Ellen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress — page 36: what you’re looking at

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

——$— a — eee ee ELLEN PERCY; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN ACTRESS. 23 “Oh! how you distress me by such assurances as these!’ she said, in a voice of anguish, and it even struck me for a moment that she wrung her hands. “Do be candid with me, Mary!” I entreatingly urged; “for your conduct frightens me. Recollect! it was only a couple of months back that you ex- perienced an adventure which proved to me your innocence—your artlessness— your unsuspecting nature! You remember, Mary, when you were ac- costed by a woman in the Burlington Arcade— when the Marquis of Tynedale insulted you—and when a young géntleman rescued you from his importunities P” The blushes were now burning upon Mary Glent- worth’s countenance; and I know not precisely how it was, but a suspicion made me instanta- neously in my own mind associate those incidents with her subsequent peculiarities of conduct. “Answer nie,” I said,—“ answer me, I conjure you!—have you renewed those acquaintances ?— have you since encountered any one of the persons to whom I have just referred ?” “Qh, Ellen !” she exclaimed, for the third time throwing herself into my arms, and weeping on my bosom; “is it a sin to be beloved ? is it a sin to love in return? or is it a crime to endeavour to keep the secret after being emphatically assured that this secret is not my own?” “Ah!” I ejaculated. “Now, Mary, you are telling me the truth—or at least you are approach- ing it. You love, my sweet friend? Come, place yourself by my side,” I continued, making her sit next to me upon a sofa which was in my bedehamber ; “ and speak to me as if it were to a sister !” Mary, whose countenance was still suffused with blushes, sat down by my side; and as [I held her hand in my own, I gently entreated her to give me her confidence. “ T have already told you, Ellen,” she said, in a low murmuring voice, and with diffidently averted looks, “that the secret is not altogether mine own * “What mean you, Mary? You have doubtless been enjoined by the object of this love of yaurs to maintain it as a secret for the present ig *Oh! I spoke to him of my uncle Mr. Glent- worth—I spoke to him likewise of you, Ellen—and he assured me that it were better that our love should remain a secret! He advanced a thousand reasons—I do nut recollect them now—I am so bewildered and confused but I yielded to his representations; and therefore did I remain silent. At first my conscience smote me, and I could scarcely endure to look you in the face, dear Ellen; for I felt that I was acting with duplicity towards you. Often and often have I beea onthe very point of throwing myself into your arms, or even at your feet—and confessing everything— but my feelings held me back; for in my soul there appeared to be two distinct currents of emo- tions—one prompting me to do my duty and act frankly towards you, Ellen, as my best and dearest friend—the other impelling me to make almost any sacrifice on behalf of that love which is so sweet to experience and to be reciprocated |” There was an unmistakable artlessness, an un- questionable sincerity in Mary Glentworth’s lan- guage, tone, and locks, as she thus spoke ; and I felt convinced that if she had been acting with im- prudence she had not fallen into frailty or error. Thus my mind was infinitely relieved; and I could now proceed to question her with comparative calmness. _ “But you have not told me, Mary,” I said, “ who is the object of this love of yours? Confi- dent am I that notwithstanding all this secrecy he cannot be an unworthy one © “Ob! if you did but know him, Ellen,” ex- claimed Mary, with all the enthusiasm of her young and loving heart, “you would like hin— you would not wonder that he should have made an impression upon me—his voice is so harmonious —his language is so tender—his looks are go full of affection And then too,” she added, with a deepening blush upon her cheeks, “ he is so hand- some—he possesses such a beautiful figure—his manners are so elezant 0 “But his name, Mary ?” I said ; “ what is his name ? and who is he ?” “His name is Clarence,” replied Miss Glent- worth: “is if not a pretty one? Hoe is a young gentleman of fortune—having no profession—free to follow his own inclinations = “ Clarence I presume is his Christian name,” I said: “but what is his surname? and where does he live?” “Clarence Beauchamp—that is his name,” re- joined Mary, all these revealings being charac- terised by mingled artlessness and reluctance, by sincerity and hesitation, as if she felt that she was sacrificing to her friendship for me the pledges of secrecy which she had made to her lover. “He lives at an hotel at the West-End— he belongs to two or three clubs Ps “So far so good,” I interjected, with an in- creased feeling of relief and satisfaction, for I was now convinced of the respectability of the object of Mary’s affection. ‘“ But how came you to form his acquaintance? If I might hazard a conjec- ture, this is the same young gentleman who behaved so handsomely to you two months ago, when you were accosted by that bad designing woman, and when the Marquis of Tynedale so grossly insulted you?” “'Yes—he is the same,” responded Mary. “A few days after that incident I met him again—it was of course quite by accident—and he accosted me. I could not do otherwise than speak to him: he kept me in conversation for a little while—but his manner was so respectful and yet so kind, that when we were about to separate and he asked if he might have the honour of pay- ing his respects to me at my own residence, I was about to answer with all frankness in the affirma- tive, when it suddenly struck me that I had no right to give an invitation to any one to visi at your house without your permission being pre- viously obtained.” “And what therefore did you say, Mary?” I inquired. “T told him that I was not living with parents or relatives, but that I was residing with a very dear friend—and then I named you, speaking of you as Miss Trafford. The young gentleman was surprised at the announcement—but he immedi- ately began to praise you in a manner which gave me infinite pleasure, because I always like to read or to hear the euiogies which are passed upon 3? COMMU sss OOO)|K (SO)