The Young Duchess; or, Memoirs of a Lady of Quality — page 381: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE YOUNG DUCHESS; OR, MEMOIRS OF A LADY OF QUALITY. Edward—do you not think me a strange, way- ward, silly creature—foolish even to childishness — in suffering myself to be amused with these notions of our contemplated Eastern travel ?” “T love you all the more, Azaline,” cried Wal- pole enthusiastically, ‘‘for everything that there is so romantic and wild in your imagination— your tastes i ‘And would you really like to see me attired, Edward, in some oriental costume? But, Ah! I forgot !” she abruptly exclaimed, with another of her sweet smiles. ‘‘The very question I have put will only lead you into paying me compli- ments and offering me flatteries !—and therefore let us at once turn the discourse to some other topic.” ‘“‘ Not before I have proclaimed my conviction,” answered Walpole, ‘‘that no matter what costume you may wear, you must ever be the loveliest of your sex u “Edward! I will not permit it!” ‘““You must shine peerless amongst all women— conspicuous above all!— more brilliant — more dazzling ‘” ‘‘Are there no means of stopping your lips, Edward ?” “Only thus,” rejoined the youth: and he pressed a kiss upon the beauteous mouth of Aza- line. ‘* And, now, sir,” she said, blushing and smiling ~——half affecting anger in her tone, and yet with tenderness and pleasure blending softly in her looks,—“ and now, sir, that I have been punished for my thoughtlessness in putting a question which led you into that sphere of compliments and flat- teries wherein you are so proficient, I trust that we are going to be rational. There are two or three subjects on which I desire to speak to you. In the first place I must positively return home this afternoon : the death of this Mr.-Casey may have more or less effect—though I cannot tell to what extent now—upon my father’s pecuniary circumstances. I am_ naturally anxious to learn how this may be——” ‘‘And if you return to Berkeley Square, Aza- line,” said Walpole anxiously, ‘‘ must I apprehend that——_” “That I shall cease to desire your society ?” interjected Azaline, with an arch smile. ‘ Oh, I daresay, Edward, you will be enabled to find your way to Berkeley Square by invitation, just as you have found it every day for a week past to Charl- ton Villa.” ** Oh, but that invitation, Azaline?” exclaimed the youth. ‘In spite of all your kind assurances, I tremble at the decision which your parents may pronounce when you appeal to them!” ‘‘Fear nothing, Edward ,”—Azaline paused for 2 moment, blushing as if ashamed of her own vehemence ; and then she said in a slower and lower tone, ‘‘My parents and my brother will offer no barrier to our happiness, Edward. Indeed, of Launcelot I can speak with as much certitude as if I were enunciating my own sentiments. I have been liberal towards him in regard to the affections of his own heart—I took his part when my parents would have compelled him to contract an alliance which he detested—I smiled upon the object of his love—TI proved to him that I at least possessed no prejudices; and therefore, even set- ting aside the natural generosity of his disposition, he has every reason to become our partisan.” x 367 ‘“‘Thanks, dearest Azaline—thanks, for this assurance!” cried Walpole enthusiastically. ‘“‘ But your parents ?” ‘“‘ Edward,” responded the young lady, with a serious tone, and yet with a smile upon her lips, “you know that I love you: I do not hesitate to proclaim this fact over and over again ; and much as I reverence and respect my parents, I shall assuredly follow the dictates of my own heart in preference to the dictation of a paternal despotism, even if it were attempted. But I do not appre- hend any such demonstration of cruelty on the part of my father and mother. Enough, however, upon this point for the present: there is another subject on which we must converse most seriously. Poor Hester was much worse last night 2 “And what says the physician now?” asked Walpole quickly. ‘* He looks gloomy, and answers evasively when Lady Amesbury adjures him in that impassioned manner which you have observed, that he will save her child! And during the past night her ladyship seemed to awaken to the full sense of the danger which threatens Hester, and of the be- reavement which therefore menaces herself. This morning she came to my chamber at an early hour ; and she avowed to mea certain wish which her heart cherishes, and the execution of which also appears in the light of a duty. She hopes that you, Edward, will become the means of fulfilling this desire on her part—and that too with the least possible delay.” “Tell me how I can serve Lady Amesbury,” cried Walpole, “ and you shall see with what ala- crity I will undertake any task which she may assign to me.” Azaline Osborne proceeded to enter upon ex- planatious ; but we need not chronicle the details which flowed from her lips. It will be sufficient for the purposes of our narrative if we follow in the footsteps of Edward Walpole, when he pre- sently left Charlton Villa. Remounting his horse, Edward repaired at once to the West End of the town; and alight- ing at the door of a handsome-looking house, he inquired for Mr. Ponsford. The servant who an- swered the summons seemed to hesitate: he said that his master was certainly at home, but that he did not think he would receive any visitors; for we should observe that after the ceremony of the private marriage, Ponsford had shut himself up in his library, with an intimation to the domestics that he did not wish to be disturbed. “Tt is not a mere ordinary visit which I am paying your master,” said Walpole: ‘indeed I am personally unknown to him, as he likewise is tome. But I seek him on a matter of some im- portance—and for this reason I request an imme- diate interview.” The domestic retired to convey this message to Mr. Ponsford; and Edward Walpole was promptly ushered into the library. Ponsford rose from his seat to receive him; and Walpole, who had been wonder- ing what kind of a man it was with whom he was about to be brought into contact, was much struck with that pale, serious, and melancholy counte- nance, the features of which were still so hand- some notwithstanding that the individual himself had numbered sixty winters. On the other hand Ponsford marvelled what could be the important business which had procured him this visit from | YN Wn) COMO Colin