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THE OLD sross
MANSION.
ago, that if two people were ever made for each other, you and Talbot were. No ordinary woman would have been able to win him. He needed a strong, original character like yours, feminine, but still heroic. It is not mere compliment, my dear child,” he added, in a serious tone, ‘‘ when I say this. God bless you. It is an old man’s hearty benediction; but it is sincere.”
CHAPTER X.
We returned to the city in September. My
marriage was to take place in the beginning of
the year.
My uncle and aunt, though studiously polite to me, could not forgive me for having, as they thought, supplanted Georgiana. Their secret aversion was such, that I often thought, if had not been about to become the wife of the rich and celebrated Mr. Talbot, they would have broken with me openly.
Mr. Talbot spent more than half of his time in our city. When he was with me, I was happy, but during his absences I had many sad hours; and I counted, with impatience, the days yet to elapse before I should have a right to be always with him.
Of Georgiana I saw very little. Her evenings were consumed by a round of parties, and her mornings were generally spent abroad. I learned, accidentally, from her maid, that she had become an early riser, and often took long walks before breakfast. She seemed to avoid my society; and when we met was reserved. On more than one occasion, when I saw her in society, I was struck with her unnaturally gay spirits. What little confidence had grown up between us, since we had become women, had ceased from the day Mr. Talbot had asked my hand. Thus alienated from nearly all the household, I devoted much of my time to Rosalie. We were together more than ever. Often, I said to myself, that my only regret, in leaving my uncle’s family, would be my separation from her.
We had been in town about two months, when Georgiana’s birth-day came around. It was to be celebrated by a great ball. The preparations for this event threw my cousin and myself frequently together, for there was much to consult about; and the great inequality of her spirits now struck me more than ever. I could not avoid the conclusion that she had some secret cause of unhappiness. Had I not known that she had never loved Mr. Talbot; but only intrigued to get him through sheer vanity, and perhaps a little pique at the unexplained departure of her supposed noble admirer, I might have imagined it was disappointed affection. More than once I was on the point of soliciting her confidence. But she always repelled even the slightest approaches of this description, coldly and haughtily. If her mother noticed her abstracted air, or unconscious sighs, she would break into a laugh, declare it was all imagination, and say she never felt better or happier in her life.
The ball went off brilliantly. Georgiana had never looked more beautiful, or seemed in higher spirits. Her parents, proud of the admiration she created, followed her with their eyes wher- ever she went.
“I declare,” said Mr. Talbot, gayly, “your cousin is almost as beautiful as yourself.”
‘Almost!” I retorted, in the same spirit. “It is well there is that saving clause. I don’t think I should ever forgive you otherwise.”
“It is more of a triumph to her parents than even to herself. How your uncle and aunt seem to worship her. What a strange thing parental love is.’
I read his thoughts. He was wondering how Georgiana, whom he thought so silly, could have inspired such attachment. But he solved the riddle immediately.
‘In fact, however,” he continued, as if speaking to himself, ‘‘it is themselves, in such cases, that parents love. Georgiana is showy, full of ° tact, and fashionably accomplished; they expect her to make a great match; and that hope, as well as the admiration she excites, gratifies their vanity.”
“You modern Rochafaucault,”’ I said, playfully, dropping his arm on which I had been leaning, ‘‘Avaunt!”
“Why not Mephistopheles at once?” he answered, laughing.
‘Well then Mephistopheles,” I cried. ‘I have no patience with you. You are always looking out for bad motives.”
‘Not always,” he said. ‘‘I don’t think there’s anything selfish in your love for Rosalie, for example. But, perhaps, we lawyers do look too much at the worse side of humanity. However, ? be it vanity or not, which makes your uncle and aunt adore Georgy, her death would be a blow none the less terrible.”
“T believe it would nearly kill them.”
I have recorded this conversation, because, often afterward, it recurred to me as having been almost prophetic.
Early the next morning, I went down to the deserted apartments, in order to see that the servants were prompt at rearranging them. Every one knows what a sad spectacle a ball-room pre-
