which it has since been necessary for me to shew 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 Judgement & 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, & that I had forbidden her speaking to you on the subject from 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, 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 beleived 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; & 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, & he came to expostulate with me; his compassion all alive for this illused Girl, this Heroine in distress! We misunderstood each other: he beleived 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, & was beyond expression mortified to find it, as I thought, so ill bestowed. We were both warm, & of course both to blame. His resolution of leaving Churchill is consistent with his general eagerness. When I understood his intention, however, & 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, & 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 farther, 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 ever, tho’ 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, & command herself as she ought, she may now be easy. Excuse me, my dearest Sister, for thus trespassing on your time, but I owed it to my own Character; & 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, & 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; & tho’ dreading my Brother’s departure, jealous, it may be, of his staying. I see how closely she observes him & 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 Madam, 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 wholly belong 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.
Yrs. Ever,
CATH. VERNON.
LETTER TWENTY-FIVE
LADY SUSAN TO MRS. JOHNSON
Churchhill.
I call on you, dear Alicia, for congratulations: I am again myself; – 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 Churchill! 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 chuse to leave my character at the mercy of a Man whose passions are so violent and resentful. 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, & looked as if half wishing & 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; & your resolution of quitting Churchill is undoubtedly in unison with our situation, & 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 & are so dear. My remaining here cannot give that pleasure to Mr. & Mrs. Vernon which your society must; & 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; & 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 any one; of very little to
