MANNERS:

A NOVEL.

IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. II.

LONDON:
PRINTED FOR BALDWIN, CRADOCK, AND JOY,
PATERNOSTER ROW.

1817.

MANNERS.

CHAPTER I.

It was long before Selina's agitated spirits could be composed; and when at length she sunk to rest, she was haunted by confused dreams of mixed joy and sorrow, in which Mordaunt's figure was always prominent. At last, however, towards morning she fell into a quiet sleep, from which she did not awake till several hours after Mrs. Galton and Augustus had left Eltondale.

Selina had given her maid so many charges to call her in time to take leave of them, that she had firmly relied on her doing so, little imagining that Mrs. Galton had previously determined to spare her the pain of parting. She had left a note for her, in which she reiterated her farewell, and her request to hear frequently from Selina; but the kindness of its expressions, if possible, aggravated the poor girl's sorrow and disappointment. As usual, she gave way unrestrainedly to her feelings, and wept aloud, really unconscious that while her tears flowed ostensibly for Mrs. Galton alone, her regrets arose not a little from the absence of Augustus. But, though Selina deceived herself in the belief, that she only bewailed this her first separation from her beloved aunt, she was most sincere in the grief she professed to feel on her account; for hypocrisy was a stranger to her guileless heart, yet uninitiated in the mysteries of that world, in which the timid and unpractised first learn to conceal the sentiments they actually feel, and conclude by displaying those that are but assumed. On the contrary, her genuine feelings were neither blunted by familiarity with sorrow, nor exhausted by the premature cultivation of sickly sensibility; and, though a more sobered reason might have wished the expression of them to be occasionally restrained, yet even a Stoic might have confessed, that the perfection of her judgment would have been dearly purchased by any alteration in the susceptibility of her heart.

Her melancholy toilet was scarcely finished, before she was summoned to Lady Eltondale's dressing-room. Her Ladyship advanced to the door to meet her with unusual cordiality of manner; but she scarcely beheld her wan countenance, when, starting back, she exclaimed with surprise, "Good heavens, child! what can be the matter? Oh! I had really forgotten Mrs. Galton's departure. Why, Selina, you could not have disfigured yourself more, if she was gone to heaven instead of to Bath. Here, La Fayette, do bring some cold cream to Miss Seymour, and a little eau de Cologne. However, my dear girl, I cannot regret that you have so totally disguised yourself to-day, as we shall have a pleasant tête à tête. You shall breakfast up stairs with me this morning, for you are really at present not presentable."

Lady Eltondale's kind consideration for Selina individually, and apparent indifference to the cause of her sorrow, was, perhaps, more effectual in its temporary suppression, than the most sympathetic condolences would have been; and, before Mons. Argant made his appearance with the apparatus for breakfast, Selina had sufficiently recollected herself, to request Lady Eltondale not to derange her plans on her account, but to remember her other guests.

"My dear little rustic," answered her Ladyship, laughing, "your odd notions really remind me of the last century. Nobody plays the part of hostess now; and as to guests—none could be admitted into a fashionable house, that do not know how to make themselves perfectly at home in it. I declare you are so simple, you would hardly have understood the merit of Mr. Frederick Bijou appearing last spring at a party his wife gave to the Prince, with a round hat under his arm, to show he was the only stranger in the room. Why now every inn in a country village is fitted up with all the conveniences of a private house; and the best praise you can give to a family mansion is to compare it to an hotel." The Viscountess was excessively entertained at the artless surprise expressed by her auditor; and concluded some similar observations by saying, she knew Selina would be so astray in the scene into which she had been thus suddenly dropt, that she was very glad nobody would be with them till after Christmas. "Then," said Selina, "I suppose Lady Hammersley is gone." "Oh! dear no—but she is nobody. Sir Robert is a relation of my Lord's; and I am obliged to go through the martyrdom of hearing his barbarous phraseology for at least a month every year, and I am afraid ten days of the penance are yet to come. Lady Hammersley never visits London; and, indeed, I believe the good woman thinks herself almost contaminated by even venturing as far as this within the Charybdean pool.—But, poor soul! she need not be afraid. If fashion was absolutely epidemical, she would never suffer from the contagion. She and the Admiral spend nine months of every year at Bath; he, drinking the water and reading the newspapers, and she, playing cards and writing essays. However, you may turn even her to account; for in one half hour you will learn more what vice is, from her long-syllabled declamations against it, than your poor innocent head would dream of in a twelvemonth."

"And which of the parents does the son resemble?" asked Selina, laughing. "Why, it is difficult to divine what nature intended him to be. One may parody Cowper, and say, 'God made them, but he has made himself;' and what the composition will turn out, I know not. He wishes to be a man of the world, and affects the reputation of vice, without having the courage to be wicked. I verily believe he is often at church of a Sunday evening, when he pretends to be at the gaming-table. However, you need not be inquisitive about him, for he will never condescend to notice you, till he ascertains whether you are the fashion or not. He does not want money, and he does want ton; and you know, according to the new system of craniology, men ought to choose their wives by the inverse ratio of their own deficiences. But you don't inquire about Mademoiselle Omphalie, whom I thought you meant last night to swear an everlasting friendship with. I asked her here solely for your sake."

Selina coloured, and expressed her thanks with her usual warmth and empressement.

"But I do not intend Mademoiselle Omphalie to be Miss Seymour's bosom friend. She is a public singer, my dear, and as such her reputation is perfect;—her private character is, I believe, much less immaculate; but with that, you know, we have nothing to do. The world now adopts the precept, 'Judge not that ye be not judged;' and, if people are wise enough not to hold the lantern to their own vices, they need not be troubled with any Diogenes. As to Mademoiselle