Rosa Lambert — page 269: what you’re looking at

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

| happened. ——— — young enough to be his granddaughter, could pos- sibly have pinned himself more completely to his wife’s apron than my comparatively youthful lover of twenty-seven or twenty-cight attached himself tome. Three or four families in the neighbour- hood called upon us; and as I was now getting much less punctilious and scrupulous than was formerly my wont, I wished to cultivate their ac- quaintance, inasmuch as I longed for society. I passed as a married woman: all the neighbourhood believed me to be such; and therefore the oppor- tunity was excellent for forming these friendships. But Felix threw a thousand little obstacles in the way. Not that he was punctilious in respect to my position: on the contrary—he was so proud of me that if I had urged any entreaty for him to make me his wife, in his infatuation he would have done so. But I felt that I never could be really happy with him, and foresaw that our connexion would not last very lone. In respect to the fami- lies to whom I have alluded, he gave them no en- couragement to repeat their visits; and when I insisted on returning their calls, he had so many excuses that it was with infinite diffieulty I could at length compel him to accede to my wishes. But even then he cut short the visits with an abrupt- ness which produced the impression that we merely returned their calls for courtesy’s sake, but that really we did not court society. The consequence was they returned not again; and I lost the ac- quaintances in whose society I might have whiled away many an hour which was now destined to hang so heavily on my hands, Our villa had a flower-garden in front, aid was separated from the road by iron railings, One exceedingly fine day, in the month of December, I availed myself of an opportunity when Felix was temporarily engaged in writing some letters, to take a walk in that garden: but scareely had I entered it, when I beheld a gentleman on _horse- back ride up to the gate and lift hishatto me, It was Mr. Alvanly; and remembering with how much kindness he had treated me in respect to my cousin and the Marquis at Ramsgate, I hastened forward, and shook hands with him over | the gate. “ What a shocking thing,” he observed after the usual compliments were exchanged, “ was the death of Belmore !” “And you will be surprised to hear,” I said, “that I was on board the vessel at the time it Ah! but do not imagine for a mo- ment that I had voluntarily sought his society: the invitation came from a mutual friend—and | I knew not whom I should encounter in that yacht.” | “It was indeed a sad thing !” remarked Alvanly : then in a hesitating manner he inquired, “ Is Cap- tain Beaumont sf “No,” L responded: for I knew what he meant. “J am now living with a Mr. Wellesley.” “And I hope you are happy,’ he rejoined. * By the bye, your precious cousin Sir John Haver- stock is going on at a desperate rate. Iam told that sometime ago he lost fifteen thousand pounds at one swoop on the turf. He is making ducks and drakes of his fortune, and will speedily get through it.” ,_ 1 saw by Alvanly’s manner that he was per- foctly ignorant of the diabolic treacheries perpe- / ROSA LAMBERT. trated towards me by my cousin and the deceased Marquis. We remained conversing at the gate for about ten minutes: we then shook hands again— and Alvanly cantered away, followed by his groom, who had been halting at a little distance, As I turned from the gate, I saw Felix appear upon the threshold of the front door; and it immediately struck me that there would be a scene. But in anticipation thereof, I summoned all my fortitude to my aid,—resolying that if he did really show any unbecoming jealousy, L would resent it. In. deed I longed for an opportunity to break through that web of tyranny which, though formed of silken and golden threads, was nevertheless a web all the same, and kept me enthralled to a greater or lesser extent, “My dear Rose,” exclaimed Felix, rushing towards me with a sort of dismay upon his coun- tenance, “ who on earth is it that you have been talking to for the last ten minutesP I was a great mind to join you But who was he P” “ An old friend of mine,’ I answered, somewhat distantly. “An old friend P” echoed Felix, looking as if he thought my answer was a very momentous one. “Yes,” I responded,—“a friend of some years’ standing. Is it so very strange that I should pos- sess a friend P” “If of your own sex, to be sure not rejoined Felix. “ But 1 “ But what ?” I inquired. “Why, my dear Rose, you cannot think it is a very pleasant thing for me to see you stand laugh- ing and talking for ten long minutes with a gen- tleman who is a perfect stranger to myself.” “Then I am sure, Felix, you are very silly to be displeased with it,” I replied: “ for if you were to meet some lady of your acquaintance, and stand talking to her for half-an-hour, it would not give me the slightest concern.” _ Wellesley gazed upon me with a perfect con- sternation; it seemed as if he thought that he could not have heard aright. But I maintained all my coolness; and though to a certain extent grieved at the evident torture I was causing him, yet I saw the necessity of seizing the present opportunity for speaking thus frankly and plainly, so as to emancipate myself somewhat from the trammels which his very love itself had woven around me. | “You mean this, Rose?’ he at length said, with a voice and look of the profoundest dejection: and then with a deep sigh, he added, “ You do not love me?” “ Yes, Felix,” I answered; “I esteem you in a rational and sensible manner. I would do much to insure your happiness: in short, I would make it my study if you were to allow me to set about it after my own fashion. But you are so unrea- sonable s “ Unreasonable to love you as I do?” he ex- claimed, looking as if every fresh sentence that came from my lips struck him blow upon blow,— dispelling one fondly cherished illusion after an- other. “ Not unreasonable to love me,” I responded ; “because if you loved me not, we should not be together—but unreasonable to make this love of your’s a source of perpetual torture both for yours 1? quickly .OOKS (E(o) a