IN THE mean time, while the gloomy morning which Ferdinand had anticipated terminated with so agreeable an adventure, Henrietta and Miss Grandison, accompanied by Lord Montfort and Glastonbury, paid their promised visit to the British Museum.
‘I am sorry that Captain Armine could not accompany us,’ said Lord Montfort. ‘I sent to him this morning early, but he was already out.’
‘He has many affairs to attend to,’ said Glastonbury.
Miss Temple looked grave; she thought of poor Ferdinand and all his cares. She knew well what were those affairs to which Glastonbury alluded. The thought that perhaps at this moment he was struggling with rapacious creditors made her melancholy. The novelty and strangeness of the objects which awaited her, diverted, however, her mind from these painful reflections. Miss Grandison, who had never quitted England, was delighted with everything she saw; but the Egyptian gallery principally attracted the attention of Miss Temple. Lord Montfort, regardful of his promise to Henrietta, was very attentive to Miss Grandison.
‘I cannot help regretting that your cousin is not here,’ said his lordship, returning to a key that he had already touched. But Katherine made no answer.
‘He seemed so much better for the exertion he made yesterday,’ resumed Lord Montfort. ‘I think it would do him good to be more with us.’
‘He seems to like to be alone,’ said Katherine.
‘I wonder at that,’ said Lord Montfort; ‘I cannot conceive a happier life than we all lead.’
‘You have cause to be happy, and Ferdinand has not,’ said Miss Grandison, calmly.
‘I should have thought that he had very great cause,’ said Lord Montfort, enquiringly.
‘No person in the world is so unhappy as Ferdinand,’ said Katherine.
‘But cannot we cure his unhappiness?’ said his lordship. ‘We are his friends; it seems to me, with such friends as Miss Grandison and Miss Temple one ought never to be unhappy.’
‘Miss Temple can scarcely be called a friend of Ferdinand,’ said Katherine.
‘Indeed, a very warm one, I assure you.’
‘Ah, that is your influence.’
‘Nay, it is her own impulse.’
‘But she only met him yesterday for the first time.’
‘I assure you Miss Temple is an older friend of Captain Armine than I am,’ said his lordship.
‘Indeed!’ said Miss Grandison, with an air of considerable astonishment.
‘You know they were neighbours in the country.’
‘In the country!’ repeated Miss Grandison.
‘Yes; Mr. Temple, you know, resided not far from Armine.’
‘Not far from Armine!’ still repeated Miss Grandison.
‘Digby,’ said Miss Temple, turning to him at this moment, ‘tell Mr. Glastonbury about your sphinx at Rome. It was granite, was it not?’
‘And most delicately carved. I never remember having observed an expression of such beautiful serenity. The discovery that, after all, they are male countenances is quite mortifying. I loved their mysterious beauty.’
What Lord Montfort had mentioned of the previous acquaintance of Henrietta and her cousin made Miss Grandison muse. Miss Temple’s address to Ferdinand yesterday had struck her at the moment as somewhat singular; but the impression had not dwelt upon her mind. But now it occurred to her as very strange, that Henrietta should have become so intimate with the Armine family and herself, and never have mentioned that she was previously acquainted with their nearest relative. Lady Armine was not acquainted with Miss Temple until they met at Bellair House. That was certain. Miss Grandison had witnessed their mutual introduction. Nor Sir Ratcliffe. And yet Henrietta and Ferdinand were friends, warm friends, old friends, intimately acquainted: so said Lord Montfort, and Lord Montfort never coloured, never exaggerated. All this was very mysterious. And if they were friends, old friends, warm friends, and Lord Montfort said they were, and, therefore, there could be no doubt of the truth of the statement, their recognition of each other yesterday was singularly frigid.
It was not indicative of a very intimate acquaintance. Katherine had ascribed it to the natural disrelish of Ferdinand now to be introduced to anyone. And yet they were friends, old friends, warm friends. Henrietta Temple and Ferdinand Armine! Miss Grandison was so perplexed that she scarcely looked at another object in the galleries.
The ladies were rather tired when they returned from the Museum. Lord Montfort walked to the Travellers, and Henrietta agreed to remain and dine in Brook-street. Katherine and herself retired to Miss Grandison’s boudoir, a pretty chamber, where they were sure of being alone. Henrietta threw herself upon a sofa, and took up the last new novel; Miss Grandison seated herself on an ottoman by her side, and worked at a purse which she was making for Mr. Temple.
‘Do you like that book?’ said Katherine.
‘I like the lively parts, but not the serious ones,’ replied Miss Temple; ‘the author has observed but he has not felt.’
‘It is satirical,’ said Miss Grandison; ‘I wonder why all this class of writers aim now at the sarcastic. I do not find life the constant sneer they make it.’
‘It is because they do not understand life,’ said Henrietta, ‘but have some little experience of society. Therefore their works give a perverted impression of human conduct; for they accept as a principal, that which is only an insignificant accessory; and they make existence a succession of frivolities, when even the career of the most frivolous has its profounder moments.’
‘How vivid is the writer’s description of a ball or a dinner,’ said Miss Grandison; ‘everything lives and moves. And yet, when the hero makes love, nothing can be more unnatural. His feelings are neither deep, nor ardent, nor tender. All is stilted, and yet ludicrous.’
‘I do not despise the talent which describes so vividly a dinner and a ball,’ said Miss Temple. ‘As far as it goes it is very amusing, but it should be combined with higher materials. In a fine novel, manners should be observed, and morals should be sustained; we require thought and passion, as well as costume and the lively representation of conventional arrangements; and the thought and passion will be the better for these accessories, for they will be relieved in the novel as they are relieved in life, and the whole will be more true.’
‘But have you read that love scene, Henrietta? It appeared to me so ridiculous!’
‘I never read love scenes,’ said Henrietta Temple.
‘Oh, I love a love story,’ said Miss Grandison, smiling, ‘if it be natural and tender, and touch my heart. When I read such scenes, I weep.’
‘Ah, my sweet Katherine, you are soft-hearted.’
‘And you, Henrietta, what are you?’
‘Hard-hearted. The most callous of mortals.’
‘Oh, what would Lord Montfort say?’
‘Lord Montfort knows it. We never have love scenes.’
‘And yet you love him?’
‘Dearly; I love and esteem him.’
‘Well,’ said Miss Grandison, ‘I may be wrong, but if I were a man I do not think I should like the lady of my love to esteem me.’
‘And yet esteem is the only genuine basis of happiness, believe me, Kate. Love is a dream.’
‘And how do you know, dear Henrietta?’
‘All writers agree it is.’
‘The writers you were just ridiculing?’
‘A fair retort; and yet, though your words are the more witty, believe me, mine are the more wise.’
‘I wish my cousin would wake from his dream,’ said Katherine. ‘To tell you a secret, love is the cause of his unhappiness. Don’t move, dear Henrietta,’ added Miss Grandison; ‘we are so happy here;’ for Miss Temple, in truth, seemed not a little discomposed.
‘You should marry your cousin,’ said Miss Temple.
‘You little know Ferdinand or myself, when you give that advice,’ said Katherine. ‘We shall never marry; nothing is more certain than that. In the first place, to be frank, Ferdinand would not marry me, nothing would induce him; and in the second place, I would not marry him, nothing would induce me.’
‘Why not?’ said Henrietta, in a low tone, holding her book very near to her face.
‘Because I am sure that we should not be happy,’ said Miss Grandison. ‘I love Ferdinand, and once could have married him. He is so brilliant that I could not refuse his proposal. And yet I feel it is better for me that we have not married, and I hope it may yet prove better for him, for I love him very dearly. He is indeed my brother.’
‘But why should you not be happy?’ enquired Miss Temple.
‘Because we are not suited to each other. Ferdinand must marry some one whom he looks up to, somebody brilliant like himself, some one who can sympathise with all his fancies. I am too calm and quiet for him. You would suit him much better, Henrietta.’
‘You are his cousin; it is a misfortune; if you were not, he would adore you, and you would sympathise with him.’
‘I think not: I should like to marry a very clever man,’ said Katherine. ‘I could not endure marrying a fool, or a commonplace person; I should like to marry a person very superior in talent to myself, some one whose opinion would guide me on all points, one from whom I could not differ. But not Ferdinand; he is too imaginative, too impetuous; he would neither guide me, nor be guided by me.’
Miss Temple did not reply, but turned over a page of her book.
‘Did you know Ferdinand before you met him yesterday at our house?’ enquired Miss Grandison, very innocently.
‘Yes!’ said Miss Temple.
‘I thought you did,’ said Miss Grandison, ‘I thought there was something in your manner that indicated you had met before. I do not think you knew my aunt before you met her at Bellair House?’
‘I did not.’
‘Nor Sir Ratclifle?’
‘Nor Sir Ratclifle.’
‘But you did know Mr. Glastonbury?’
‘I did know Mr. Glastonbury.’
‘How very odd!’ said Miss Grandison.
‘What is odd?’ enquired Henrietta.
‘That you should have known Ferdinand before.’
‘Not at all odd. He came over one day to shoot at papa’s. I remember him very well.’
‘Oh,’ said Miss Grandison. ‘And did Mr. Glastonbury come over to shoot?’
‘I met Mr. Glastonbury one morning that I went to see the picture gallery at Armine. It is the only time I ever saw him.’
‘Oh!’ said Miss Grandison again, ‘Armine is a beautiful place, is it not?’
‘Most interesting.’
‘You know the pleasaunce.’
‘Yes.’
‘I did not see you when I was at Armine.’
‘No; we had just gone to Italy.’
‘How beautiful you look to-day, Henrietta!’ said Miss Grandison. ‘Who could believe that you ever were so ill!’
‘I am grateful that I have recovered,’ said Henrietta. ‘And yet I never thought that I should return to England.’
‘You must have been so very ill in Italy, about the same time as poor Ferdinand was at Armine. Only think, how odd you should both have been so ill about the same time, and now that we should all be so intimate!’
Miss Temple looked perplexed and annoyed. ‘Is it so odd?’ she at length said in a low tone.
‘Henrietta Temple,’ said Miss Grandison, with great earnestness, ‘I have discovered a secret; you are the lady with whom my cousin is in love.’
