All this time Lady Angelica spent in talking to show her wit, or lounging to show her grace. Now and then her ladyship condescended to join the young people, when they went out to walk, but never unless they were attended by gentlemen. The beauties of nature have come into fashion of late, and Lady Angelica Headingham could talk of bold outlines, and sublime mountains, the charming effects of light and shade, fine accidents, and rich foliage, spring verdure and autumnal tints, — whilst Caroline could enjoy all these things, without expecting to be admired for admiring them. Mrs. Mortimer was planting a new shrubbery, and laying out a ride through the park. Caroline took an unaffected interest in all her plans, whilst Lady Angelica was interested only in showing how much she remembered of Price, and Repton, and Knight. She became too hot or too cold, or she was tired to death, the moment she ceased to be the principal object of attention. But though her ladyship was thus idle by day, she sometimes worked hard by night — hard as Butler is said to have toiled in secret, to support the character of an idle universal genius, who knows every thing without studying any thing. From dictionaries and extracts, abridgments and beauties of various authors, here, and there, and every where, she picked up shining scraps, and often by an ostentation of superficial knowledge succeeded in appearing in conversation to possess a vast extent of literature, and to be deeply skilled in matters of science, of which she knew nothing, and for which she had no taste.
Mr. Seebright, the poet, was easily duped by this display: he expressed the most flattering astonishment, and pronounced her ladyship to be an universal genius. He looked up to Lady Angelica for patronage. He was so weak, or so ignorant of the world, as to imagine that the patronage of a fashionable literary lady of high rank would immediately guide the opinion of the public, and bring a poet forward to fortune and fame. With these hopes he performed his daily, hourly duty of admiration to his fair patroness, with all possible zeal and assiduity; but it was observed by Rosamond that, in conversation, whenever Mr. Seebright had a new idea or a favourite allusion to produce, his eye involuntarily turned first to Caroline; and though he professed, on all points of taste and criticism, to be implicitly governed by Lady Angelica Headingham, there was “a small still voice” to which he more anxiously listened.
As to Mr. Grey, the roan of science — he soon detected Lady Angelica’s ignorance; smiled in silence at her blunders, and despised her for her arts of pretence. In vain, to win his suffrage, she produced the letters of various men of note and talent with whom she was in correspondence; in vain she talked of all the persons of rank who were her relations or dear friends: — she should be so happy to introduce him to this great man, or to mention him to that great lady; she should be so proud, on her return to town, to have Mr. Grey at her esprit parties; she would have such and such celebrated characters to meet him, and would have the pleasure and honour of introducing him to every person worth knowing in town.
With all due civility Mr. Grey declined these offers. There were few persons the pleasure or honour of whose company could compensate to him for the loss of his time, or equal the enjoyment he had in his own occupations; and those few he was so happy to have for his friends, he did not wish to form new acquaintance — he never went to conversaziones — he was much obliged to her ladyship, but he did not want to be mentioned to great men or great women. The nature of his fame was quite independent of fashion. — In this respect men of science have much the advantage of men of taste. Works of taste may, to a certain degree, be cried up or cried down by fashion. The full-fledged bard soars superior, and looks down at once upon the great and little world; but the young poet, in his first attempts to rise, is often obliged, or thinks himself obliged, to have his wing impelled by patronage.
With all her resources, however, both of patronage and of bel-esprit, Lady Angelica was equally surprised and mortified to find herself foiled at her own arms, by a girl whom nobody knew. She changed her manoeuvres — she thought she could show Miss Caroline Percy, that, whatever might be her abilities, her knowledge, or her charms, these must all submit to the superior power of fashion. Caroline having lived in the country, could not know much of the world of fashion. This was a world from which she thought she could move every other at pleasure. Her conversation was no longer of books, of which all of equal talents were competent to form a judgment; but her talk was now of persons, with whom no one who had not lived in the great world could pretend to be acquainted, of whom they could not presume to judge. Her ladyship tried in vain to draw Mrs. Hungerford and Mrs. Mortimer to her aid; they were too well-bred to encourage this exclusive and unprofitable conversation. But her ladyship knew that she could be sufficiently supported by Sir James Harcourt! He prided himself upon knowing and being known to every body, that is, any body, in London; he had an inexhaustible fund of town and court anecdote. What an auxiliary for Lady Angelica! But though their combined operations were carried on with consummate skill, and though the league offensive was strictly kept with every demonstration of mutual amity that could excite jealousy or express contempt for rival powers; yet the ultimate purpose was not gained — Caroline was not mortified, and Mr. Barclay was not jealous; at least, he was not sufficiently jealous to afford a clear triumph.
One morning, when she had been playing off all her graces, while Sir James admired her in every Proteus form of affectation, Mr. Barclay, as she thought, evidently pained by her coquetry, retired from the sofa, where she sat, and went to Mrs. Hungerford’s table, where he took up a book and began to read. Lady Angelica spared no art to distract his attention: she contrived for herself an employment, which called forth continual exclamations of admiration, joy, despair, which at first made Mr. Barclay turn to see by what they could be caused; but when he found that they were occasioned only by the rise or fall of a house of cards which she was building, he internally said, “Pshaw!” and afterwards kept his eyes fixed upon his book. Sir James continued to serve the fair architect with the frail materials for her building — her Folly, as she called it — and for his services he received much encouragement of smiles, and many marked commendations. Mrs. Hungerford called upon Mr. Barclay to read a favourite poem.
Mr. Barclay read remarkably well, and soon fixed the attention of all the company, except that of Lady Angelica and her knight, Sir James Harcourt, whom she detained in her service. She could not be so flagrantly rude as to interrupt the reader by audible exclamations, but by dumb-show, by a variety of gestures and pretty looks of delight at every fresh story added to her card edifice, and at every motion of terror lest her tower should fall, her ladyship showed Mr. Barclay that she was not listening to that which she knew he was particularly desirous that she should hear.
The moment the reader’s voice ceased, Lady Angelica approached the table. “Ten millions of pardons!” said she, drawing some cards from beneath Miss Caroline Percy’s elbow, which rested on them. “Unpardonable wretch that I am, to have disturbed such a reverie — and such an attitude! Mr. Barclay,” continued her ladyship, “now if you have leisure to think of me, may I trouble you for some of your little cards for the attic of my dear Folly?”
Mr. Barclay coolly presented the cards to her ladyship: then looked out of the window, observed that his horse was at the door, and was following Mr. Percy out of the room, when Lady Angelica, just as Mr. Barclay passed, blew down her tower, and exclaimed, “There’s an end of my folly — of one of my follies, I mean: I wish I could blow them all away so easily.”
The sigh and look of penitence with which she pronounced these words were accepted as expiation — Mr. Barclay stopped and returned; while sweeping the wreck of her tower from the table, she repeated,
“Easy, as when ashore an infant stands,
And draws imagined houses on the sands,
The sportive wanton, pleased with some new play,
Sweeps the slight works and fancied domes away:
Thus vanish at thy touch the tow’rs and walls,
The toil of mornings in a moment falls.�
��
“Beautiful lines!” said Mr. Barclay.
“And charmingly repeated,” said Sir James Harcourt: “are they your ladyship’s own?”
“No; Homer’s,” said she, smiling; “Pope’s Homer’s, I mean.”
To cover his blunder as fast as possible, Sir James went on to something else, and asked what her ladyship thought of Flaxman’s sketches from the Iliad and Odyssey? He had seen the book lying on the library table yesterday: indeed, his eye had been caught, as it lay open, by a striking resemblance — he knew it was very rude to talk of likenesses — but, really, the resemblance was striking between a lady he had in his view, and one of the figures in Flaxman, of Venus, or Penelope, he could not say which, but he would look for the book and see in a moment.
The book was not to be found on the library table; Mrs. Hungerford said she believed it was in the Oriel: Sir James went to look — Miss Caroline Percy was drawing from it — that was unlucky, for Mr. Barclay followed, stayed to admire Miss Percy’s drawings, which he had never seen before, and in looking over these sketches of hers from Flaxman’s Homer, and from Euripides and Æschylus, which the Lady Pembrokes showed him, and in speaking of these, he discovered so much of Caroline’s taste, literature, and feeling, that he could not quit the Oriel. Lady Angelica had followed to prevent mischief, and Mrs. Hungerford had followed to enjoy the pleasure of seeing Caroline’s modest merit appreciated. Whilst Mr. Barclay admired in silence, Sir James Harcourt, not with his usual politeness, exclaimed, “I protest I had no notion that Miss Caroline Percy drew in this style!”
“That’s possible,” cried Lady Mary Pembroke, colouring with that prompt indignation which she was prone to feel when any thing was said that seemed derogatory to her friends, “that’s possible, Sir James; and yet you find Miss Caroline Percy does draw in this very superior style — yes, and it is the perfection of her accomplishments, that they are never exhibited.”
“You have always the pleasure of discovering them,” said Mrs. Hungerford; “they are as a woman’s accomplishments and acquirements ought to be, more retiring than obtrusive; or as my old friend, Dr. South, quaintly but aptly expresses it — more in intaglio than in cameo.”
At this instant a sudden scream was heard from Lady Angelica Headingham, who caught hold of Mr. Barclay’s arm, and writhed as if in agony.
“Good Heavens! What is the matter?” cried Mr. Barclay.
“Oh! cramp! cramp! horrid cramp! in my foot — in my leg!”
“Rest upon me,” said Mr. Barclay, “and stretch your foot out.”
“Torture! — I can’t.” It was impossible that she could stand without the support of both gentlemen.
“Carry me to the sofa — there!”
When they had carried her out of the Oriel to the sofa in the library, and when her ladyship found that she had excited sufficient interest, and drawn the attention of Mr. Barclay away from Caroline, her ladyship began to grow a little better, and by graceful degrees recovered the use of her pretty limbs. And now, as she had reason to be satisfied with the degree of feeling which Mr. Barclay had involuntarily shown for her when he thought she was suffering, if her vanity had had any touch of gratitude or affection mixed with it, she would not have taken this moment to torment the heart of the man — the only man who ever really loved her; but all in her was vanity: she began to coquet with Sir James Harcourt — she let him put on her sandal and tie its strings — she sent him for her shawl, for she had a mind to walk in the park — and when Mr. Barclay offered to attend her, and when she found that Caroline and the Lady Pembrokes were going, she had a mind not to go, and she resolved to detain them all in admiration of her. She took her shawl from Sir James, and throwing it round her in graceful drapery, she asked him if he had ever seen any of Lady Hamilton’s attitudes, or rather scenic representations with shawl drapery.
Yes, he had; but he should be charmed to see them in perfection from her ladyship.
Notwithstanding the hint Mrs. Hungerford had given about exhibiting, and notwithstanding Mr. Barclay’s grave looks, Lady Angelica, avowedly to please Sir James Harcourt, consented to give the exhibition of the passions. She ran into the Oriel — attired herself in a most appropriate manner, and appeared first in the character of Fear — then of Hope: she acted admirably, but just as
“Hope enchanted, smiled, and waved her golden hair,”
her ladyship’s auburn tresses caught on some ornament in the room. The whole fabric was raised a little from the fair head on which it seemed to grow — Caroline sprang forward instantly, and dexterously disentangling the accomplished actress, relieved her from this imminent and awkward peril.
“I am sure I’m exceedingly obliged to Miss Caroline Percy,” said her ladyship, adjusting her head-dress. “There, now, all’s right again — thank you, Miss Percy — don’t trouble yourself, pray.”
The heartless manner of these thanks, and her ladyship’s preparing to go on again with her exhibition, so displeased and disgusted Mr. Barclay, that he left her to the flattery of Sir James Harcourt, and, sighing deeply, quitted the room.
Lady Angelica, proud of showing her power of tormenting a man of his sense, smiled victorious; and, in a half whisper, said to Mrs. Hungerford, “Exit Mr. Barclay, jealous, because he thinks I did the shawl attitudes for Sir James, and not for him — Poor man! he’s very angry; but he’ll ride it off — or I’ll smile it off.”
Mrs. Hungerford shook her head. When her ladyship’s exhibition had finished, and when Sir James had continued repeating, either with his words or his looks, “Charming! Is not she charming?” till the time of dressing, an hour to which he was always punctual, he retired to his toilette, and Lady Angelica found herself alone with Mrs. Hungerford.
“Oh! how tired I am!” cried her ladyship, throwing herself on a sofa beside her. “My spirits do so wear me out! I am sure I’m too much for you, Mrs. Hungerford; I am afraid you think me a strange wild creature: but, dear madam, why do you look so grave?”
“My dear Lady Angelica Headingham,” said Mrs. Hungerford, in a serious but affectionate tone, laying her hand upon Lady Angelica’s as she spoke, “I was, you know, your mother’s most intimate friend — I wish to be yours. Considering this and my age, I think I may venture to speak to you with more freedom than any one else now living could with propriety — it grieves me to see such a woman as you are, being spoiled by adulation.”
“Thank you, my dear Mrs. Hungerford! and now do tell me all my faults,” said Lady Angelica: “only first let me just say, that if you are going to tell me that I am a coquette, and a fool, I know I am — both — and I can’t help it; and I know I am what some people call odd — but I would not for the world be a common character.”
“Then you must not be a coquette,” said Mrs. Hungerford, “for that is common character — the hackneyed character of every play, of every novel. And whatever is common is vulgar, you know: airs and affectation are common and paltry — throw them aside, my dear Lady Angelica; disdain flattery, prove that you value your own esteem above vulgar admiration, and then, with such beauty and talents as you possess, you may be what you admire, an uncommon character.”
“Maybe!” repeated Lady Angelica in a voice of vexation. “Well, I know I have a hundred faults; but I never before heard any body, friend or enemy, deny that I am an uncommon character. Now, Mrs. Hungerford, do you know any one of a more uncommon character?”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Hungerford, smiling, “I know the thing that’s most uncommon,
‘I know a reasonable woman,
Handsome and witty, yet a friend.’”
“Oh! your friend, Miss Caroline Percy, I suppose. Well! though she is so great a favourite of yours, I must say that, to my fancy, she is as little of an uncommon character as any girl I ever saw — uncommon beauty, I acknowledge, she has, though not the style of face I like.”
“And an uncommonly good understanding, without one grain of envy, affectation, or vanity,” said Mrs. Hungerford.
>
“Vanity! — Stay till you see her tried,” said Lady Angelica; “stay till she has gone through one winter’s campaign in London; stay till she has as many admirers as—”
“As you have,” said Mrs. Hungerford, smiling. “She seems to be in a fair way of soon trying that experiment to your satisfaction.”
A considerable pause ensued; during which many conflicting passions appeared in Lady Angelica’s countenance.
“After all, Mrs. Hungerford,” resumed she, “do you think Mr. Barclay is really attached to me?”
“I think he was really attached to you, and strongly: but you have been doing all you can to weaken and destroy his attachment, I fear.”
“Fear nothing! I fear nothing,” exclaimed Lady Angelica, “now you tell me, dear Mrs. Hungerford, that you do not doubt the reality of his love: all the rest I will answer for — trust to me, I know my game.”
Mrs. Hungerford sighed; and replied, “I am old, have stood by, and seen this game played and lost so often, and by as able players as Lady Angelica Headingham — take care — remember I warn you.”
Miss Caroline Percy came into the room at this instant — Lady Angelica went to her toilette to repair her charms.
CHAPTER XVII.
While Mrs. Hungerford was wasting her good advice upon Lady Angelica, Sir James Harcourt at his toilette received this day’s letters, which he read, as usual, while his hair was dressing. Some of these letters were from creditors, who were impatient to hear when his advantageous marriage would be concluded, or when he would obtain that place which had been so long promised. The place at court, as he was by this post informed by a private, very confidential letter, under a government cover and huge seal, from his intimate friend, my Lord Skreene, ministers had found themselves under the unfortunate necessity of giving away, to secure three votes on a certain cabinet question.
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