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Page 7
"No," said Beatrice, "I think you the last person in the world to
truckle to the great,--but no more of this; what kind of a being is
this Frederic Eardly?"
"I am a poor judge of character, besides, you would hardly give me
credit for being impartial. They say he is spoilt by his mother and
sisters, by whom he is perfectly idolized and to whom he is, in
return, devotedly attached."
"Come, that and helping poor Bennet, are certainly very redeeming
traits; but will his giving him a preference be doing justice to you,
who have done so much, and will it not--" here feeling she was going
too far, she coloured.
Mr. Barclay too, was much confused; and Beatrice was greatly relieved
when Mrs. Fortescue turned the conversation. She had long remarked to
herself, there was a mystery about Mr. Barclay which she could not
understand. There was, at times, a reserve she attributed to pride. If
not well born, he was quite _au fait_ in all the usages of well-bred
society. He never spoke of his family, but Mrs. Fortescue once asked
him if he had any sisters, when he replied, "Two, such as any brother
might be proud of;" but, while he spoke, the blood mantled in his
forehead, and fearing it might result from pride, she dropped the
subject, and, for the future, avoided saying anything that might
recall it, trusting that, in time, she might win his confidence.
Almost unconsciously to herself, was Ethelind, under the garb of
friendship, indulging a preference from which her delicacy shrank. She
could plainly see a growing attachment in Mr. Barclay to Beatrice, and
could not, for a moment, suppose he could be insensible to her
friend's fascinations, which certainly were very great. She was the
more convinced that Mr. Barclay loved Beatrice, for his manners
evidently changed, and, at times, he was absent and thoughtful, and
she sometimes fancied unhappy. Once it struck her, his affections
might be engaged elsewhere, and that Beatrice had shaken his faith to
her to whom it was plighted. She observed Beatrice using all her
efforts to attract and win Mr. Barclay, and yet she doubted if she
were sincere. Many things in her conduct led to this conclusion, and
showed no little coquetry in her disposition. Be it as it may, she met
Mr. Barclay's attentions more than half way, and seemed never in such
spirits as when with him; at any rate, poor Ethelind's delicacy took
the alarm, and she resolved to crush her own growing attachment in the
bud, and hide her feelings in reserve, and so great was her
self-command, that her love for Mr. Barclay, was unsuspected by all
save her mother.
As Beatrice and Ethelind were returning one evening from a long walk,
and being very tired, they sat down on a bank facing the Towy to rest
themselves, and watch the setting sun sink behind the undulating
mountains that almost surrounded them. They were, for some minutes, so
absorbed in the scene before them, that neither spoke; at last
Beatrice exclaimed:--
"What a pity it is, Ethelind, that you and Mr. Barclay never took it
into your heads to fall in love with each other; you would make such a
capital clergyman's wife."
"Beatrice!" said Ethelind, "why talk thus; do you mean to say that you
have been insensible to his attachment to you?"
"I do not mean to say that," replied she, "but I can assure you, that
if there is such a feeling, it is only on his side."
"And yet, you have not only received, but met his attentions with such
evident pleasure, and given him such decided encouragement."
"Now, Ethy, how could I resist a flirtation with such an interesting
character?"
"Oh, Beatrice, did you never think of the pain you might inflict by
leading him to suppose his affection was reciprocated."
"Never, my consciencious little Ethelind, he is too poor, nay, too
good, for me to think seriously of becoming his wife."
"Oh, Beatrice! I thought you had a more noble heart than to trifle
with the affections of such a man, particularly now there is a chance
of recovering your property; you might be so happy, and make him so
too."
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