The Widow Barnaby Volume Iii Part 14

"That you were inspired, Mary, and that I deserved to suffer a good deal for not listening to such an oracle.... But had I done so, I should have never known...."

"The difference between the extreme of Barnaby misery and Compton comfort?" said Mary, finis.h.i.+ng the sentence for her.

Agnes blushed, but said with a happy smile, "Yes ... a.s.suredly I may say so."

Miss Peters looked at her, and laughed. "There is something else you would not have known, I am very sure, Agnes, by that conscious face, ...

and it must be something very well worth knowing by that look of radiant happiness which I never saw on your fair face before ... no, not even when for the first time you looked down upon Avon's dun stream; for then, if I remember rightly, your joy shewed itself in tears; but now, my dear, you are dimpling with smiles, though I really believe you are doing all you can to hide them from me. Say why is this?...

wherefore ... what should it mean?"

"Mary!... There is not an event of my life, nor a thought of my heart, that I would wish to hide from you.... But how can I begin telling you such very long and incredible stories as I have got to tell, just as you have finished dressing, and are ready to go down to breakfast?" said Agnes.

"Breakfast?" replied her friend.... "I would rather go without breakfast for a month than not hear the beginning, middle, and end of all your adventures from the moment you left this house in c.r.a.pe and bombasin, with your cheeks as white as marble, and your eyes full of tears, up to this present now, that you have entered it again in as elegant a morning toilet as London can furnish, with your cheeks full of dimples, and your eyes dancing in your head with happiness, notwithstanding all your efforts to look demure.... Come, sit down again, Agnes, and tell me all."

"Tell you all I will, depend upon it, but not now, dear Mary.... Think of all your mother's kindness to me.... Shall I sit here indulging in confidential gossip with you, instead of paying my compliments to her and the rest of the family in the breakfast-room?... No, positively no.

So come down stairs with me directly, or I will go by myself."

"Aunt Compton is spoiling you, child; that is quite clear.... You used to be obedient to command, and ever ready to do as I desired, but now you lay down the law like a Lord Chancellor. Come along, then, Miss Agnes; but remember that, as soon as breakfast is over, I expect, first to be taken to the Mall (have I not got nice lodgings for you?) and introduced to Miss Compton, of Compton Basett, and then taken to our old seat on the rock, then and there to hear all that has befallen you."

To this Agnes agreed, and they descended together. The interest and the pleasure that her entrance excited among the family group already a.s.sembled round the breakfast-table, was very gratifying to her. Mrs.

Peters seemed hardly less delighted than Mary; the two girls kissed her affectionately, and gazed at her with as much admiration as astonishment, which is tantamount to saying that they admired her much; good Mr. Peters welcomed her very cordially, and inquired with the most scrupulous politeness for the health of Mrs. Barnaby; and James told her very frankly that he was delighted to see her, and that she was fifty times handsomer than ever.

The conversation that followed was perfectly frank, on the part of Agnes, in all that related to the kindness of her aunt Compton, and the happiness she enjoyed from being under her care; but, from delicacy to them, she said as little as possible about Mrs. Barnaby; and from delicacy to herself, made no mention whatever either of Colonel Hubert or his family.

As soon as the breakfast was over Mrs. Peters declared her intention of immediately waiting on Miss Compton; an attention to her aunt which Agnes welcomed with pleasure, though it still farther postponed the much-wished for conversation with her friend Mary. The whole family declared their eagerness to be introduced to the old lady, of whom Miss Willoughby spoke with such enthusiasm; but as the discreet Mrs. Peters declared that at this first visit her eldest daughter only must accompany her; the rest yielded of necessity, and the three ladies set out together.

"I expect to find this new aunt a much more agreeable personage, my dear Agnes, than your former chaperon, though she was my dear sister.... But on one point I flatter myself I shall find them alike."

"I hope this point of resemblance is not of much importance to your happiness, my dear Mrs. Peters," replied Agnes, "for if it be, you are in a bad way; since night and day are infinitely less unlike than my two aunts in all things."

"Yes, but it is of great importance to my happiness, particularly for this evening, Agnes," replied Mrs. Peters. "The point of resemblance I want to find is in the trusting you to my care. We are going to a party this evening where I should particularly like to take you, ... and it will be impossible, you know, to arrange exchange of visits, and manage that an invitation shall be sent and accepted by aunt Compton, on such very short notice. Do you think she will let you go with us?"

"Ask her, my dear Mrs. Peters," replied Agnes with a very happy smile, "and see what she will say to it."

"I will, if I do not find her too awful," was the answer.

The manner in which Miss Compton received and entertained her visitors, was a fresh source of surprise to Agnes. Though thinking very highly of her intellect, and even of her conversational powers, she had antic.i.p.ated some symptoms of reserve and shyness on the introduction of so perfect a recluse to strangers. But nothing of the kind appeared.

Miss Compton was pleased by the appearance and manner of both mother and daughter, and permitted them to perceive that she was so, rather with the easy flattering sort of courtesy with which a superior treats those whom he wishes should be pleased with him, than with any appearance of the _mauvaise honte_ which might have been expected. Nor must this be condemned as unnatural, for it was, in fact, the inevitable result of the state of mind in which she had lived. With keen intellect, elastic animal spirits, and a position that places the owner of it fairly above the reach of annoyance from any one, (an elevation, by the by, that few of the great ones of the earth can boast,) it is not an introduction to any ordinary society that can discompose the mind, or agitate the manners.

Mrs. Peters did not find aunt Compton too awful, and therefore prefered her request, which, like every other that could have been made likely to promote the pleasure of Agnes, was not only graciously but gratefully complied with. A question being started as to the order in which the party should go, Mr. Peters's carriage not being able to take them all at once, Miss Compton settled it by saying,--"Agnes has her own carriage and servants here, but she must not go alone; and perhaps, if she calls at your house, Mrs. Peters, you will have the kindness to let her friend Mary accompany her, and permit her carriage to follow yours."

This being settled, Mrs. Peters and her daughter rose to take leave; and Mary then hoped that Agnes, by returning with them, would at length give her the opportunity she so earnestly desired of hearing all she had to tell. But she was again disappointed, for when the young heiress asked her indulgent aunt whether she would not take advantage of the lovely morning to see some of the beauties of Clifton, she replied,--"I should like nothing so well, Agnes, as to take a drive with you over the beautiful downs you talk of. Will you spare her to me for so long, Miss Peters?"

"I think you deserve a little of her, Miss Compton," answered the young lady; "and with the hope of the evening before me, I will enter no protest against the morning drive."

The mother and daughter then took leave, and as they left the house, they exchanged a glance that seemed to express mutual congratulation on the altered condition of their favourite.

"Well, mamma, you will be rewarded this time for obeying my commands like a dutiful mother, and permitting me to make a pet of this sweet Agnes.... There is nothing in the Barnaby style here.... I was sure Miss Compton, of Compton Basett, must be good for something," said Mary.

"If I may venture to hope, as I think I may," replied her mother, "that she will never be the means of bringing me in contact with my incomparable sister-in-law again, I may really thank you, saucy girl as you are, for having so taken the reins into your own hands. I delight in this Miss Compton. There is a racy originality about her that is very awakening. And as for your Agnes, what with her new young happiness, her graceful loveliness, now first seen to some advantage, her proud and pretty fondness for her aunt, and her natural joy at seeing us all again under circ.u.mstances so delightfully altered, I really do think she is the most enchanting creature I ever beheld."

CHAPTER XII.

A PARTY.--A MEETING.--GOOD SOMETIMES PRODUCTIVE OF EVIL.

The superintending the toilet of Agnes for the party of that evening was a new and very delightful page in the history of the spinster of Compton Basett. The fondest mother dressing a fair daughter for her first presentation, never watched the operations of the toilet more anxiously; and in her case there was a sort of personal triumph attending its success, that combined the joy of the accomplished artist, who sees the finished loveliness himself has made with the fond approval of affection.

Partly from her own native good taste, and partly from the wisdom of listening with a very discriminating judgment to the practical counsels of an experienced _modiste_, the dress of Agnes was exactly what it ought to have been; and the proud old lady herself could not have desired an appearance more _distinguee_ than that of her adopted child when, turning from Peggy and her mirror, she made her a sportive courtesy and exclaimed,--

"Have you not made a fine lady of me, aunt Betsy?"

When Miss Compton's carriage stopped at Rodney Place, it was Mrs.

Peters, instead of her daughter, who took a place in it.

"Mary is excessively angry with me," said she, as they drove off, "for not letting her be your companion; but I think it more _comme il faut_, Agnes, that I should present you to Mrs. Pemberton myself. She is a vastly fine lady; ... not one of us humble Bristolian Cliftonites, who pique ourselves rather upon the elevation of our lime-stone rock above the level of the stream that laves our merchants' quays, than on any other species of superiority that we can lay claim to. Mrs. Pemberton is none of us.... She has a house in London and a park in Buckinghams.h.i.+re, and flies over the Continent every now and then with first-rate aristocratical velocity; but she has one feeling, sometimes shared by more ordinary mortals, which is a prodigious love of music. This, and a sort of _besoin_, to which she pleads guilty, of holding a salon every evening that she is not from home, forces upon her, as I take it, the necessity of visiting many of us who might elsewhere scarcely be deemed worthy to approach her foot-stool. We met her at the Parslowes, where the girls' performances elicited a very gracious degree of approbation.

An introduction followed; she has honoured me by attending a concert at my own house, and this is the fourth evening we have pa.s.sed with her.

Now you have the _carte du pays_, and I think you will agree with me, that it is much better I should make my _entree_ with you on my arm, than permit you to follow with the damsels in my train."

Agnes confessed that she thought the arrangement much more conducive to the dignity of her approach, and thanked her companion for her thoughtful attention.

"Perhaps it is not quite disinterested, Agnes.... I am rather proud of having such an exotic to produce.... What a delightful aunt Compton it is!... Carriage perfect ... servants evidently town-made ... white satin and blonde fit for an incipient d.u.c.h.ess! If your little head be not turned, Agnes, you will deserve to be chronicled as a miracle."

"I have had enough to steady the giddiest craft that ever was launched, my dear Mrs. Peters," replied Agnes; "and it would be silly, indeed, to throw my ballast overboard, because I am sailing before the wind."

"Then your head is not turned; ... that is what you mean to say, is it not?"

"No," replied Agnes, laughing, "my head is not turned,--I feel almost sure of it.... But why do you make such particular inquiries respecting the state of my head at present, Mrs. Peters? Shall I be called upon to give some ill.u.s.trious proof of its healthy condition to-night?"

"Yes, my dear.... You will a.s.suredly be called upon to sing, and you must prove to my satisfaction that you are not grown too fine to oblige your friends."

"Is that all?... Depend upon it I will do whatever you wish me."

Mrs. Pemberton's drawing-room was full of company when they entered it, but that lady espied them the moment they arrived, and stepped forward with so much eagerness to receive them, that Agnes thought Mrs. Peters had, in her account of the acquaintance between them, hardly done justice to the degree of favour she had risen to. But a few minutes more convinced her, that even she, unknown as she was, might flatter herself that some portion of this distinguished reception was intended for her; for Mrs. Pemberton took her hand and led her to a seat at the upper end of the room with an air of such marked distinction, as, spite of the philosophy of which she had just been boasting, brought a very bright flush to her cheeks, if it did not turn her head. A few words, however, spoken by that lady to one of those beside whom she placed her, explained the mystery, and proved that Mrs. Peters had deemed it prudent to intimate her intention of bringing a young friend with her beforehand.

"Miss Eversham, you must permit me to introduce this young lady to you--Miss Willoughby.... Miss Eversham.... From a little word in Mrs.

Peters' note this morning, I flatter myself that I shall have the gratification of hearing you sing together. This lady's voice is a contralto, Miss Willoughby, and from what I have heard of your performance at Mrs. Peters', before I had the pleasure of being acquainted with her, your voices will be delightful together."

This most unexpected address was not calculated to restore the composure of Agnes, and it was not without some effort that she summoned courage enough to answer the numerous questions of Miss Eversham, (an elderly young lady too much inured to exhibition to have any mercy upon her,) when, as an excuse for withdrawing her attention for a moment, from the ceaseless catechism that tormented her, she turned away her eyes to look upon the company, and beheld the profile of Colonel Hubert, as he bent to speak to a lady seated on a sofa near which he stood. This was not an occurrence very likely to restore her composure, but at least it spared her any farther anxiety respecting the effort necessary for receiving the attentions of her neighbour properly, for she altogether forgot her vicinity, and became as completely incapable of hearing her farther questions, as of answering them.

"Had he seen her?... Did he know she was at Clifton?... Was his aunt,--was Lady Stephenson there?... How would he address her?... Would their intercourse begin from the point at which it had broken off, or would her altered circ.u.mstances, by placing each in a new position, lead to a renewed proposal, and an answer?... Oh how different from her former one!"

These were the questions that now addressed themselves to her, making her utterly incapable of hearing the continued string of musical interrogatories which went on beside her. The short interval during which Colonel Hubert retained his att.i.tude, and continued his conversation seemed an age, and expectation was growing sick, and almost merging in despair, when at last the lady turned to answer a question from her neighbour, and Colonel Hubert stood upright and cast his eyes upon the company.

Her emotion was too powerful to permit bashfulness to take any part in it; she sought his eye, and met it. In a moment all suffering was over, and all anxiety a thousand fold overpaid, for the look she encountered was all her heart could wish. At the first glance, indeed, he evidently did not know her; it was that of a wandering speculative eye that seemed looking out for occupation, and had she quite understood it aright, she might have perceived that it was arrested by a sort of sudden suspicion that it had found something worth pausing upon. But this lasted not above the tenth part of an instant, and then he darted forward; his fine proud countenance expressive of uncontrollable agitation, and the rapidity with which he approached her was such as to show pretty plainly that he forgot it was a crowded drawing-room he was traversing.