“Qu’on vante en lui la foi, l’honneur, la probité;
Qu’on prise sa candeur et sa civilité;
Qu’il soit doux, complaisant, oflicieux, sincere:
On Ie veut, j’y souscris, et suis prêt a me taire.”

BOILEAU.

WHEN Mary entered the drawing-room she found herself, without knowing how, by the side of Mr. Downe Wright. At dinner it was the same; and in short it seemed an understood thing that they were to be constantly together.

There was something so gentle and unassuming in his manner that, almost provoked as she was by the folly of his proceedings, she found it impossible to resent it by her behaviour towards him; and indeed, without being guilty of actual rudeness, of which she was incapable, it would not have been easy to have made him comprehend the nature of her sentiments. He appeared perfectly satisfied with the toleration he met with; and, compared to Adelaide’s disdainful glances, and Lady Emily’s biting sarcasms, Mary’s gentleness and civility might well be mistaken for encouragement. But even under the exhilarating influence of hope and high spirits his conversation was so insipid and commonplace, that Mary found it a relief to turn even to Dr. Redgill. It was evident the Doctor was aware of what was going on, for he regarded her with that increased respect due to the future mistress of a splendid establishment. Between the courses he made some complimentary allusions to Highland mutton and red deer; and he even carried his attentions so far as to whisper, at the very first mouthful, that les cotellettes de saumon were superb, when he had never been known to commend anything to another until he had fully discussed it himself. On the opposite side of the table sat Adelaide and the Duke of Altamont, the latter looking still more heavy and inanimate than ever. The operation of eating over, he seemed unable to keep himself awake, and every now and then yielded to a gentle slumber, from which, however, he was instantly recalled at the sound of Adelaide’s voice, when he exclaimed, “Ah! Charming very charming, ah!” Lady Emily looked from them as she hummed some part of Dryden’s Ode

“Aloft in awful state
The godlike hero sate, etc.
The lovely Thais by his side,
Look’d like a blooming Eastern bride.”

Then, as his Grace closed his eyes, and his head sank on his shoulder

“With ravish’d ears
The monarch hears,
Assumes the god,
Affects to nod.”

Lady Juliana, who would have been highly incensed had she suspected the application of the words, was so unconscious of it as to join occasionally in singing them, to Mary’s great confusion and Adelaide’s manifest displeasure.

When they returned to the drawing-room, “Heavens! Adelaide,” exclaimed her cousin, in an affected manner, “what are you made of? Semele herself was but a mere cinder-wench to you! How can you stand such a Jupiter and not scorched! not even singed, I protest!” pretending to examine her all over. “I vow I trembled at your temerity your familiarity with the imperial nod was fearful. I every instant expected to see you turned into a live coal.”

“I did burn,” said Adelaide, “with shame, to see the mistress of a house forget what was due to her father’s guests.”

“There’s a slap on the cheek for me! Mercy! how it burns! No, I did not forget what was due to my father’s guests; on the contrary, I consider it due to them to save them, if I can, from the snares that I see set for them. I have told you that I abhor all traps, whether for the poor simple mouse that comes to steal its bit of cheese, or for the dull elderly gentleman who falls asleep with a star on his breast.”

“This is one of the many kind and polite allusions for which I am indebted to your Ladyship,” said Adelaide haughtily; “but I trust the day will come when I shall be able to discharge what I owe you.”

And she quitted the room, followed by Lady Juliana, who could only make out that Lady Emily had been insolent, and that Adelaide was offended. A pause followed.

“I see you think I am in the wrong, Mary; I can read that in the little reproachful glance you gave me just now. Well, perhaps I am; but I own it chafes my spirit to sit and look on such a scene of iniquity. Yes, iniquity I call it, for a woman to be in love with one man, and at the same time laying snares for another. You may think, perhaps, that Adelaide has no heart to love anything; but she has a heart, such as it is, though it is much too fine for every-day use, and therefore it is kept locked up in marble casket, quite out of reach of you or I. But I’m mistaken if Frederick has not made himself master of it! Not that I should blame her for that, if she would be honestly and downrightly in love with him. But how despicable to see her, with her affections placed upon one man, at the same time lavishing all her attentions on another and that other, if he had been plain John Altamont, Esq., she would not have been commonly civil to! And, apropos of civility I must tell you, if you mean to refuse your hero, you were too civil by half to him. I observed you at dinner, you sat perfectly straight, and answered everything he said to you.”

“What could I do?” asked Mary, in some surprise.

“I’ll tell you what I would have done, and have thought the most honourable mode of proceeding; I should have turned my back upon him, and have merely thrown him a monosyllable now and then over my shoulder.”

“I could not be less than civil to him, and I am sure I was not more.”

“Civility is too much for a man one means to refuse. You’ll never get rid of a stupid man by civility. Whenever I had any reason to apprehend a lover, I thought it my duty to turn short upon him and give him a snarl at the outset, which rid me of him at once. But I really begin to think I manage these matters better than anybody else ’Where I love, I profess it: where I hate, in every circumstance I dare proclaim it.’”

Mary tried to defend her sister, in the first place; but though her charity would not allow her to censure, her conscience whispered there was much to condemn; and she was relieved from what she felt a difficult task when the gentlemen began to drop in.

In spite of all her manoeuvres Mr. Downe Wright contrived to be next her, and whenever she changed her seat, she was sure of his following her. She had also the mortification of overhearing Lady Juliana tell the Duke that Mr. Downe Wright was the accepted lover of her youngest daughter, that he was a man of large fortune, and heir to his uncle, Lord Glenallan!

“Ah! a nephew of my Lord Glenallan’s! Indeed a pretty young man like the family! Poor Lord Glenallan! I knew him very well. He has had the palsy since then, poor man ah!”

The following day Mary was compelled to receive Mrs. Downe Wright’s visit; but she as scarcely conscious of what passed, for Colonel Lennox arrived at the same time; and it was equally evident that his visit was also intended for her. She felt that she ought to appear unconcerned in his presence, and he tried to be so; but still the painful idea would recur that he had been solicited to love her, and, unskilled in the arts of even innocent deception, she could only try to hide the agitation under the coldness of her manner.

“Come, Mary,” cried Lady Emily, as if in answer to something Colonel Lennox had addressed to her in a low voice, “do you remember the promise I made Colonel Lennox, and which it rests with you to perform?”

“I never consider myself bound to perform the promises of others,” replied Mary gravely.

“In some cases that may be a prudent resolution, but in the present it is surely an unfriendly one,” said Colonel Lennox.

“A most inhuman one!” cried Lady Emily, “since you and I, it seems, cannot commence our friendship without something sentimental to set us agoing. It rests with you, Mary, to be the founder of our friendship; and if you manage the matter well, that is, sing in your best manner, we shall perhap, make it a triple alliance, and admit you as third.”

“As every man is said to be the artificer of his own fortune, so every one, I think, had best be the artificer of their own friendship,” said Mary, trying to smile, as she pulled her embroidery frame towards her, and began to work.

“Neither can be the worse of a good friend to help them on,” observed Mrs. Downe Wright.

“But both may be materially injured by an injudicious one,” said Colonel Lennox; “and although, on this occasion, I am the greatest sufferer by it, I must acknowledge the truth of Miss Douglas’s observation. Friendship and love, I believe, will always be found to thrive best when left to themselves.”

“And so ends my novel, elegant, and original plan for striking up a sudden friendship,” cried Lady Emily. “Pray, Mr. Downe Wright, can you suggest anything better for the purpose than an old song?”

Mr. Downe Wright, who was not at all given to suggesting, looked a little embarrassed.

“Pull the bell, William, for the carriage,” said his mother; “we must now be moving.” And with a general obeisance to the company, and a significant pressure of the hand to Mary, she withdrew her son from his dilemma. Although a shrewd, penetrating woman, she did not possess that tact and delicacy necessary to comprehend the finer feelings of a mind superior to her own; and in Mary’s averted looks and constrained manner she saw nothing but what she thought quite proper and natural in her situation. “As for Lady Emily,” she observed, “there would be news of her and that fine dashing-looking Colonel yet, and Miss Adelaide would perhaps come down a pin before long.”

Soon after Colonel Lennox took his leave, in spite of Lady Emily’s pressing invitation for him to spend the day there, and meet her brother, who had been absent for some days, but was now expected home. He promised to return again soon, and departed.

“How prodigiously handsome Colonel Lennox looked to-day,” said she, addressing Mary; “and how perfectly unconscious, at least indifferent, he seems about it. It is quite refreshing to see a handsome man that is neither a fool nor a coxcomb.”

“Handsome! no, I don’t think he is very handsome,” said Lady Juliana. “Rather dark, don’t you think, my love?” turning to Adelaide, who sat apart at a table writing, and had scarcely deigned to lift her head all the time.

“Who do you mean? The man who has just gone out? Is his name Lennox? Yes, he is rather handsome.”

“I believe. you are right; he certainly is good-looking, but in a peculiar style. I don’t quite like the expression of his eye, and he wants that air distingue, which, indeed, belongs exclusively to persons of birth.”

“He has perfectly the air of a man of fashion,” said Adelaide, in a decided tone, as if ashamed to agree with her mother. “Perhaps un peu militaire, but nothing at all professional.”

“Lennox! it is a Scotch name,” observed Lady Juliana contemptuously.

“And, to cut the matter short,” said Lady Emily, as she was quitting the room, “the man who has just gone out is Colonel Lennox, and not the Duke of AItamont.”

After a few more awkward, indefinite sort of visits, in which Mary found it impossible to come to an explanation, she was relieved for the present from the assiduities of her lover. Lady Juliana received a note from Mrs. Downe Wright, apologising for what she termed her son’s unfortunate absence at such a critical time; but he had received accounts of the alarming illness of his uncle Lord Glenallan, and had, in consequence, set off instantly for Scotland, where she was preparing to follow; concluding with particular regards to Miss Mary hopes of being soon able to resume their pleasant footing in the family, etc. etc.

“How excessively well arranged it will be that old man’s dying at this time!” said her Ladyship, as she tossed the note to her daughter; “Lord Glenallan will sound so much better than Mr. Downe Wright. The name I have always considered as the only objectionable part. You are really most prodigiously fortunate.”

Mary was now aware of the folly of talking reason to her mother, and remained silent; thankful for the present peace this event would ensure her, and almost tempted to wish that Lord Glenallan’s doom might not speedily be decided.