Rosa Lambert — page 217: what you’re looking at

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

i nae 206 my cousin, I rejoice to have made her acquaint- ance.” “Ts your mother Lady Haverstock staying at Ramsgate?” L inquired, somewhat hastily: for I should have been by no means pleased to encounter her. “ Heaven forbid!” ejaculated my cousin. “ She has become so pious, and devotes so much sym- pathy to Missionary Societies and the benighted savages in islands thousands of miles off, that she is perfectly insufferable with her maudlin nonsense. She has kept my sister at home with her * “Ah! you have a sister?” I said. “Yes,” he responded. ‘ But is it not deplorable that the two branches of the family should have been so estranged that you actually were neces- sitated to ask the question you have just put? And now tell me, my fair cousin—or you will per- mit me to call you Rosa P—for you see that I know your Christian name. Indeed, it was by the pre- vious knowledge thereof that I was just now enabled to identify you as the Miss Lambert with whom [ might claim kinship. But as I was about to observe, you will permit me to call you Rosa? —and Ito youam John. Were my sister here, a ee eee a you should know her as Joanna: for she is an | amiable girl enough—and though completely under the mother’s thumb to all outward appearances, has nevertheless a little private spirit of indepen- dence of her own.” “You must not speak of me as Miss Lam- bert,” I said, with downcast looks. “fam Mrs, Beaumont.” “Good!” ejaculated Sir John Haverstock ; ‘ you shall be Mrs. Beaumont when I speak of you to others: to me you are cousin Rosa.” “You learnt who Iwas from Mr. Montague—that gentleman whom you spoke to just now? Now, in all frankness, Sir John Haverstock, tell me,” I said, recovering my self-possession and looking him full in the face as I spoke,—‘‘ can you without a sense of shame acknowledge me as your cousin? You are not unacquainted with my position: your own words ere now proved that you are enlightened on that head Ag “And in the same breath, my dear Rosa,” in- terrupted the young Baronet, “I assured you that I am no straight-laced relative who intends to chide you. ‘To allude for a moment to a painful subject, I have heard some httle things about your father; and I remember that my father and mother were highly wroth some four years ago, at_a little trick that was played upon them { “Do not—do not speak of it, I conjure you!” I exclaimed. “ You can judge how bitterly, bitterly humiliating it is for me to think of all the past, whether in connexion with my parents or myself. As for my mother, she no longer lives to feel the shame of her own misdeed or of her daughter’s fall.” “Pray forgive me, dear cousin,” said Haver- stock, in a gentle voice, which seemed full of kind- ness, as he beheld the tears trickling down my cheeks: “J was wrong to speak of the past. But you yourself put a question to me; and let me hasten to answer it. [ am not one of those sickly saints nor sanctimonious milk-sops whose rigid or maudlin notions are offended by the slightest devi- ation from what may be termed the purest mo- 3 a+ Oo — = ee OF Det oO Os ‘_— -o ij - ROSA LAMBERT. - ~— eee ee ee we rality. I Jook upon the world as one of pleasure, in which people may go to certain lengths, so long as they don’t positively outrage all decen- cies if ‘Do not think for a moment, cousin,” I inter. rupted him, “ that this reasoning on your part can dissipate the blush of shame from my cheeks, or tranquillize my own conscience. I know that 1 am lost and degraded: my only merit is that I do not assume a brazen hardihood in the presence of the world. I cannot expect that your notions of mo- rality should be of the strictest kind: you are a young man just launched into life—and your own pursuit of pleasure causes a certain laxity of prin- ciple and renders you to some degree careless and indifferent as to the character of the relative whom you have this day claimed. Not that I give this explanation of your feelings with a view to depre- ciate the frank generosity of your conduct towards me: but 1 would have you reflect whether it would not be more prudent for us to pass each other by as strangers for the future. You see, it is already beginning to be known who I am; and in speaking of me as your cousin, you will be proclaiming your relationship with a female of equivocal character. All this I say for your good.” ‘““f appreciate your motives, my dear Rosa,” re- turned Sir John Haverstock: “but not for an in- stant can I yield to the force of your reasoning. You are my cousin—I have claimed you as such— and you have similarly acknowledged me. I find you amiable, interesting, and agreeable: we shall meet from time to time in our walks and lounges; and I am not going to debar myself from the plea- sure of your society for an occasional half-hour, just because society around us affects a puritanical sanctimoniousness, which after all is only a gloss to conceal its own innate corruptions. So no more upon that subject. Ah! here is my most particu- lar friend—and you must permit me to introduce him. The Marquis of Belmore—my cousin Mrs. Beaumont.” And thus, before I could interpose a single syl- lable of remonstrance, the young nobleman, who at that instant came up, was presented to me. He made a courteous salutation, and began conversing upon a variety of subjects with all the ease of a well-bred man; and IL could not help thinking 5 ' that however silent he might be on grave matters — in the House of Commons, he nevertheless was ready enough with sparkling discourse for such an occasion as this. The Marquis and my cousin thus remained with me about half-an-hour; and © then took their leave,—the former bowing with becoming politeness, and the latter shaking me by the hand. When I was again alone, I began seriously to reflect whether I should not leave Ramsgate. The propriety of this step received not its inspiration entirely from the fact of its beginning to be known who I really was: because this was a risk that I must incur anywhere, and if L were constantly to flit from place to place every time I found it whispered that I was a kept mistress, I should have nothing to do but to travel without ceasing. But my main reason for think- ing of removal from Ramsgate was because I was renewing an old acquaintance and forming fresh | ones, which might lead me to be spoken of in @ manner that would injure me in Beaumont’s esti- Pe. ko i NE AT: i. it TT eS ade ‘comic _ e€omicpoc ‘ ) : by Ag! 90] Bw «.% ‘. — —— ae