared my intention about Sir James, she

actually attempted to elope; at least, I cannot otherwise account for

her doing it. She meant, I suppose, to go to the Clarkes in

Staffordshire, for she has no other acquaintances. But she shall be

punished, she shall have him. I have sent Charles to town to make

matters up if he can, for I do not by any means want her here. If Miss

Summers will not keep her, you must find me out another school, unless

we can get her married immediately. Miss S. writes word that she could

not get the young lady to assign any cause for her extraordinary

conduct, which confirms me in my own previous explanation of it.

Frederica is too shy, I think, and too much in awe of me to tell tales,

but if the mildness of her uncle should get anything out of her, I am

not afraid. I trust I shall be able to make my story as good as hers.

If I am vain of anything, it is of my eloquence. Consideration and

esteem as surely follow command of language as admiration waits on

beauty, and here I have opportunity enough for the exercise of my

talent, as the chief of my time is spent in conversation.

Reginald is never easy unless we are by ourselves, and when the weather

is tolerable, we pace the shrubbery for hours together. I like him on

the whole very well; he is clever and has a good deal to say, but he is

sometimes impertinent and troublesome. There is a sort of ridiculous

delicacy about him which requires the fullest explanation of whatever

he may have heard to my disadvantage, and is never satisfied till he

thinks he has ascertained the beginning and end of everything. This is

one sort of love, but I confess it does not particularly recommend

itself to me. I infinitely prefer the tender and liberal spirit of

Mainwaring, which, impressed with the deepest conviction of my merit,

is satisfied that whatever I do must be right; and look with a degree

of contempt on the inquisitive and doubtful fancies of that heart which

seems always debating on the reasonableness of its emotions. Mainwaring

is indeed, beyond all compare, superior to Reginald—superior in

everything but the power of being with me! Poor fellow! he is much

distracted by jealousy, which I am not sorry for, as I know no better

support of love. He has been teazing me to allow of his coming into

this country, and lodging somewhere near incog.; but I forbade

everything of the kind. Those women are inexcusable who forget what is

due to themselves, and the opinion of the world.

Yours ever,

S. VERNON.

XVII

Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy.

Churchhill.

My dear Mother,—Mr. Vernon returned on Thursday night, bringing his

niece with him. Lady Susan had received a line from him by that day’s

post, informing her that Miss Summers had absolutely refused to allow

of Miss Vernon’s continuance in her academy; we were therefore prepared

for her arrival, and expected them impatiently the whole evening. They

came while we were at tea, and I never saw any creature look so

frightened as Frederica when she entered the room. Lady Susan, who had

been shedding tears before, and showing great agitation at the idea of

the meeting, received her with perfect self-command, and without

betraying the least tenderness of spirit. She hardly spoke to her, and

on Frederica’s bursting into tears as soon as we were seated, took her

out of the room, and did not return for some time. When she did, her

eyes looked very red and she was as much agitated as before. We saw no

more of her daughter. Poor Reginald was beyond measure concerned to see

his fair friend in such distress, and watched her with so much tender

solicitude, that I, who occasionally caught her observing his

countenance with exultation, was quite out of patience. This pathetic

representation lasted the whole evening, and so ostentatious and artful

a display has entirely convinced me that she did in fact feel nothing.

I am more angry with her than ever since I have seen her daughter; the

poor girl looks so unhappy that my heart aches for her. Lady Susan is

surely too severe, for Frederica does not seem to have the sort of

temper to make severity necessary. She looks perfectly timid, dejected,

and penitent. She is very pretty, though not so handsome as her mother,

nor at all like her. Her complexion is delicate, but neither so fair

nor so blooming as Lady Susan’s, and she has quite the Vernon cast of

countenance, the oval face and mild dark eyes, and there is peculiar

sweetness in her look when she speaks either to her uncle or me, for as

we behave kindly to her we have of course engaged her gratitude.

Her mother has insinuated that her temper is intractable, but I never

saw a face less indicative of any evil disposition than hers; and from

what I can see of the behaviour of each to the other, the invariable

severity of Lady Susan and the silent dejection of Frederica, I am led

to believe as heretofore that the former has no real love for her

daughter, and has never done her justice or treated her affectionately.

I have not been able to have any conversation with my niece; she is

shy, and I think I can see that some pains are taken to prevent her

being much with me. Nothing satisfactory transpires as to her reason

for running away. Her kind-hearted uncle, you may be sure, was too

fearful of distressing her to ask many questions as they travelled. I

wish it had been possible for me to fetch her instead of him. I think I

should have discovered the truth in the course of a thirty-mile

journey. The small pianoforte has been removed within these few days,

at Lady Susan’s request, into her dressing-room, and Frederica spends

great part of the day there, practising as it is called; but I seldom

hear any noise when I pass that way; what she does with herself there I

do not know. There are plenty of books, but it is not every girl who

has been running wild the first fifteen years of her life, that can or

will read. Poor creature! the prospect from her window is not very

instructive, for that room overlooks the lawn, you know, with the

shrubbery on one side, where she may see her mother walking for an hour

together in earnest conversation with Reginald. A girl of Frederica’s

age must be childish indeed, if such things do not strike her. Is it

not inexcusable to give such an example to a daughter? Yet Reginald

still thinks Lady Susan the best of mothers, and still condemns

Frederica as a worthless girl! He is convinced that her attempt to run

away proceeded from no justifiable cause, and had no provocation. I am

sure I cannot say that it had, but while Miss Summers declares that

Miss Vernon showed no signs of obstinacy or perverseness during her

whole stay in Wigmore Street, till she was detected in this scheme, I

cannot so readily credit what Lady Susan has made him, and wants to

make me believe, that it was merely an impatience of restraint and a

desire of escaping from the tuition of masters which brought on the

plan of an elopement. O Reginald, how is your judgment enslaved! He

scarcely dares even allow her to be handsome, and when I speak of her

beauty, replies only that her eyes have no brilliancy! Sometimes he is

sure she is deficient in understanding, and at others that her temper

only is in fault. In short, when a person is always to deceive, it is

impossible to be consistent. Lady Susan finds it necessary that

Frederica should be to blame, and probably has sometimes judged it

expedient to accuse her of ill-nature and sometimes to lament her want

of sense. Reginald is only repeating after her ladyship.

I remain, &c., &c.,

CATHERINE VERNON.

XVIII

From the same to the same.

Churchhill.

My dear Mother,—I am very glad to find that my description of Frederica

Vernon has interested you, for I do believe her truly deserving of your

regard; and when I have communicated a notion which has recently struck

me, your kind impressions in her favour will, I am sure, be heightened.

I cannot help fancying that she is growing partial to my brother. I so

very often see her eyes fixed on his face with a remarkable expression

of pensive admiration. He is certainly very handsome; and yet more,

there is an openness in his manner that must be highly prepossessing,

and I am sure she feels it so. Thoughtful and pensive in general, her

countenance always brightens into a smile when Reginald says anything

amusing; and, let the subject be ever so serious that he may be

conversing on, I am much mistaken if a syllable of his uttering escapes

her. I want to make him sensible of all this, for we know the power of

gratitude on such a heart as his; and could Frederica’s artless

affection detach him from her mother, we might bless the day which

brought her to Churchhill. I think, my dear mother, you would not

disapprove of her as a daughter. She is extremely young, to be sure,

has had a wretched education, and a dreadful example of levity in her

mother; but yet I can pronounce her disposition to be excellent, and

her natural abilities very good. Though totally without

accomplishments, she is by no means so ignorant as one might expect to

find her, being fond of books and spending the chief of her time in

reading. Her mother leaves her more to herself than she did, and I have

her with me as much as possible, and have taken great pains to overcome

her timidity. We are very good friends, and though she never opens her

lips before her mother, she talks enough when alone with me to make it

clear that, if properly treated by Lady Susan, she would always appear

to much greater advantage. There cannot be a more gentle, affectionate

heart; or more obliging manners, when acting without restraint; and her

little cousins are all very fond of her.

Your affectionate daughter,

C. VERNON

XIX

Lady Susan to Mrs. Johnson.

Churchhill.

You will be eager, I know, to hear something further of Frederica, and

perhaps may think me negligent for not writing before. She arrived with

her uncle last Thursday fortnight, when, of course, I lost no time in

demanding the cause of her behaviour; and soon found myself to have

been perfectly right in attributing it to my own letter. The prospect

of it frightened her so thoroughly, that, with a mixture of true

girlish perverseness and folly, she resolved on getting out of the

house and proceeding directly by the stage to her friends, the Clarkes;

and had really got as far as the length of two streets in her journey

when she was fortunately missed, pursued, and overtaken. Such was the

first distinguished exploit of Miss Frederica Vernon; and, if we

consider that it was achieved at the tender age of sixteen, we shall

have room for the most flattering prognostics of her future renown. I

am excessively provoked, however, at the parade of propriety which

prevented Miss Summers from keeping the girl; and it seems so

extraordinary a piece of nicety, considering my daughter’s family

connections, that I can only suppose the lady to be governed by the

fear of never getting her money. Be that as it may, however, Frederica

is returned on my hands; and, having nothing else to employ her, is

busy in pursuing the plan of romance begun at Langford. She is actually

falling in love with Reginald De Courcy! To disobey her mother by

refusing an unexceptionable offer is not enough; her affections must

also be given without her mother’s approbation. I never saw a girl of

her age bid fairer to be the sport of mankind. Her feelings are

tolerably acute, and she is so charmingly artless in their display as

to afford the most reasonable hope of her being ridiculous, and

despised by every man who sees her.

Artlessness will never do in love matters; and that girl is born a

simpleton who has it either by nature or affectation. I am not yet

certain that Reginald sees what she is about, nor is it of much

consequence. She is now an object of indifference to him, and she would

be one of contempt were he to understand her emotions. Her beauty is

much admired by the Vernons, but it has no effect on him. She is in

high favour with her aunt altogether, because she is so little like

myself, of course. She is exactly the companion for Mrs. Vernon, who

dearly loves to be firm, and to have all the sense and all the wit of

the conversation to herself: Frederica will never eclipse her. When she

first came I was at some pains to prevent her seeing much of her aunt;

but I have relaxed, as I believe I may depend on her observing the

rules I have laid down for their discourse. But do not imagine that

with all this lenity I have for a moment given up my plan of her

marriage. No; I am unalterably fixed on this point, though I have not

yet quite decided on the manner of bringing it about. I should not

chuse to have the business brought on here, and canvassed by the wise

heads of Mr. and Mrs. Vernon; and I cannot just now afford to go to

town. Miss Frederica must therefore wait a little.

Yours ever,

S. VERNON.

Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy.

Churchhill

We have a very unexpected guest with us at present, my dear Mother: he

arrived yesterday. I heard a carriage at the door, as I was sitting

with my children while they dined; and supposing I should be wanted,

left the nursery soon afterwards, and was half-way downstairs, when

Frederica, as pale as ashes, came running up, and rushed by me into her

own room. I instantly followed, and asked her what was the matter.

“Oh!” said she, “he is come—Sir James is come, and what shall I do?”

This was no explanation; I begged her to tell me what she meant. At

that moment we were interrupted by a knock at the door: it was

Reginald, who came, by Lady Susan’s direction, to call Frederica down.

“It is Mr. De Courcy!” said she, colouring violently. “Mamma has sent

for me; I must go.” We all three went down together; and I saw my

brother examining the terrified face of Frederica with surprize. In the

breakfast-room we found Lady Susan, and a young man of gentlemanlike

appearance, whom she introduced by the name of Sir James Martin—the

very person, as you may remember, whom it was said she had been at

pains to detach from Miss Mainwaring; but the conquest, it seems, was

not designed for herself, or she has since transferred it to her

daughter; for Sir James is now desperately in love with Frederica, and

with full encouragement from mamma. The poor girl, however, I am sure,

dislikes him; and though his person and address are very well, he

appears, both to Mr. Vernon and me, a very weak young man. Frederica

looked so shy, so confused, when we entered the room, that I felt for

her exceedingly. Lady Susan behaved with great attention to her

visitor; and yet I thought I could perceive that she had no particular

pleasure in seeing him. Sir James talked a great deal, and made many

civil excuses to me for the liberty he had taken in coming to

Churchhill—mixing more frequent laughter with his discourse than the

subject required—said many things over and over again, and told Lady

Susan three times that he had seen Mrs. Johnson a few evenings before.

He now and then addressed Frederica, but more frequently her mother.

The poor girl sat all this time without opening her lips—her eyes cast

down, and her colour varying every instant; while Reginald observed all

that passed in perfect silence. At length Lady Susan, weary, I believe,

of her situation, proposed walking; and we left the two gentlemen

together, to put on our pelisses. As we went upstairs Lady Susan begged

permission to attend me for a few moments in my dressing-room, as she

was anxious to speak with me in private. I led her thither accordingly,

and as soon as the door was closed, she said: “I was never more

surprized in my life than by Sir James’s arrival, and the suddenness of

it requires some apology to you, my dear sister; though to me, as a

mother, it is highly flattering. He is so extremely attached to my

daughter that he could not exist longer without seeing her. Sir James

is a young man of an amiable disposition and excellent character; a

little too much of the rattle, perhaps, but a year or two will rectify

that: and he is in other respects so very eligible a match for

Frederica, that I have always observed his attachment with the greatest

pleasure; and am persuaded that you and my brother will give the

alliance your hearty approbation. I have never before mentioned the

likelihood of its taking place to anyone, because I thought that whilst

Frederica continued at school it had better not be known to exist; but

now, as I am convinced that Frederica is too old ever to submit to

school confinement, and have, therefore, begun to consider her union

with Sir James as not very distant, I had intended within a few days to

acquaint yourself and Mr. Vernon with the whole business. I am sure, my

dear sister, you will excuse my remaining silent so long, and agree

with me that such circumstances, while they continue from any cause in

suspense, cannot be too cautiously concealed. When you have the

happiness of bestowing your sweet little Catherine, some years hence,

on a man who in connection and character is alike unexceptionable, you

will know what I feel now; though, thank Heaven, you cannot have all my

reasons for rejoicing in such an event. Catherine will be amply

provided for, and not, like my Frederica, indebted to a fortunate

establishment for the comforts of life.” She concluded by demanding my

congratulations. I gave them somewhat awkwardly, I believe; for, in

fact, the sudden disclosure of so important a matter took from me the

power of speaking with any clearness. She thanked me, however, most

affectionately, for my kind concern in the welfare of herself and

daughter; and then said: “I am not apt to deal in professions, my dear

Mrs. Vernon, and I never had the convenient talent of affecting

sensations foreign to my heart; and therefore I trust you will believe

me when I declare, that much as I had heard in your praise before I

knew you, I had no idea that I should ever love you as I now do; and I

must further say that your friendship towards me is more particularly

gratifying because I have reason to believe that some attempts were

made to prejudice you against me. I only wish that they, whoever they

are, to whom I am indebted for such kind intentions, could see the

terms on which we now are together, and understand the real affection

we feel for each other; but I will not detain you any longer. God bless

you, for your goodness to me and my girl, and continue to you all your

present happiness.” What can one say of such a woman, my dear mother?

Such earnestness, such solemnity of expression! and yet I cannot help

suspecting the truth of everything she says. As for Reginald, I believe

he does not know what to make of the matter. When Sir James came, he

appeared all astonishment and perplexity; the folly of the young man

and the confusion of Frederica entirely engrossed him; and though a

little private discourse with Lady Susan has since had its effect, he

is still hurt, I am sure, at her allowing of such a man’s attentions to

her daughter. Sir James invited himself with great composure to remain

here a few days—hoped we would not think it odd, was aware of its being

very impertinent, but he took the liberty of a relation; and concluded

by wishing, with a laugh, that he might be really one very soon. Even

Lady Susan seemed a little disconcerted by this forwardness; in her

heart I am persuaded she sincerely wished him gone. But something must

be done for this poor girl, if her feelings are such as both I and her

uncle believe them to be. She must not be sacrificed to policy or

ambition, and she must not be left to suffer from the dread of it. The

girl whose heart can distinguish Reginald De Courcy, deserves, however

he may slight her, a better fate than to be Sir James Martin’s wife. As

soon as I can get her alone, I will discover the real truth; but she

seems to wish to avoid me. I hope this does not proceed from anything

wrong, and that I shall not find out I have thought too well of her.

Her behaviour to Sir James certainly speaks the greatest consciousness

and embarrassment, but I see nothing in it more like encouragement.

Adieu, my dear mother.

Yours, &c.,

C. VERNON.

XXI

Miss Vernon to Mr. De Courcy.

Sir,—I hope you will excuse this liberty; I am forced upon it by the

greatest distress, or I should be ashamed to trouble you. I am very

miserable about Sir James Martin, and have no other way in the world of

helping myself but by writing to you, for I am forbidden even speaking

to my uncle and aunt on the subject; and this being the case, I am

afraid my applying to you will appear no better than equivocation, and

as if I attended to the letter and not the spirit of mamma’s commands.

But if you do not take my part and persuade her to break it off, I

shall be half distracted, for I cannot bear him. No human being but

you could have any chance of prevailing with her. If you will,

therefore, have the unspeakably great kindness of taking my part with

her, and persuading her to send Sir James away, I shall be more obliged

to you than it is possible for me to express. I always disliked him

from the first: it is not a sudden fancy, I assure you, sir; I always

thought him silly and impertinent and disagreeable, and now he is grown

worse than ever. I would rather work for my bread than marry him. I do

not know how to apologize enough for this letter; I know it is taking

so great a liberty. I am aware how dreadfully angry it will make mamma,

but I remember the risk.

I am, Sir, your most humble servant,

F. S. V.

XXII

Lady Susan to Mrs. Johnson.

Churchhill.

This is insufferable! My dearest friend, I was never so enraged before,

and must relieve myself by writing to you, who I know will enter into

all my feelings. Who should come on Tuesday but Sir James Martin! Guess

my astonishment, and vexation—for, as you well know, I never wished him

to be seen at Churchhill. What a pity that you should not have known

his intentions! Not content with coming, he actually invited himself to

remain here a few days. I could have poisoned him! I made the best of

it, however, and told my story with great success to Mrs. Vernon, who,

whatever might be her real sentiments, said nothing in opposition to

mine. I made a point also of Frederica’s behaving civilly to Sir James,

and gave her to understand that I was absolutely determined on her

marrying him. She said something of her misery, but that was all. I

have for some time been more particularly resolved on the match from

seeing the rapid increase of her affection for Reginald, and from not

feeling secure that a knowledge of such affection might not in the end

awaken a return. Contemptible as a regard founded only on compassion

must make them both in my eyes, I felt by no means assured that such

might not be the consequence. It is true that Reginald had not in any

degree grown cool towards me; but yet he has lately mentioned Frederica

spontaneously and unnecessarily, and once said something in praise of

her person. He was all astonishment at the appearance of my visitor,

and at first observed Sir James with an attention which I was pleased

to see not unmixed with jealousy; but unluckily it was impossible for

me really to torment him, as Sir James, though extremely gallant to me,

very soon made the whole party understand that his heart was devoted to

my daughter. I had no great difficulty in convincing De Courcy, when we

were alone, that I was perfectly justified, all things considered, in

desiring the match; and the whole business seemed most comfortably

arranged. They could none of them help perceiving that Sir James was no

Solomon; but I had positively forbidden Frederica complaining to

Charles Vernon or his wife, and they had therefore no pretence for

interference; though my impertinent sister, I believe, wanted only

opportunity for doing so. Everything, however, was going on calmly and

quietly; and, though I counted the hours of Sir James’s stay, my mind

was entirely satisfied with the posture of affairs. Guess, then, what I

must feel at the sudden disturbance of all my schemes; and that, too,

from a quarter where I had least reason to expect it. Reginald came

this morning into my dressing-room with a very unusual solemnity of

countenance, and after some preface informed me in so many words that

he wished to reason with me on the impropriety and unkindness of

allowing Sir James Martin to address my daughter contrary to her

inclinations. I was all amazement. When I found that he was not to be

laughed out of his design, I calmly begged an explanation, and desired

to know by what he was impelled, and by whom commissioned, to reprimand

me. He then told me, mixing in his speech a few insolent compliments

and ill-timed expressions of tenderness, to which I listened with

perfect indifference, that my daughter had acquainted him with some

circumstances concerning herself, Sir James, and me which had given him

great uneasiness. In short, I found that she had in the first place

actually written to him to request his interference, and that, on

receiving her letter, he had conversed with her on the subject of it,

in order to understand the particulars, and to assure himself of her

real wishes. I have not a doubt but that the girl took this opportunity

of making downright love to him. I am convinced of it by the manner in

which he spoke of her. Much good may such love do him! I shall ever

despise the man who can be gratified by the passion which he never

wished to inspire, nor solicited the avowal of. I shall always detest

them both. He can have no true regard for me, or he would not have

listened to her; and she, with her little rebellious heart and

indelicate feelings, to throw herself into the protection of a young

man with whom she has scarcely ever exchanged two words before! I am

equally confounded at her impudence and his credulity. How dared he

believe what she told him in my disfavour! Ought he not to have felt

assured that I must have unanswerable motives for all that I had done?

Where was his reliance on my sense and goodness then? Where the

resentment which true love would have dictated against the person

defaming me—that person, too, a chit, a child, without talent or

education, whom he had been always taught to despise? I was calm for

some time; but the greatest degree of forbearance may be overcome, and

I hope I was afterwards sufficiently keen. He endeavoured, long

endeavoured, to soften my resentment; but that woman is a fool indeed

who, while insulted by accusation, can be worked on by compliments. At

length he left me, as deeply provoked as myself; and he showed his

anger more. I was quite cool, but he gave way to the most violent

indignation; I may therefore expect it will the sooner subside, and

perhaps his may be vanished for ever, while mine will be found still

fresh and implacable. He is now shut up in his apartment, whither I

heard him go on leaving mine. How unpleasant, one would think, must be

his reflections! but some people’s feelings are incomprehensible. I

have not yet tranquillised myself enough to see Frederica. She shall

not soon forget the occurrences of this day; she shall find that she

has poured forth her tender tale of love in vain, and exposed herself

for ever to the contempt of the whole world, and the severest

resentment of her injured mother.

Your affectionate

S. VERNON.

XXIII

Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy.

Churchhill.

Let me congratulate you, my dearest Mother! The affair which has given

us so much anxiety is drawing to a happy conclusion. Our prospect is

most delightful, and since matters have now taken so favourable a turn,

I am quite sorry that I ever imparted my apprehensions to you; for the

pleasure of learning that the danger is over is perhaps dearly

purchased by all that you have previously suffered. I am so much

agitated by delight that I can scarcely hold a pen; but am determined

to send you a few short lines by James, that you may have some

explanation of what must so greatly astonish you, as that Reginald

should be returning to Parklands. I was sitting about half an hour ago

with Sir James in the breakfast parlour, when my brother called me out

of the room. I instantly saw that something was the matter; his

complexion was raised, and he spoke with great emotion; you know his

eager manner, my dear mother, when his mind is interested. “Catherine,”

said he, “I am going home to-day; I am sorry to leave you, but I must

go: it is a great while since I have seen my father and mother. I am

going to send James forward with my hunters immediately; if you have

any letter, therefore, he can take it. I shall not be at home myself

till Wednesday or Thursday, as I shall go through London, where I have

business; but before I leave you,” he continued, speaking in a lower

tone, and with still greater energy, “I must warn you of one thing—do

not let Frederica Vernon be made unhappy by that Martin. He wants to

marry her; her mother promotes the match, but she cannot endure the

idea of it. Be assured that I speak from the fullest conviction of the

truth of what I say; I know that Frederica is made wretched by Sir

James’s continuing here. She is a sweet girl, and deserves a better

fate. Send him away immediately; he is only a fool: but what her mother

can mean, Heaven only knows! Good bye,” he added, shaking my hand with

earnestness; “I do not know when you will see me again; but remember

what I tell you of Frederica; you must make it your business to see

justice done her. She is an amiable girl, and has a very superior mind

to what we have given her credit for.” He then left me, and ran

upstairs. I would not try to stop him, for I knew what his feelings

must be. The nature of mine, as I listened to him, I need not attempt

to describe; for a minute or two I remained in the same spot,

overpowered by wonder of a most agreeable sort indeed; yet it required

some consideration to be tranquilly happy. In about ten minutes after

my return to the parlour Lady Susan entered the room. I concluded, of

course, that she and Reginald had been quarrelling; and looked with

anxious curiosity for a confirmation of my belief in her face. Mistress

of deceit, however, she appeared perfectly unconcerned, and after

chatting on indifferent subjects for a short time, said to me, “I find

from Wilson that we are going to lose Mr. De Courcy—is it true that he

leaves Churchhill this morning?” I replied that it was. “He told us

nothing of all this last night,” said she, laughing, “or even this

morning at breakfast; but perhaps he did not know it himself. Young men

are often hasty in their resolutions, and not more sudden in forming

than unsteady in keeping them. I should not be surprised if he were to

change his mind at last, and not go.” She soon afterwards left the

room. I trust, however, my dear mother, that we have no reason to fear

an alteration of his present plan; things have gone too far. They must

have quarrelled, and about Frederica, too. Her calmness astonishes me.

What delight will be yours in seeing him again; in seeing him still

worthy your esteem, still capable of forming your happiness! When I

next write I shall be able to tell you that Sir James is gone, Lady

Susan vanquished, and Frederica at peace. We have much to do, but it

shall be done. I am all impatience to hear how this astonishing change

was effected. I finish as I began, with the warmest congratulations.

Yours ever, &c.,

CATH. VERNON.

XXIV

From the same to the same.

Churchhill.

Little did I imagine, my dear Mother, when I sent off my last letter,

that the delightful perturbation of spirits I was then in would undergo

so speedy, so melancholy a reverse. I never can sufficiently regret

that I wrote to you at all. Yet who could have foreseen what has

happened? My dear mother, every hope which made me so happy only two

hours ago has vanished. The quarrel between Lady Susan and Reginald is

made up, and we are all as we were before. One point only is gained.

Sir James Martin is dismissed. What are we now to look forward to? I am

indeed disappointed; Reginald was all but gone, his horse was ordered

and all but brought to the door; who would not have felt safe? For half

an hour I was in momentary expectation of his departure. After I had

sent off my letter to you, I went to Mr. Vernon, and sat with him in

his room talking over the whole matter, and then determined to look for

Frederica, whom I had not seen since breakfast. I met her on the

stairs, and saw that she was crying. “My dear aunt,” said she, “he is

going—Mr. De Courcy is going, and it is all my fault. I am afraid you

will be very angry with me, but indeed I had no idea it would end so.”

“My love,” I replied, “do not think it necessary to apologize to me on

that account. I shall feel myself under an obligation to anyone who is

the means of sending my brother home, because,” recollecting myself, “I

know my father wants very much to see him. But what is it you have done

to occasion all this?” She blushed deeply as she answered: “I was so

unhappy about Sir James that I could not help—I have done something

very wrong, I know; but you have not an idea of the misery I have been

in: and mamma had ordered me never to speak to you or my uncle about

it, and—” “You therefore spoke to my brother to engage his

interference,” said I, to save her the explanation. “No, but I wrote to

him—I did indeed, I got up this morning before it was light, and was

two hours about it; and when my letter was done I thought I never

should have courage to give it. After breakfast however, as I was going

to my room, I met him in the passage, and then, as I knew that

everything must depend on that moment, I forced myself to give it. He

was so good as to take it immediately. I dared not look at him, and ran

away directly. I was in such a fright I could hardly breathe. My dear

aunt, you do not know how miserable I have been.” “Frederica” said I,

“you ought to have told me all your distresses. You would have found in

me a friend always ready to assist you. Do you think that your uncle or

I should not have espoused your cause as warmly as my brother?”

“Indeed, I did not doubt your kindness,” said she, colouring again,

“but I thought Mr. De Courcy could do anything with my mother; but I

was mistaken: they have had a dreadful quarrel about it, and he is

going away. Mamma will never forgive me, and I shall be worse off than

ever.” “No, you shall not,” I replied; “in such a point as this your

mother’s prohibition ought not to have prevented your speaking to me on

the subject. She has no right to make you unhappy, and she shall not

do it. Your applying, however, to Reginald can be productive only of

good to all parties. I believe it is best as it is. Depend upon it that

you shall not be made unhappy any longer.” At that moment how great was

my astonishment at seeing Reginald come out of Lady Susan’s

dressing-room. My heart misgave me instantly. His confusion at seeing

me was very evident. Frederica immediately disappeared. “Are you

going?” I said; “you will find Mr. Vernon in his own room.” “No,

Catherine,” he replied, “I am not going. Will you let me speak to you a

moment?” We went into my room. “I find,” he continued, his confusion

increasing as he spoke, “that I have been acting with my usual foolish

impetuosity. I have entirely misunderstood Lady Susan, and was on the

point of leaving the house under a false impression of her conduct.

There has been some very great mistake; we have been all mistaken, I

fancy. Frederica does not know her mother. Lady Susan means nothing but

her good, but she will not make a friend of her. Lady Susan does not

always know, therefore, what will make her daughter happy. Besides, I

could have no right to interfere. Miss Vernon was mistaken in applying

to me. In short, Catherine, everything has gone wrong, but it is now

all happily settled. Lady Susan, I believe, wishes to speak to you

about it, if you are at leisure.” “Certainly,” I replied, deeply

sighing at the recital of so lame a story. I made no comments, however,

for words would have been vain.

Reginald was glad to get away, and I went to Lady Susan, curious,

indeed, to hear her account of it. “Did I not tell you,” said she with

a smile, “that your brother would not leave us after all?” “You did,

indeed,” replied I very gravely; “but I flattered myself you would be

mistaken.” “I should not have hazarded such an opinion,” returned she,

“if it had not at that moment occurred to me that his resolution of

going might be occasioned by a conversation in which we had been this

morning engaged, and which had ended very much to his dissatisfaction,

from our not rightly understanding each other’s meaning. This idea

struck me at the moment, and I instantly determined that an accidental

dispute, in which I might probably be as much to blame as himself,

should not deprive you of your brother. If you remember, I left the

room almost immediately. I was resolved to lose no time in clearing up

those mistakes as far as I could. The case was this—Frederica had set

herself violently against marrying Sir James.” “And can your ladyship

wonder that she should?” cried I with some warmth; “Frederica has an

excellent understanding, and Sir James has none.” “I am at least very

far from regretting it, my dear sister,” said she; “on the contrary, I

am grateful for so favourable a sign of my daughter’s sense. Sir James

is certainly below par (his boyish manners make him appear worse); and

had Frederica possessed the penetration and the abilities which I could

have wished in my daughter, or had I even known her to possess as much

as she does, I should not have been anxious for the match.” “It is odd

that you should alone be ignorant of your daughter’s sense!” “Frederica

never does justice to herself; her manners are shy and childish, and

besides she is afraid of me. During her poor father’s life she was a

spoilt child; the severity which it has since been necessary for me to

show has alienated her affection; neither has she any of that

brilliancy of intellect, that genius or vigour of mind which will force

itself forward.” “Say rather that she has been unfortunate in her

education!” “Heaven knows, my dearest Mrs. Vernon, how fully I am aware

of that; but I would wish to forget every circumstance that might throw

blame on the memory of one whose name is sacred with me.” Here she

pretended to cry; I was out of patience with her. “But what,” said I,

“was your ladyship going to tell me about your disagreement with my

brother?” “It originated in an action of my daughter’s, which equally

marks her want of judgment and the unfortunate dread of me I have been

mentioning—she wrote to Mr. De Courcy.” “I know she did; you had

forbidden her speaking to Mr. Vernon or to me on the cause of her

distress; what could she do, therefore, but apply to my brother?” “Good

God!” she exclaimed, “what an opinion you must have of me! Can you

possibly suppose that I was aware of her unhappiness! that it was my

object to make my own child miserable, and that I had forbidden her

speaking to you on the subject from a fear of your interrupting the

diabolical scheme? Do you think me destitute of every honest, every

natural feeling? Am I capable of consigning her to everlasting misery

whose welfare it is my first earthly duty to promote? The idea is

horrible!” “What, then, was your intention when you insisted on her

silence?” “Of what use, my dear sister, could be any application to

you, however the affair might stand? Why should I subject you to

entreaties which I refused to attend to myself? Neither for your sake

nor for hers, nor for my own, could such a thing be desirable. When my

own resolution was taken I could not wish for the interference, however

friendly, of another person. I was mistaken, it is true, but I believed

myself right.” “But what was this mistake to which your ladyship so

often alludes? from whence arose so astonishing a misconception of your

daughter’s feelings? Did you not know that she disliked Sir James?” “I

knew that he was not absolutely the man she would have chosen, but I

was persuaded that her objections to him did not arise from any

perception of his deficiency. You must not question me, however, my

dear sister, too minutely on this point,” continued she, taking me

affectionately by the hand; “I honestly own that there is something to

conceal. Frederica makes me very unhappy! Her applying to Mr. De Courcy

hurt me particularly.” “What is it you mean to infer,” said I, “by this

appearance of mystery? If you think your daughter at all attached to

Reginald, her objecting to Sir James could not less deserve to be

attended to than if the cause of her objecting had been a consciousness

of his folly; and why should your ladyship, at any rate, quarrel with

my brother for an interference which, you must know, it is not in his

nature to refuse when urged in such a manner?”

“His disposition, you know, is warm, and he came to expostulate with

me; his compassion all alive for this ill-used girl, this heroine in

distress! We misunderstood each other: he believed me more to blame

than I really was; I considered his interference less excusable than I

now find it. I have a real regard for him, and was beyond expression

mortified to find it, as I thought, so ill bestowed. We were both warm,

and of course both to blame. His resolution of leaving Churchhill is

consistent with his general eagerness. When I understood his intention,

however, and at the same time began to think that we had been perhaps

equally mistaken in each other’s meaning, I resolved to have an

explanation before it was too late. For any member of your family I

must always feel a degree of affection, and I own it would have

sensibly hurt me if my acquaintance with Mr. De Courcy had ended so

gloomily. I have now only to say further, that as I am convinced of

Frederica’s having a reasonable dislike to Sir James, I shall instantly

inform him that he must give up all hope of her. I reproach myself for

having, even though innocently, made her unhappy on that score. She

shall have all the retribution in my power to make; if she value her

own happiness as much as I do, if she judge wisely, and command herself

as she ought, she may now be easy. Excuse me, my dearest sister, for

thus trespassing on your time, but I owe it to my own character; and

after this explanation I trust I am in no danger of sinking in your

opinion.” I could have said, “Not much, indeed!” but I left her almost

in silence. It was the greatest stretch of forbearance I could

practise. I could not have stopped myself had I begun. Her assurance!

her deceit! but I will not allow myself to dwell on them; they will

strike you sufficiently. My heart sickens within me. As soon as I was

tolerably composed I returned to the parlour. Sir James’s carriage was

at the door, and he, merry as usual, soon afterwards took his leave.

How easily does her ladyship encourage or dismiss a lover! In spite of

this release, Frederica still looks unhappy: still fearful, perhaps, of

her mother’s anger; and though dreading my brother’s departure,

jealous, it may be, of his staying. I see how closely she observes him

and Lady Susan, poor girl! I have now no hope for her. There is not a

chance of her affection being returned. He thinks very differently of

her from what he used to do; he does her some justice, but his

reconciliation with her mother precludes every dearer hope. Prepare, my

dear mother, for the worst! The probability of their marrying is surely

heightened! He is more securely hers than ever. When that wretched

event takes place, Frederica must belong wholly to us. I am thankful

that my last letter will precede this by so little, as every moment

that you can be saved from feeling a joy which leads only to

disappointment is of consequence.

Yours ever, &c.,

CATHERINE VERNON.

XXV

Lady Susan to Mrs. Johnson.

Churchhill.

I call on you, dear Alicia, for congratulations: I am my own self, gay

and triumphant! When I wrote to you the other day I was, in truth, in

high irritation, and with ample cause. Nay, I know not whether I ought

to be quite tranquil now, for I have had more trouble in restoring

peace than I ever intended to submit to—a spirit, too, resulting from a

fancied sense of superior integrity, which is peculiarly insolent! I

shall not easily forgive him, I assure you. He was actually on the

point of leaving Churchhill! I had scarcely concluded my last, when

Wilson brought me word of it. I found, therefore, that something must

be done; for I did not choose to leave my character at the mercy of a

man whose passions are so violent and so revengeful. It would have been

trifling with my reputation to allow of his departing with such an

impression in my disfavour; in this light, condescension was necessary.

I sent Wilson to say that I desired to speak with him before he went;

he came immediately. The angry emotions which had marked every feature

when we last parted were partially subdued. He seemed astonished at the

summons, and looked as if half wishing and half fearing to be softened

by what I might say. If my countenance expressed what I aimed at, it

was composed and dignified; and yet, with a degree of pensiveness which

might convince him that I was not quite happy. “I beg your pardon, sir,

for the liberty I have taken in sending for you,” said I; “but as I

have just learnt your intention of leaving this place to-day, I feel it

my duty to entreat that you will not on my account shorten your visit

here even an hour. I am perfectly aware that after what has passed

between us it would ill suit the feelings of either to remain longer in

the same house: so very great, so total a change from the intimacy of

friendship must render any future intercourse the severest punishment;

and your resolution of quitting Churchhill is undoubtedly in unison

with our situation, and with those lively feelings which I know you to

possess. But, at the same time, it is not for me to suffer such a

sacrifice as it must be to leave relations to whom you are so much

attached, and are so dear. My remaining here cannot give that pleasure

to Mr. and Mrs. Vernon which your society must; and my visit has

already perhaps been too long. My removal, therefore, which must, at

any rate, take place soon, may, with perfect convenience, be hastened;

and I make it my particular request that I may not in any way be

instrumental in separating a family so affectionately attached to each

other. Where I go is of no consequence to anyone; of very little to

myself; but you are of importance to all your connections.” Here I

concluded, and I hope you will be satisfied with my speech. Its effect

on Reginald justifies some portion of vanity, for it was no less

favourable than instantaneous. Oh, how delightful it was to watch the

variations of his countenance while I spoke! to see the struggle

between returning tenderness and the remains of displeasure. There is

something agreeable in feelings so easily worked on; not that I envy

him their possession, nor would, for the world, have such myself; but

they are very convenient when one wishes to influence the passions of

another. And yet this Reginald, whom a very few words from me softened

at once into the utmost submission, and rendered more tractable, more

attached, more devoted than ever, would have left me in the first angry

swelling of his proud heart without deigning to seek an explanation.

Humbled as he now is, I cannot forgive him such an instance of pride,

and am doubtful whether I ought not to punish him by dismissing him at

once after this reconciliation, or by marrying and teazing him for

ever. But these measures are each too violent to be adopted without

some deliberation; at present my thoughts are fluctuating between

various schemes. I have many things to compass: I must punish

Frederica, and pretty severely too, for her application to Reginald; I

must punish him for receiving it so favourably, and for the rest of his

conduct. I must torment my sister-in-law for the insolent triumph of

her look and manner since Sir James has been dismissed; for, in

reconciling Reginald to me, I was not able to save that ill-fated young

man; and I must make myself amends for the humiliation to which I have

stooped within these few days. To effect all this I have various plans.

I have also an idea of being soon in town; and whatever may be my

determination as to the rest, I shall probably put that project in

execution; for London will be always the fairest field of action,

however my views may be directed; and at any rate I shall there be

rewarded by your society, and a little dissipation, for a ten weeks’

penance at Churchhill. I believe I owe it to my character to complete

the match between my daughter and Sir James after having so long

intended it. Let me know your opinion on this point. Flexibility of

mind, a disposition easily biassed by others, is an attribute which you

know I am not very desirous of obtaining; nor has Frederica any claim

to the indulgence of her notions at the expense of her mother’s

inclinations. Her idle love for Reginald, too! It is surely my duty to

discourage such romantic nonsense. All things considered, therefore, it

seems incumbent on me to take her to town and marry her immediately to

Sir James. When my own will is effected contrary to his, I shall have

some credit in being on good terms with Reginald, which at present, in

fact, I have not; for though he is still in my power, I have given up

the very article by which our quarrel was produced, and at best the

honour of victory is doubtful. Send me your opinion on all these

matters, my dear Alicia, and let me know whether you can get lodgings

to suit me within a short distance of you.

Your most attached

S. VERNON.

XXVI

Mrs. Johnson to Lady Susan.

Edward Street.

I am gratified by your reference, and this is my advice: that you come

to town yourself, without loss of time, but that you leave Frederica

behind. It would surely be much more to the purpose to get yourself

well established by marrying Mr. De Courcy, than to irritate him and

the rest of his family by making her marry Sir James. You should think

more of yourself and less of your daughter. She is not of a disposition

to do you credit in the world, and seems precisely in her proper place

at Churchhill, with the Vernons. But you are fitted for society, and it

is shameful to have you exiled from it. Leave Frederica, therefore, to

punish herself for the plague she has given you, by indulging that

romantic tender-heartedness which will always ensure her misery enough,

and come to London as soon as you can. I have another reason for urging

this: Mainwaring came to town last week, and has contrived, in spite of

Mr. Johnson, to make opportunities of seeing me. He is absolutely

miserable about you, and jealous to such a degree of De Courcy that it

would be highly unadvisable for them to meet at present. And yet, if

you do not allow him to see you here, I cannot answer for his not

committing some great imprudence—such as going to Churchhill, for

instance, which would be dreadful! Besides, if you take my advice, and

resolve to marry De Courcy, it will be indispensably necessary to you

to get Mainwaring out of the way; and you only can have influence

enough to send him back to his wife. I have still another motive for

your coming: Mr. Johnson leaves London next Tuesday; he is going for

his health to Bath, where, if the waters are favourable to his

constitution and my wishes, he will be laid up with the gout many

weeks. During his absence we shall be able to chuse our own society,

and to have true enjoyment. I would ask you to Edward Street, but that

once he forced from me a kind of promise never to invite you to my

house; nothing but my being in the utmost distress for money should

have extorted it from me. I can get you, however, a nice drawing-room

apartment in Upper Seymour Street, and we may be always together there

or here; for I consider my promise to Mr. Johnson as comprehending only

(at least in his absence) your not sleeping in the house. Poor

Mainwaring gives me such histories of his wife’s jealousy. Silly woman

to expect constancy from so charming a man! but she always was

silly—intolerably so in marrying him at all, she the heiress of a large

fortune and he without a shilling: one title, I know, she might have

had, besides baronets. Her folly in forming the connection was so great

that, though Mr. Johnson was her guardian, and I do not in general

share his feelings, I never can forgive her.

Adieu. Yours ever,

ALICIA.

XXVII

Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy.

Churchhill.

This letter, my dear Mother, will be brought you by Reginald. His long

visit is about to be concluded at last, but I fear the separation takes

place too late to do us any good. She is going to London to see her

particular friend, Mrs. Johnson. It was at first her intention that

Frederica should accompany her, for the benefit of masters, but we

overruled her there. Frederica was wretched in the idea of going, and I

could not bear to have her at the mercy of her mother; not all the

masters in London could compensate for the ruin of her comfort. I

should have feared, too, for her health, and for everything but her

principles—there I believe she is not to be injured by her mother, or

her mother’s friends; but with those friends she must have mixed (a

very bad set, I doubt not), or have been left in total solitude, and I

can hardly tell which would have been worse for her. If she is with her

mother, moreover, she must, alas! in all probability be with Reginald,

and that would be the greatest evil of all. Here we shall in time be in

peace, and our regular employments, our books and conversations, with

exercise, the children, and every domestic pleasure in my power to

procure her, will, I trust, gradually overcome this youthful

attachment. I should not have a doubt of it were she slighted for any

other woman in the world than her own mother. How long Lady Susan will

be in town, or whether she returns here again, I know not. I could not

be cordial in my invitation, but if she chuses to come no want of

cordiality on my part will keep her away. I could not help asking

Reginald if he intended being in London this winter, as soon as I found

her ladyship’s steps would be bent thither; and though he professed

himself quite undetermined, there was something in his look and voice

as he spoke which contradicted his words. I have done with lamentation;

I look upon the event as so far decided that I resign myself to it in

despair. If he leaves you soon for London everything will be concluded.

Your affectionate, &c.,

C. VERNON.

XXVIII

Mrs. Johnson to Lady Susan.

Edward Street.

My dearest Friend,—I write in the greatest distress; the most

unfortunate event has just taken place. Mr. Johnson has hit on the most

effectual manner of plaguing us all. He had heard, I imagine, by some

means or other, that you were soon to be in London, and immediately

contrived to have such an attack of the gout as must at least delay his

journey to Bath, if not wholly prevent it. I am persuaded the gout is

brought on or kept off at pleasure; it was the same when I wanted to

join the Hamiltons to the Lakes; and three years ago, when I had a

fancy for Bath, nothing could induce him to have a gouty symptom.

I am pleased to find that my letter had so much effect on you, and that

De Courcy is certainly your own. Let me hear from you as soon as you

arrive, and in particular tell me what you mean to do with Mainwaring.

It is impossible to say when I shall be able to come to you; my

confinement must be great. It is such an abominable trick to be ill

here instead of at Bath that I can scarcely command myself at all. At

Bath his old aunts would have nursed him, but here it all falls upon

me; and he bears pain with such patience that I have not the common

excuse for losing my temper.

Yours ever,

ALICIA.

XXIX

Lady Susan Vernon to Mrs. Johnson.

Upper Seymour Street.

My dear Alicia,—There needed not this last fit of the gout to make me

detest Mr. Johnson, but now the extent of my aversion is not to be

estimated. To have you confined as nurse in his apartment! My dear

Alicia, of what a mistake were you guilty in marrying a man of his age!

just old enough to be formal, ungovernable, and to have the gout; too

old to be agreeable, too young to die. I arrived last night about five,

had scarcely swallowed my dinner when Mainwaring made his appearance. I

will not dissemble what real pleasure his sight afforded me, nor how

strongly I felt the contrast between his person and manners and those

of Reginald, to the infinite disadvantage of the latter. For an hour or

two I was even staggered in my resolution of marrying him, and though

this was too idle and nonsensical an idea to remain long on my mind, I

do not feel very eager for the conclusion of my marriage, nor look

forward with much impatience to the time when Reginald, according to

our agreement, is to be in town. I shall probably put off his arrival

under some pretence or other. He must not come till Mainwaring is gone.

I am still doubtful at times as to marrying; if the old man would die I

might not hesitate, but a state of dependance on the caprice of Sir

Reginald will not suit the freedom of my spirit; and if I resolve to

wait for that event, I shall have excuse enough at present in having

been scarcely ten months a widow. I have not given Mainwaring any hint

of my intention, or allowed him to consider my acquaintance with

Reginald as more than the commonest flirtation, and he is tolerably

appeased. Adieu, till we meet; I am enchanted with my lodgings.

Yours ever,

S. VERNON.

XXX

Lady Susan Vernon to Mr. De Courcy.

Upper Seymour Street.

I have received your letter, and though I do not attempt to conceal

that I am gratified by your impatience for the hour of meeting, I yet

feel myself under the necessity of delaying that hour beyond the time

originally fixed. Do not think me unkind for such an exercise of my

power, nor accuse me of instability without first hearing my reasons.

In the course of my journey from Churchhill I had ample leisure for

reflection on the present state of our affairs, and every review has

served to convince me that they require a delicacy and cautiousness of

conduct to which we have hitherto been too little attentive. We have

been hurried on by our feelings to a degree of precipitation which ill

accords with the claims of our friends or the opinion of the world. We

have been unguarded in forming this hasty engagement, but we must not

complete the imprudence by ratifying it while there is so much reason

to fear the connection would be opposed by those friends on whom you

depend. It is not for us to blame any expectations on your father’s

side of your marrying to advantage; where possessions are so extensive

as those of your family, the wish of increasing them, if not strictly

reasonable, is too common to excite surprize or resentment. He has a

right to require a woman of fortune in his daughter-in-law, and I am

sometimes quarrelling with myself for suffering you to form a

connection so imprudent; but the influence of reason is often

acknowledged too late by those who feel like me. I have now been but a

few months a widow, and, however little indebted to my husband’s memory

for any happiness derived from him during a union of some years, I

cannot forget that the indelicacy of so early a second marriage must

subject me to the censure of the world, and incur, what would be still

more insupportable, the displeasure of Mr. Vernon. I might perhaps

harden myself in time against the injustice of general reproach, but

the loss of his valued esteem I am, as you well know, ill-fitted to

endure; and when to this may be added the consciousness of having

injured you with your family, how am I to support myself? With feelings

so poignant as mine, the conviction of having divided the son from his

parents would make me, even with you, the most miserable of beings. It

will surely, therefore, be advisable to delay our union—to delay it

till appearances are more promising—till affairs have taken a more

favourable turn. To assist us in such a resolution I feel that absence

will be necessary. We must not meet. Cruel as this sentence may appear,

the necessity of pronouncing it, which can alone reconcile it to

myself, will be evident to you when you have considered our situation

in the light in which I have found myself imperiously obliged to place

it. You may be—you must be—well assured that nothing but the strongest

conviction of duty could induce me to wound my own feelings by urging a

lengthened separation, and of insensibility to yours you will hardly

suspect me. Again, therefore, I say that we ought not, we must not, yet

meet. By a removal for some months from each other we shall

tranquillise the sisterly fears of Mrs. Vernon, who, accustomed herself

to the enjoyment of riches, considers fortune as necessary everywhere,

and whose sensibilities are not of a nature to comprehend ours. Let me

hear from you soon—very soon. Tell me that you submit to my arguments,

and do not reproach me for using such. I cannot bear reproaches: my

spirits are not so high as to need being repressed. I must endeavour to

seek amusement, and fortunately many of my friends are in town; amongst

them the Mainwarings; you know how sincerely I regard both husband and

wife.

I am, very faithfully yours,

S. VERNON

XXXI

Lady Susan to Mrs. Johnson.

Upper Seymour Street.

My dear Friend,—That tormenting creature, Reginald, is here. My letter,

which was intended to keep him longer in the country, has hastened him

to town. Much as I wish him away, however, I cannot help being pleased

with such a proof of attachment. He is devoted to me, heart and soul.

He will carry this note himself, which is to serve as an introduction

to you, with whom he longs to be acquainted. Allow him to spend the

evening with you, that I may be in no danger of his returning here. I

have told him that I am not quite well, and must be alone; and should

he call again there might be confusion, for it is impossible to be sure

of servants. Keep him, therefore, I entreat you, in Edward Street. You

will not find him a heavy companion, and I allow you to flirt with him

as much as you like. At the same time, do not forget my real interest;

say all that you can to convince him that I shall be quite wretched if

he remains here; you know my reasons—propriety, and so forth. I would

urge them more myself, but that I am impatient to be rid of him, as

Mainwaring comes within half an hour. Adieu!

S. VERNON.

XXXII

Mrs. Johnson to Lady Susan.

Edward Street.

My dear Creature,—I am in agonies, and know not what to do. Mr. De

Courcy arrived just when he should not. Mrs. Mainwaring had that

instant entered the house, and forced herself into her guardian’s

presence, though I did not know a syllable of it till afterwards, for I

was out when both she and Reginald came, or I should have sent him away

at all events; but she was shut up with Mr. Johnson, while he waited in

the drawing-room for me. She arrived yesterday in pursuit of her

husband, but perhaps you know this already from himself. She came to

this house to entreat my husband’s interference, and before I could be

aware of it, everything that you could wish to be concealed was known

to him, and unluckily she had wormed out of Mainwaring’s servant that

he had visited you every day since your being in town, and had just

watched him to your door herself! What could I do! Facts are such

horrid things! All is by this time known to De Courcy, who is now alone

with Mr. Johnson. Do not accuse me; indeed, it was impossible to

prevent it. Mr. Johnson has for some time suspected De Courcy of

intending to marry you, and would speak with him alone as soon as he

knew him to be in the house. That detestable Mrs. Mainwaring, who, for

your comfort, has fretted herself thinner and uglier than ever, is

still here, and they have been all closeted together. What can be done?

At any rate, I hope he will plague his wife more than ever. With

anxious wishes,

Yours faithfully,

ALICIA.

XXXIII

Lady Susan to Mrs. Johnson.

Upper Seymour Street.

This éclaircissement is rather provoking. How unlucky that you should

have been from home! I thought myself sure of you at seven! I am

undismayed however. Do not torment yourself with fears on my account;

depend on it, I can make my story good with Reginald. Mainwaring is

just gone; he brought me the news of his wife’s arrival. Silly woman,

what does she expect by such manoeuvres? Yet I wish she had stayed

quietly at Langford. Reginald will be a little enraged at first, but by

to-morrow’s dinner, everything will be well again.

Adieu!

S. V.

XXXIV

Mr. De Courcy to Lady Susan.

—— Hotel.

I write only to bid you farewell, the spell is removed; I see you as

you are. Since we parted yesterday, I have received from indisputable

authority such a history of you as must bring the most mortifying

conviction of the imposition I have been under, and the absolute

necessity of an immediate and eternal separation from you. You cannot

doubt to what I allude. Langford! Langford! that word will be

sufficient. I received my information in Mr. Johnson’s house, from Mrs.

Mainwaring herself. You know how I have loved you; you can intimately

judge of my present feelings, but I am not so weak as to find

indulgence in describing them to a woman who will glory in having

excited their anguish, but whose affection they have never been able to

gain.

R. DE COURCY.

XXXV

Lady Susan to Mr. De Courcy.

Upper Seymour Street.

I will not attempt to describe my astonishment in reading the note this

moment received from you. I am bewildered in my endeavours to form some

rational conjecture of what Mrs. Mainwaring can have told you to

occasion so extraordinary a change in your sentiments. Have I not

explained everything to you with respect to myself which could bear a

doubtful meaning, and which the ill-nature of the world had interpreted

to my discredit? What can you now have heard to stagger your esteem for

me? Have I ever had a concealment from you? Reginald, you agitate me

beyond expression, I cannot suppose that the old story of Mrs.

Mainwaring’s jealousy can be revived again, or at least be listened

to again. Come to me immediately, and explain what is at present

absolutely incomprehensible. Believe me, the single word of Langford

is not of such potent intelligence as to supersede the necessity of

more. If we are to part, it will at least be handsome to take your

personal leave—but I have little heart to jest; in truth, I am serious

enough; for to be sunk, though but for an hour, in your esteem is a

humiliation to which I know not how to submit. I shall count every

minute till your arrival.

S. V.

XXXVI

Mr. De Courcy to Lady Susan.

—— Hotel.

Why would you write to me? Why do you require particulars? But, since

it must be so, I am obliged to declare that all the accounts of your

misconduct during the life, and since the death of Mr. Vernon, which

had reached me, in common with the world in general, and gained my

entire belief before I saw you, but which you, by the exertion of your

perverted abilities, had made me resolved to disallow, have been

unanswerably proved to me; nay more, I am assured that a connection, of

which I had never before entertained a thought, has for some time

existed, and still continues to exist, between you and the man whose

family you robbed of its peace in return for the hospitality with which

you were received into it; that you have corresponded with him ever

since your leaving Langford; not with his wife, but with him, and that

he now visits you every day. Can you, dare you deny it? and all this at

the time when I was an encouraged, an accepted lover! From what have I

not escaped! I have only to be grateful. Far from me be all complaint,

every sigh of regret. My own folly had endangered me, my preservation I

owe to the kindness, the integrity of another; but the unfortunate Mrs.

Mainwaring, whose agonies while she related the past seemed to threaten

her reason, how is she to be consoled! After such a discovery as

this, you will scarcely affect further wonder at my meaning in bidding

you adieu. My understanding is at length restored, and teaches no less

to abhor the artifices which had subdued me than to despise myself for

the weakness on which their strength was founded.

R. DE COURCY.

XXXVII

Lady Susan to Mr. De Courcy.

Upper Seymour Street.

I am satisfied, and will trouble you no more when these few lines are

dismissed. The engagement which you were eager to form a fortnight ago

is no longer compatible with your views, and I rejoice to find that the

prudent advice of your parents has not been given in vain. Your

restoration to peace will, I doubt not, speedily follow this act of

filial obedience, and I flatter myself with the hope of surviving my

share in this disappointment.

S. V.

XXXVIII

Mrs. Johnson to Lady Susan Vernon.

Edward Street

I am grieved, though I cannot be astonished at your rupture with Mr. De

Courcy; he has just informed Mr. Johnson of it by letter. He leaves

London, he says, to-day. Be assured that I partake in all your

feelings, and do not be angry if I say that our intercourse, even by

letter, must soon be given up. It makes me miserable; but Mr. Johnson

vows that if I persist in the connection, he will settle in the country

for the rest of his life, and you know it is impossible to submit to

such an extremity while any other alternative remains. You have heard

of course that the Mainwarings are to part, and I am afraid Mrs. M.

will come home to us again; but she is still so fond of her husband,

and frets so much about him, that perhaps she may not live long. Miss

Mainwaring is just come to town to be with her aunt, and they say that

she declares she will have Sir James Martin before she leaves London

again. If I were you, I would certainly get him myself. I had almost

forgot to give you my opinion of Mr. De Courcy; I am really delighted

with him; he is full as handsome, I think, as Mainwaring, and with such

an open, good-humoured countenance, that one cannot help loving him at

first sight. Mr. Johnson and he are the greatest friends in the world.

Adieu, my dearest Susan, I wish matters did not go so perversely. That

unlucky visit to Langford! but I dare say you did all for the best, and

there is no defying destiny.

Your sincerely attached,

ALICIA.

XXXIX

Lady Susan to Mrs. Johnson.

Upper Seymour Street.

My dear Alicia,—I yield to the necessity which parts us. Under such

circumstances you could not act otherwise. Our friendship cannot be

impaired by it, and in happier times, when your situation is as

independent as mine, it will unite us again in the same intimacy as

ever. For this I shall impatiently wait, and meanwhile can safely

assure you that I never was more at ease, or better satisfied with

myself and everything about me than at the present hour. Your husband I

abhor, Reginald I despise, and I am secure of never seeing either

again. Have I not reason to rejoice? Mainwaring is more devoted to me

than ever; and were we at liberty, I doubt if I could resist even

matrimony offered by him. This event, if his wife live with you, it

may be in your power to hasten. The violence of her feelings, which

must wear her out, may be easily kept in irritation. I rely on your

friendship for this. I am now satisfied that I never could have brought

myself to marry Reginald, and am equally determined that Frederica

never shall. To-morrow, I shall fetch her from Churchhill, and let

Maria Mainwaring tremble for the consequence. Frederica shall be Sir

James’s wife before she quits my house, and she may whimper, and the

Vernons may storm, I regard them not. I am tired of submitting my will

to the caprices of others; of resigning my own judgment in deference to

those to whom I owe no duty, and for whom I feel no respect. I have

given up too much, have been too easily worked on, but Frederica shall

now feel the difference. Adieu, dearest of friends; may the next gouty

attack be more favourable! and may you always regard me as unalterably

yours,

S. VERNON

Lady De Courcy to Mrs. Vernon.

My dear Catherine,—I have charming news for you, and if I had not sent

off my letter this morning you might have been spared the vexation of

knowing of Reginald’s being gone to London, for he is returned.

Reginald is returned, not to ask our consent to his marrying Lady

Susan, but to tell us they are parted for ever. He has been only an

hour in the house, and I have not been able to learn particulars, for

he is so very low that I have not the heart to ask questions, but I

hope we shall soon know all. This is the most joyful hour he has ever

given us since the day of his birth. Nothing is wanting but to have you

here, and it is our particular wish and entreaty that you would come to

us as soon as you can. You have owed us a visit many long weeks; I hope

nothing will make it inconvenient to Mr. Vernon; and pray bring all my

grand-children; and your dear niece is included, of course; I long to

see her. It has been a sad, heavy winter hitherto, without Reginald,

and seeing nobody from Churchhill. I never found the season so dreary

before; but this happy meeting will make us young again. Frederica runs

much in my thoughts, and when Reginald has recovered his usual good

spirits (as I trust he soon will) we will try to rob him of his heart

once more, and I am full of hopes of seeing their hands joined at no

great distance.

Your affectionate mother,

C. DE COURCY.

XLI

Mrs. Vernon to Lady De Courcy.

Churchhill.

My dear Mother,—Your letter has surprized me beyond measure! Can it be

true that they are really separated—and for ever? I should be overjoyed

if I dared depend on it, but after all that I have seen how can one be

secure? And Reginald really with you! My surprize is the greater

because on Wednesday, the very day of his coming to Parklands, we had a

most unexpected and unwelcome visit from Lady Susan, looking all

cheerfulness and good-humour, and seeming more as if she were to marry

him when she got to London than as if parted from him for ever. She

stayed nearly two hours, was as affectionate and agreeable as ever, and

not a syllable, not a hint was dropped, of any disagreement or coolness

between them. I asked her whether she had seen my brother since his

arrival in town; not, as you may suppose, with any doubt of the fact,

but merely to see how she looked. She immediately answered, without any

embarrassment, that he had been kind enough to call on her on Monday;

but she believed he had already returned home, which I was very far

from crediting. Your kind invitation is accepted by us with pleasure,

and on Thursday next we and our little ones will be with you. Pray

heaven, Reginald may not be in town again by that time! I wish we could

bring dear Frederica too, but I am sorry to say that her mother’s

errand hither was to fetch her away; and, miserable as it made the poor

girl, it was impossible to detain her. I was thoroughly unwilling to

let her go, and so was her uncle; and all that could be urged we did

urge; but Lady Susan declared that as she was now about to fix herself

in London for several months, she could not be easy if her daughter

were not with her for masters, &c. Her manner, to be sure, was very

kind and proper, and Mr. Vernon believes that Frederica will now be

treated with affection. I wish I could think so too. The poor girl’s

heart was almost broke at taking leave of us. I charged her to write to

me very often, and to remember that if she were in any distress we

should be always her friends. I took care to see her alone, that I

might say all this, and I hope made her a little more comfortable; but

I shall not be easy till I can go to town and judge of her situation

myself. I wish there were a better prospect than now appears of the

match which the conclusion of your letter declares your expectations

of. At present, it is not very likely.

Yours ever, &c.,

C. VERNON.

CONCLUSION

This correspondence, by a meeting between some of the parties, and a

separation between the others, could not, to the great detriment of the

Post Office revenue, be continued any longer. Very little assistance to

the State could be derived from the epistolary intercourse of Mrs.

Vernon and her niece; for the former soon perceived, by the style of

Frederica’s letters, that they were written under her mother’s

inspection! and therefore, deferring all particular enquiry till she

could make it personally in London, ceased writing minutely or often.

Having learnt enough, in the meanwhile, from her open-hearted brother,

of what had passed between him and Lady Susan to sink the latter lower

than ever in her opinion, she was proportionably more anxious to get

Frederica removed from such a mother, and placed under her own care;

and, though with little hope of success, was resolved to leave nothing

unattempted that might offer a chance of obtaining her sister-in-law’s

consent to it. Her anxiety on the subject made her press for an early

visit to London; and Mr. Vernon, who, as it must already have appeared,

lived only to do whatever he was desired, soon found some accommodating

business to call him thither. With a heart full of the matter, Mrs.

Vernon waited on Lady Susan shortly after her arrival in town, and was

met with such an easy and cheerful affection, as made her almost turn

from her with horror. No remembrance of Reginald, no consciousness of

guilt, gave one look of embarrassment; she was in excellent spirits,

and seemed eager to show at once by every possible attention to her

brother and sister her sense of their kindness, and her pleasure in

their society. Frederica was no more altered than Lady Susan; the same

restrained manners, the same timid look in the presence of her mother

as heretofore, assured her aunt of her situation being uncomfortable,

and confirmed her in the plan of altering it. No unkindness, however,

on the part of Lady Susan appeared. Persecution on the subject of Sir

James was entirely at an end; his name merely mentioned to say that he

was not in London; and indeed, in all her conversation, she was

solicitous only for the welfare and improvement of her daughter,

acknowledging, in terms of grateful delight, that Frederica was now

growing every day more and more what a parent could desire. Mrs.

Vernon, surprized and incredulous, knew not what to suspect, and,

without any change in her own views, only feared greater difficulty in

accomplishing them. The first hope of anything better was derived from

Lady Susan’s asking her whether she thought Frederica looked quite as

well as she had done at Churchhill, as she must confess herself to have

sometimes an anxious doubt of London’s perfectly agreeing with her.

Mrs. Vernon, encouraging the doubt, directly proposed her niece’s

returning with them into the country. Lady Susan was unable to express

her sense of such kindness, yet knew not, from a variety of reasons,

how to part with her daughter; and as, though her own plans were not

yet wholly fixed, she trusted it would ere long be in her power to take

Frederica into the country herself, concluded by declining entirely to

profit by such unexampled attention. Mrs. Vernon persevered, however,

in the offer of it, and though Lady Susan continued to resist, her

resistance in the course of a few days seemed somewhat less formidable.

The lucky alarm of an influenza decided what might not have been

decided quite so soon. Lady Susan’s maternal fears were then too much

awakened for her to think of anything but Frederica’s removal from the

risk of infection; above all disorders in the world she most dreaded

the influenza for her daughter’s constitution!

Frederica returned to Churchhill with her uncle and aunt; and three

weeks afterwards, Lady Susan announced her being married to Sir James

Martin. Mrs. Vernon was then convinced of what she had only suspected

before, that she might have spared herself all the trouble of urging a

removal which Lady Susan had doubtless resolved on from the first.

Frederica’s visit was nominally for six weeks, but her mother, though

inviting her to return in one or two affectionate letters, was very

ready to oblige the whole party by consenting to a prolongation of her

stay, and in the course of two months ceased to write of her absence,

and in the course of two more to write to her at all. Frederica was

therefore fixed in the family of her uncle and aunt till such time as

Reginald De Courcy could be talked, flattered, and finessed into an

affection for her which, allowing leisure for the conquest of his

attachment to her mother, for his abjuring all future attachments, and

detesting the sex, might be reasonably looked for in the course of a

twelvemonth. Three months might have done it in general, but Reginald’s

feelings were no less lasting than lively. Whether Lady Susan was or

was not happy in her second choice, I do not see how it can ever be

ascertained; for who would take her assurance of it on either side of

the question? The world must judge from probabilities; she had nothing

against her but her husband, and her conscience. Sir James may seem to

have drawn a harder lot than mere folly merited; I leave him,

therefore, to all the pity that anybody can give him. For myself, I

confess that I can pity only Miss Mainwaring; who, coming to town,

and putting herself to an expense in clothes which impoverished her for

two years, on purpose to secure him, was defrauded of her due by a

woman ten years older than herself.

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Lady Susan

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