114
THE
OLD
STONE MANSION.
detected annoyance in Mr. Talbot’s face, at my
uncle’s pompous gratitude; certainly his look
brightened up wonderfully when the set speech
was over.
The breakfast bell had now sounded, and the crowd was moving toward the dining-room, bearing Ae with it. Mr. Talbot and I were thrown together, for an instant, at tbe door. He held out his hand, as if he had known me for years, asking after Rosalie. I told him that she was as well as ever now, and added how much we all thanked him for what he had done. He smiled in reply, saying he had only performed a duty, and then we parted to go to our different seats; but there was something in the smile, which kept me, during all that meal, in a flutter of strange happiness.
I was in Georgiana’s room, just before dinner, assisting my cousin to complete her toilet, and my aunt was looking magisterially on, when there was a knock at the door, and my uncle entered, redder than ever in the face and puffing with the labor of coming up stairs. He plunged down on the frail bedstead, all the chairs being occupied, till it creaked under him, exclaiming, as he mopped his brow,
“I’ve got news for you, Georgy. Who do you think this Mr. Talbot is?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, papa. But he’s handsome; and a hero: how lovely he’d look in uniform.”
I bit my lip to conceal a smile. My uncle went on.
“Pooh! pooh! All stuff about hero and regimentals. He’s the Mr. Talbot, the famous Mr. Talbot, the ablest lawyer of his years in his city, as Senator Clare has just told me.” And the handkerchief was used, this time, to fan his face. “I thought I recognized him. When I was over there, two years ago, I heard him at a public meeting; it was about the Hungarians; Kossuth, you know, was expected then; and he actually made me cry.”
“Made you cry?” said Georgiana, opening her Juno-like eyes, and laughing a light laugh of incredulity.
“Yes! Nor was I the only one. You needn’t shake your head, you puss. Do you think we old fellows have no feelings?”
The only reply was a shrug of the pretty shoulders, which were unusually bare today. For some reason, indeed, my cousin had taken great pains with her toilet. My uncle paused, as if half ashamed of his confession, and then went on.
“But this gentleman is rich too, very rich; needn’t practice if he didn’t want to. I tell you what, Georgy,” and he looked at her seriously, “you’d better give up flirting and set your cap for him.”
“I intend to,” said my cousin, gayly, rising os she spoke, “and I’ll bet you, pa, that I succeed.” She tapped his cheek with her fan. “Is it done?”
“The day you are Mrs. Talbot,” was the reply, “I’ll give you ten thousand dollars in diamonds.”
“Will you, you precious old papa?” cried Georgiana, and she fairly took his head in her hands and kissed him, a feat I had not seen her perform, in full dress, for ye^rs.
CHAPTER VI.
Georgiana carried out her threat. It gave me a new idea of her intellect, if I may call it such, to see the tact with which she adapted herself to Mr. Talbot’s tastes. Their intimacy progressed rapidly. Though he was a hero in the eyes of all the yonng ladies, and, therefore, welcomed by each with smiles, she seemed, by some art known only to herself, to be able to while him away at will. I believe they began, at last, to hate her. I own to having, more than once, been secretly annoyed at the successful nonchalance with which she would approach, when Mr. Talbot was conversing with me, make some gay remark, and finally carry him off triumphantly. There is a manner acquired by persons who live much in society, which is often more serviceable than higher mental qualities. This Georgiana possessed in perfection. Her taste in dress also was exquisite, and her means of gratifying it unlimited.
“Your cousin always looks like a picture,” he said to me, one evening, as Georgiana floated into the drawing-room, her light., voluminous robes falling cloud-like about her. “She has the rare gift of knowing precisely what will become her; and in that respect is a true artist.”
At other times he would praise what he called her feminine nature. “She seems to love all things that are beautiful,” he once said. “It is, as developed in her, a purely feminine characteristic. I often think, that, to the extent to which a woman has it, is she truly womanly. Men, instinctively, seek turmoil and strife; they delight in something to conquer; and the best of them, I believe, prefer those women who are most entirely their opposites.”
One morning, Georgiana appeared with her hair brushed back from her face, and wearing a light colored robe, that opened in front, displaying a superbly embroidered skirt: the robe was
