CHAPTER III.
IT was quite early on the following morning, when
Mr. Delafield rung at the door of the house in which
the father of Miss Henly resided. The gentleman
had obtained the permission of the young lady, the
preceding evening, to put himself on the list of her
visiting acquaintance, and a casual introduction to
both of Charlotte's parents had smoothed the way
to this intimacy. It is certain, that, much as Mr. and
Mrs. Henly loved their child, neither of them
entertained the selfish wish of monopolizing all of
her affections to themselves during life. It was
natural, and a thing to he expected, that Charlotte
should marry; and among the whole of their
acquaintance there appeared no one so
unobjectionable as her new admirer. He was
agreeable in person, in manners, and in temper; he
was intelligent, witty, and a man of the world; and,
moreover, he was worth--three hundred thousand
dollars! What parent is there whose judgment
would remain unbiassed by these solid reasons in
favour of a candidate for the hand of his child? or
what female is there whose heart could be steeled
against such attractions in her suitor? Many were
the hours of care that had been passed by the
guardians of Charlotte's happiness, in ruminating
on the event that was to yield their charge to the
keeping of another; frequent were their discussions
on this interesting subject, and innumerable their
plans to protect her inexperience against falling
into those errors that had blasted the peace of so
many around them; but the appearance of Seymour
Delafield seemed as the fulfilment of their most
sanguine expectations. To his refinement of
manners, they both thought that they could yield
the sensitive delicacy of their child with confidence;
in his travelled experience they anticipated the
permanency of a corrected taste; nor, was it a
disagreeable consideration to either, that as the
silken cord of paternal discipline was to be
loosened, it was to be succeeded by the fetters of
hymen cast in polished gold. In what manner their
daughter regarded the evident admiration of Mr.
Delafield will appear, by her conclusion of our tale.
On entering the parlour, Delafield found George
Morton seated in a chair near the fire, with his
person more than usually well guarded against the
cold, as if he were suffering under the effects of a
serious indisposition. The salutations between the
young men were a little embarrassed on both sides;
the face of George growing even paler than before,
while the fine colour on Delafield's cheek mounted
to his very temples. After regarding for a moment,
with much inward dissatisfaction, the apparent
ease with which George was maintaining
possession of the apartment by himself, Mr.
Delafield overcame the sudden emotion created by
the surprise, and spoke.
"I am sorry that you appear so ill, Mr. Morton, and I
regret that you should have suffered so much in the
cause of humanity, when one so much better able
to undergo the fatigue, by constitution, should have
remained an idle spectator, like myself."--
The silent bow of George might be interpreted into
a desire to say nothing of his own conduct, or into
an assent with the self-condemnation of the
speaker. Delafield, however, took the chair which
the other politely placed for him, and continued--
"But, Sir, you have your reward. The interest and
admiration excited in Miss Henly, would
compensate me for almost any privation or hardship
that man could undergo."
"It is no hardship to ride a few miles in a
comfortable coach," said George, with a feeble
smile, "nor can I consider it a privation of
enjoyment, to be able to assist the distressed,"--he
hesitated a moment, and a flush gradually stole
over his features as he continued, "It is true, Sir,
that I prize the good opinion of Miss Henly highly,
but I look to another quarter for approbation on
such a subject."
"And very justly, George," said the soft voice of
Charlotte, "such applause as mine can be but of
little moment to one who performs such acts as
yours."
The gentlemen were sitting with their faces towards
the fire, and had not heard the light step of Miss
Henly as she entered the apartment, but both
instantly arose and paid their salutations; the
invalid by a silent bow, and by handing a chair, and
Delafield with many a graceful compliment on her
good looks, and divers protestations concerning the
pleasure he felt at being permitted to visit at her
house. No two things could be more different than
the manners of these gentlemen. That of the latter
was very highly polished, insinuating, and although
far from unpleasantly so, yet slightly artificial;
while that of the former was simple, ingenuous,
and in the presence of Miss Henly was apt to be at
times a little constrained. Charlotte certainly
perceived the difference, and she as certainly
thought that it was not altogether to the advantage
of George Morton. The idea seemed to give her
pain, for she showed several little attentions to her
old friend, that by their flattering, but unstudied
particularity, were adapted to put any man at his
ease and assure him of his welcome, still the
embarrassment of George did not disappear, but he
sat an uneasy listener to the conversation that
occurred, as if reluctant to stay, and yet unwilling
to depart. After a few observations on the
entertainment of the preceding evening, Mr.
Delafield continued--
"I was lamenting to Mr. Morton, as you entered,
that he should have suffered so much from my want
of thought, the day before yesterday; it requires a
good constitution to endure exposure--"
"And such I often tell you, George, you do not
possess," said Charlotte, kindly and with a little
melancholy; "yet you neither seem to regard my
warnings on the subject, nor those of any of your
friends"--
"There is a warning that I have not disregarded,"
returned the youth, endeavouring to smile.
"And what is it?" asked Charlotte, struck with the
melancholy resignation of his manner.
"That I am not fit company, just now, for hearts as
gay as yours and Mr. Delafield's," he returned, and
rising, he made a hasty bow and withdrew.
"What can he mean!" said Charlotte, in amazement,
"George does not appear well, and latterly his
manner is much altered--what can he mean, Mr.
Delafield?"
"He is ill," said Delafield, far from feeling quite
easy at the evident interest that the lady
exhibited; "he is ill, and should be in his bed,
instead of attending the morning levees of even
Miss Henly."
"Indeed, he is too regardless of his health," said
Charlotte in a low tone, fixing her eyes on the
grate, where she continued gazing for some time.
Every effort of Seymour was made to draw off the
attention of the young lady from a subject, that,
however melancholy, seemed to possess peculiar
charms for her. In this undertaking the gentleman
would not have succeeded but for the fortunate
appearance of Miss Osgood, who came into the
room very opportunely to keep alive the discourse.
"What, tete-a-tete!" exclaimed Maria; "you should
discharge your footman, Charlotte, for saying that
you were at home. A young lady is never supposed
to be at home when she is alone--with a
gentleman."
"I shall then know how to understand the servant of
Mr. Osgood, when I inquire for his daughter," cried
Seymour gayly.
"Ah! Mr. Delafield, it is seldom that I have an
opportunity of hearing soft things, for I am never
alone with a gentleman in my father's house"--
"And is Mrs. Osgood so rigid?" returned the
gentleman; "surely the gravity of her daughter
should create more confidence"--
"Most humbly I thank you, Sir,{"} said Maria,
courtseying low before she took the chair that he
handed; "but it is not the caution of Mrs. Osgood
that prevents any solos in her mansion, unless it be
on a harp or flute, or any possibility of a tete-a-
tete."
"Now you have excited my curiosity to a degree
that is painfully unpleasant," said Delafield, "I
know you to be too generous not to allay it"--
"Oh! it is nothing more than a magical number, that
frightens away all applicants for such a favour,
unless indeed it may be such as would not be very
likely to be successful were they to apply; and
which even would render it physically impossible to
have a tender interview within the four walls of the
mansion"--
"It is a charmed number, indeed! and is it on the
door? is it the number of the house?"
"Oh! not at all--only the number of the family, the
baker's dozen, that I mentioned last evening; now
in visiting Miss Henly there is no such interruption
to be apprehended."
Charlotte could not refrain from smiling at the
vivacity of her friend, who, perceiving that her wish
to banish the look of care that clouded the brow of
the other had vanished, changed the discourse as
abruptly as she had introduced it.
"I met George Morton at the door, and chatted with
him for several minutes. He appears quite ill, but I
know he has gone two miles in the country for his
mother this raw day; unless he is more careful of
himself he will ruin his constitution, which is none
of the best now."
Maria spoke with feeling, and with a manner that
plainly showed that her ordinary levity was
assumed, and that she had at the bottom, much
better feelings than the trifling intercourse of the
world would usually permit her to exhibit. Charlotte
did not reply, but her brightening looks once more
changed to that pensive softness which so well
became her delicate features, and which gave to
her countenance an expression such as might be
supposed to shadow the glory of angels, when,
from their abode of purity and love, they look down
with pity on the sorrows of man.
The quick glance of Delafield not only watched, but
easily detected, both the rapid transitions and the
character of these opposite emotions. Under the
sudden influence of passions, that probably will not
escape our readers, he could not forbear uttering, in
a tone in which pique might have been too
apparent.
"Really, Mr. Morton is a happy fellow!"
The blue eyes of Charlotte were turned to the
speaker with a look of innocent inquiry, but she
continued silent. Maria, however, not only bestowed
a glance at the youth from her laughing hazel ones,
but found utterance for her tongue also.
"How so?" she asked--"He is not of a strong
constitution, not immensely rich, nor over and
above--that is, not particularly handsome. Why is
he so happy?"
"Ah! I have discovered that a man may be happy
without one of those qualifications."
"And miserable who has them all?"
"Nay, nay, Miss Osgood, my experience does not
extend so far--I am not quite the puppy you think
me."
Maria, in her turn, was silent; but she arose from
her seat, and moved with an absent air to a distant
part of the room, and for a short time seemed to be
particularly occupied in examining the beauties of a
port-folio of prints, with every one of which she was
perfectly familiar. The conversation was resumed by
her friend.
"You have mortified Miss Osgood, Mr. Delafield,"
said Charlotte; "she is too good natured to judge
any one so harshly."
"Is her good nature, in this particular, infectious?"
the young man rather whispered than uttered
aloud--"Does her friend feel the same indulgence
for the infirmities of a frail nature to which she
really seems herself hardly to belong?"
"You compliment me, Mr. Delafield, at the expense
of truth, if it really be a compliment to tell me that
I am not a girl--a female; for if I am not a woman,
I must be something worse."
"You are an angel!" said Delafield, with
uncontrollable fervour.
Charlotte was startled by his manner and his words,
and unconsciously turned to her friend, as if to seek
her protecting presence; but to her astonishment,
she beheld Maria in the act of closing the door as
she was leaving the room.
"Maria!" she cried, "whither in such a hurry? I
expected you to pass the morning with me."
"I shall see your mother and return," replied Miss
Osgood, closing the door so rapidly as to prevent
further remark. This short speech, however, gave
Charlotte time to observe the change that
something had produced in the countenance of her
old companion, where, in place of the thoughtless
gaiety that usually shone in her features, was to be
seen an expression of painful mortification; and
even the high glow that youth and health had
imparted to her cheeks, was supplanted by a death-
like paleness. Delafield had been endeavouring to
peruse the countenance of Miss Henly in a vain
effort to discover the effect produced by his warm
exclamation; and these observations, which were
made by the quick eye of friendship, entirely
escaped his notice.
"Maria is not well, Mr. Delafield," Charlotte said
hastily. "I know your goodness will excuse me while
I follow her."
The young man bowed with a mortified air, and was
somewhat ungraciously beginning to make a polite
reply, when the door opened a short space, and the
voice of Miss Osgood was once more heard, saying
in a forced, but lively manner--
"I never was better in my life; I shall run into Mrs.
Morton's for ten minutes; let me find you here, Mr.
Delafield, when I return." Her footstep was heard
tripping along the passage, and in a moment after,
the street door of the house opened and shut.
Charlotte perceiving that her friend was
determined, for some inexplicable reason, to be
alone, quietly resumed her seat. Her musing air
was soon changed to one of surprise, by the
following remark of her companion:
"You appear, Miss Henley," he said, "to be
sensitively alive to the ailings of all you know but
me."
"I did not know that you were ill, Mr. Delafield!
Really, sir, I never met with any gentleman's looks
which so belied him, if you are otherwise than both
well and happy."
As much experience as Delafield possessed in the
trifling manoeuvres of managers, or perhaps in the
manifestations of feelings that are exhibited by
every-day people, he was an absolute novice in the
emotions of a pure, simple, ingenuous female
heart. He was alive to the compliment to his
acknowledged good looks, conveyed in this speech,
but he was not able to appreciate the single-
heartedness that prompted it. Perhaps his
handsome face was as much illuminated by the
consciousness of this emotion as by the deeper
feeling he actually experienced, while he replied,--
"I am well, or ill, as you decree. Miss Henley; it is
impossible that you should live in the world, and be
seen, be known as you are, and must have been
seen and known, and not long since learned the
power you possess over the happiness of
hundreds."
Though Charlotte was simple, unsuspecting, pure,
and extremely modest, she was far from dull--she
was not now to learn the difference between the
language of ordinary trifling and general
compliment, and that to which she now listened,
and which, however vague, was still so particular as
to induce her to remain silent. The looks and
manner of the youthful female, at that moment,
would have been a study to those who love to dwell
on the better and purer beings of creation. She was
silent, as we have already remarked, because she
could make no answer to a speech that either
meant every thing or nothing. The slight tinge that
usually was seated on her cheek spreading over its
whole surface like the faintest glow of sunset
blending, by mellow degrees, with the surrounding
clouds, was heightened to richness, and even
diffused itself like a reflection, across her polished
forehead, because she believed she was about to
listen to a declaration that her years and her
education united to tell her was never to approach
female ears without slightly trespassing on the
delicacy of her sex. Her mild blue eyes, beaming
with the glow on her face, rose and fell from the
carpet to the countenance of Delafield, but chiefly
dwelt in open charity, and possibly in anxiety, on
his own. In fact, there was thrown around her whole
air, such a touch of exquisite and shrinking
delicacy, so blended with feeling benevolence, and
even tender interest, that it was no wonder that a
man, handsome to perfection, young, intelligent,
and rich, mistook her feelings.
"Pardon me, Miss Henley," he cried, and the
apology was unconsciously paid to the commanding
purity and dignity of her air, "if I overstep the rules
of decorum, and hasten to declare that which I
know years of trial would hardly justify my saying;
but your beauty, your grace, your----your----where
shall I find words to express it?--your loveliness,
yes, that means every thing--your loveliness has
not been seen with impunity."
This might have done very well for a sudden and
unprepared declaration; but being a little indefinite,
it failed to extract a reply, his listener giving a
respectful, and, at times, a rather embarrassing
attention to what he was to add. After a short
pause, the youth, who found words as he
proceeded, and with whom, as with all others, the
first speech was the most difficult, continued--
"I have known you but a short time, Miss Henley;
but to see you once is to see you always. You
smile, Miss Henley, but give me leave to hope that
time and assiduity will enable me to bring you to
such a state of feeling, that in some degree, you
may know how to appreciate my sensations."
"If I smile, Mr. Delafield," said Charlotte in a low
but distinct voice, "it is not at you, but at myself. I,
who have been for seventeen years constantly with
Charlotte Henley, find each day something new in
her, not to admire, but to reprehend." She paused a
moment, and then added, smiling most sweetly as
she spoke, "I will not affect to misunderstand you,
Mr. Delafield; your language is not very intelligible,
but it is such that I am sure you would not use to
me if you were not serious, and did not feel, or
rather think you feel what you utter."
"Think I feel?" he echoed. "Don't I know it? Can I
be mistaken in my own sentiments? I may be
misled in yours--may have flattered myself with
being able to accomplish that at some distant day,
which your obduracy may deny me, but in my own
feelings I cannot be mistaken."
"Not where they are so very new; nay, do not start
so eagerly--where they MUST be so very new.
Surely your fancy only leads you to say so much,
and to-morrow, or next day, your fancy, unless
encouraged by you to dwell on my unworthy self,
will lead you elsewhere."
"Now, Miss Henley, what I most admire in your
character is its lovely ingenuousness, its simplicity,
its HEART; and I will own I did not expect such an
answer to a question put, like mine, in sincerity and
truth."
"If I have failed to answer any question you have
put to me, Mr. Delafield, it is because I am
unconscious than any was asked; and if I have
displayed disengenuousness, want of simplicity, or
want of feeling, it has been unintentional, I do
assure you; and only proves that I can be guilty of
errors, without their being detected by one who has
known me so long and so intimately."
"My impetuosity has deceived me and distressed
you," said Delafield--"I would have said that I love
you ardently, passionately, and constantly, and
shall for ever love you. I should have asked your
permission to say all this to your parents, to
entreat them to permit me to see you often, to
address you; and, if it were not impossible, to hope
that in time they would consent to intrust me with
their greatest treasure, and that you would not
oppose their decree."
"This is certainly asking many questions in a
breath," said Charlotte smiling, but without either
irony or triumph; "and were it not for that word,
breath, I should experience some uneasiness at
what you say; I find great satisfaction, Mr.
Delafield, in reflecting that our acquaintance is not
a week old."
"A week is time enough to learn to adore such a
being as you are, Miss Henley, though an age would
not suffice to do justice to your merits. Say, have I
your permission to speak to your father? I do not
ask you yet to return my affection--nay, I question
if you can ever love as I do."
"Perhaps not," said Charlotte; "I can love enough to
feel a great and deep interest in those who are
dear to me, but I never yet have experienced such
emotions, as you describe--I believe, in this
particular, you have formed a just opinion of me,
Mr. Delafield; I suspect such passions are not in
the compass of my feelings."
"They are, they must be, Miss Henley: allow me to
see you often, to speak to your father, and at least
to hope--may I not hope that in time you will learn
to think me a man to be trusted with your
happiness as your husband?"
The quiet which had governed the manner of
Charlotte during this dialogue, was sensibly
affected by this appeal, and for a short time she
appeared too much embarrassed to reply. During
this interval, Delafield gazed on her, in delight; for
with the sanguine feelings of youth, he interpreted
every symptom of emotion in his own favour.
Finding, however, that she was distressed for a
reply, he renewed his suit--
"Though I have known you but a few days, I feel as
if I had known you for years. There are, I believe,
Miss Henley, spirits in the world who commune with
each other imperceptibly, who seem formed for
each other, and who know and love each other as
by instinct."
"I have no pretensions to belong to that class,"
said Charlotte; "I must know well to love a little,
but I trust I feel kind sentiments to the whole
human race."
"Ah, you do not know yourself. You have lived all
your life in the neighbourhood of that Mr. Morton
who just went out, and you feel pity for his illness.
He does indeed look very ill--but you have yet to
learn what it is to love. I ask the high favour of
being permitted to attempt the office of--of--of--"
"Of teaching me!" said Charlotte with a smile."
{sic}
"No--that word is too presumptuous--too coarse--"
"Hear me, Mr. Delafield," said Miss Henley after a
short pause, during which she seemed to have
experienced some deep and perhaps painful
emotions--"I cannot undertake to give you a reason
for my conduct--very possibly I have no good one;
but I feel that I should be doing you injustice by
encouraging what you are pleased to call hopes--I
wish to be understood now, as saying that I cannot
consent to your expecting that I should ever
become your wife."
Delafield was certainly astonished at this refusal,
which was given in that still, decided manner that
admits of little opposition. He had long been
accustomed to apprehend a sudden acceptance, and
had been in the habit of strictly guarding both his
manner and his language, lest something that he
did or said might justify expectations that would
have been out of his power to fulfil; but now, when,
for the first time, he had ventured a direct offer, he
met with a rejection that possessed all the
characteristics of sincerity, he was, in truth, utterly
astounded. After taking a sufficient time to collect
in some degree his faculties, he came to the
conclusion that he had been too precipitate, and
had urged the suit too far, and too hastily.
"Such may be your sentiments now, Miss Henley,"
he said, "but you may alter them in time: you are
not called on for a definite answer."
"If not by you, I am by truth, Mr. Delafield. It would
be wrong to lead you to expect what can never--"
"Never?" said Delafield--"you cannot speak so
decidedly."
"I do, indeed I do," returned Charlotte firmly.
"I have not deceived myself in believing you to be
disengaged, Miss Henley?"
"You have a right to require a definite answer to
your questions, Mr. Delafield; but you have no right
to exact my reasons for declining your very
flattering offer--I am young, very young--but I know
what is due to myself and to my sex--"
"By heavens! my suspicion is true--you are already
betrothed!"
"It would be easy to say NO to that assertion, sir,"
added Charlotte, rising; "but your right to a reason
in a matter where inclination is so material, is
exactly the same as my right would be to ask you
why you did not address me. I thank you for the
preference you have shown me, Mr. Delafield. I
have not so little of the woman about me, not to
remember it always with gratitude; but I tell you
plainly and firmly, for it is necessary that I should
do so--I never can consent to receive your
proposals."
"I understand you, madam--I understand you," said
the young man with an offended air; "you wish my
absence--nay, Miss Henley, hear me further."
"No further, Mr. Delafield," interrupted Charlotte,
advancing to him with a kind, but unembarrassed
air, and offering her hand--"we part friends at least;
but I think, now we know each other's sentiments,
we had better separate."
The gentleman seized the hand she offered, and
kissed it more with the air of a lover, than of an
offended man, and left the room. A few minutes
after he had gone, Miss Osgood re-appeared.
