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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 s/c U<
 
 VIOLET 
 
 OB, 
 
 THE D ANSEUSE 
 
 A PORTRAITURE 
 
 OF 
 
 HUMAN PASSIONS AND CHARACTER. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES 
 
 VOL. h 
 
 LONDON r 
 
 HENRY COLBURN. 
 13, GREAT MABLBOROUGH.STRERT. 
 
 1836.
 
 ?K 
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " A creature not too bright or good, 
 For human nature's daily food, 
 Made up of charms and simple wiles, 
 Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles." 
 
 WOKDSWORTH. 
 
 " Where is Violet ?" inquired Mr. Woodville 
 of his Avife ; " Lsetitia, my dear, where is Violet ?" 
 
 " Gone to change her shoes," answered Mrs. 
 Woodville. " Dupas is coming. By the bye, we 
 must ask him to dine with us soon, for he really 
 takes great pains with Violet." 
 
 " Whenever you like, my dear. I have never 
 determined what I mean to do with little Violet, 
 but I am glad she is growing up so hand- 
 some, and she is such a graceful darling ! She 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
 882589
 
 2 VIOLET. 
 
 ought to marry a lord, at least, ought my little 
 Violet." 
 
 " Well, if she is handsome, Violet may thank 
 her mother for it," rejoined Mrs, Woodville, 
 " though I didn't marry a lord, for all that ; so 
 Violet may do no better either, and it is as well 
 not to fill her head with nonsense : no good can 
 come of it, and she won't mind her studies." 
 
 " Now, Mr. Woodville, do you mean to call for 
 me to-night in your cab, or am I to come home 
 with Madlle. Laure ? and where am I to have 
 supper ?" 
 
 " The Ballet, you know, as well as I do, never 
 was or is over before one o'clock on Tuesday 
 night : how then can I fetch you home at ten from 
 Covent Garden ?" 
 
 " Very well ; but where do you mean to have 
 supper, Charles?" 
 
 " Why, I have asked Gianini and Madame 
 Clot, and the Norrises, to come to us to-night. 
 We must have some Champagne, and I have de- 
 sired Very to send us a quart of white soup, and 
 some cotellettes aux petits poix ; then there is the 
 cold ham, and you can get some of the par- 
 tridges broiled that the Duke sent us the other 
 day : and do see, Mrs. Woodville, that for once 
 there is good bread-sauce at "
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 M. Dupas was announced by a very young- 
 looking gentleman, wearing an attempt at a 
 livery, — and M. Dupas made his appearance. 
 He was an old man, wearing a well-made wig ; 
 his clothes fitted him to a nicety, and everything 
 in his externals even betrayed a justifiable desire 
 to please ; his countenance was lively and shrewd, 
 and his manners aristocratic. M, Dupas spoke 
 English wonderfully for a foreigner, and only 
 now and then made use of expressions at va- 
 riance with his meaning. He even then avoided 
 much awkwardness by ne se doutant pas of his 
 correctness, and no one ventured to amend his 
 " Prose." 
 
 • *' I am most happy to see you, Mrs. Wood- 
 ville ; Mr. Woodville, you are too good," said M. 
 Dupas, as he advanced a chair ; " I am most en- 
 tirely delighted to see you, — how is la Petite f I 
 hope her slight touch of catarrh is quite at an 
 end ? Ah ! la voici," continued the old man, 
 while his face brightened at the entrance of his 
 young pupil, of whom he was v^ery fond. 
 
 "Did you find the shoes, Violet, love?" in- 
 quired Mrs. Wood\ille. 
 
 " I hope you have been enabled completely to 
 master the little difficulty of the grand battement 
 of the left foot," observed M. Dupas; "three 
 
 b2
 
 4 VIOLET. 
 
 hours"' steady attention every day would remove 
 so very slight a difficulty. Now let us see, — 
 very well, — begin with the exercises for the body 
 first — allons, commengons.''' 
 
 Mr. Woodville earned his subsistence by play- 
 ing on the violoncello ; luckily for him, he played 
 uncommonly well, and he was luckier still in 
 having his talent appreciated and well remune- 
 rated. He easily obtained engagements at one or 
 other of the great theatres, and generally formed 
 one of the orchestra at the King s Theatre. 
 
 In his line of life Woodville would have been 
 rich, but, like many professional men, he was 
 extravagant and, to his credit be it said, gene- 
 rous, — so that, though never very poor, he was 
 only rich sometimes. His chief object, his de- 
 light, was — his only child — Violet. 
 
 Mrs. Woodville had been a beauty, and was 
 still in tolerable preservation. She was very much 
 like most other women, — having the coquetry, 
 the caprice, the silliness and acuteness, agree- 
 ableness and weak-mindedness, common to the 
 generality of her sex, — judging, at least, from all 
 those with whom I happen to have been ac- 
 quainted. 
 
 She was an actress, of rather a first class, and
 
 VIOLET. 5 
 
 personated ladies, and confidantes, (those that 
 gave advice,) and did speaking queens remark- 
 ably well ; on the whole, Mrs. Woodville was 
 much looked up to by the managers, for she was 
 never vulgar, the thing most difficult to avoid on 
 the English stage. Her pronunciation and her 
 gestures never made the nerves of better bred 
 people quiver with annoyance, or harrowed up 
 their minds with disgust. She was always well- 
 dressed. — In short, on or off the stage, Mrs. 
 Woodville was a very tolerable fine lady. 
 
 And now to talk of Violet, one of the prettiest 
 creatures that ever was seen. 
 
 It may be as well to say, by way of parenthesis, 
 that her real name was Violante, — at least, such 
 was the name by which her mother had her 
 christened. But her father thought it much too 
 long, and said it was better to call her Violet. 
 
 With no reason that a special Providence 
 should interfere ; — without a governess — an angel 
 that I know of, — or even a master in chancery, 
 to look after her education, it should follow that 
 Violet must needs have her ideas tinged, and 
 her understanding improved, as it might be, by 
 the class of people with whom she lived. She 
 was, besides, not a little spoiled both by her 
 parents and by M. Dupas.
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 In the estimation of these persons, the yoimg 
 lady's education had been immensely attended 
 to, and Violet was really very accomplished, more 
 thoroughly so perhaps than many damsels of 
 greater pretensions, because her friends were 
 fonder and prouder of her in proportion as her 
 progress flattered their self-love. Violet seemed 
 to know this by instinct, and the consciousness 
 increased her desire to play, to sing, to speak 
 French and Italian, — and to dance en artiste. 
 
 Her early education had been received in a 
 French convent, and she had at this period 
 returned home for good, about a year, and was 
 now devoting a large portion of her time to 
 achieve the ambitious views of M. Dupas, who 
 fully intended her to become a first-rate opera- 
 dancer. His own early days had worn away in 
 that profession, but, having somehow grown 
 wealthy, he now only gave lessons to the rising 
 generation in a few great families, whose society, 
 he said, he thought it worth his while to cul- 
 tivate, — and devoted his leisure hours con amore 
 to foster the talent of Violet Woodville. 
 
 The Woodvilles and M. Dupas Avere old 
 friends, and, having no child of his own, theirs 
 had become his pet, more or less, from the day 
 of her birth. Since her return from France he
 
 VIOLET. 7 
 
 had requested permission to instruct her in an 
 art he thought sublime. Her parents were quite 
 undetermined about letting Violet do any thing ; 
 i. e. any thing that was to look like a regular pro- 
 fession. It was more than half vanity on both 
 their parts, which made them give a sort of tacit 
 assent to their child's one day or other making 
 her debut on the boards of the King's Theatre. 
 
 Mrs. Woodville, notwithstandimg the way she 
 talked sensible, in the first page of our story, did 
 look forward to this scheme as to a probable 
 means of Violet's winning the heart of some ricli 
 heir apparent, who woidd propose to her imme- 
 diately; and Mr. Woodville liked the prospect, 
 especially when Dupas inflamed him with the 
 glory of being looked up to, as being the father 
 of the first danseuse at the Opera, 
 
 Heirs apparent too came floating down the 
 stream of his imagination, with this difference 
 between him and his wife, that they occupied the 
 back-ground of his mental picture, whilst with 
 her they stood most glaringly in the foreground. 
 
 Of course Violet should only be permitted to 
 accept some very particular engagement with the 
 Laporte of the day, and then only if it did not 
 fatigue her too much, and, moreover, only if she
 
 8 , VIOLET. 
 
 liked it; "for," said Mr. Woodville, "my little 
 Violet shall not dance, or do any thing else that 
 does not please her." 
 
 And, in the mean time, nine hours a day were 
 often devoted to practising her steps. 
 
 Alas ! 
 
 Violet was one fine spring morning greatly en- 
 grossed by her studies — by her dancing, that is to 
 say, which was at present her great study — when 
 she was interrupted by a tap at the door. The 
 blithe voice wth which she answered " come in ! " 
 announced the expectation of seeing a desired 
 object. 
 
 A young lady threw open the door, who pre- 
 sented a striking contrast to Violet. 
 
 She was an uncommonly handsome brunette, 
 with regular features, and a round full face, 
 brilliant eyes, and glossy black hair and eye- 
 brows, united with a very coquetish expression. 
 As to figure, she had what is called a very fine 
 one, according to some people's method of ex- 
 pressing themselves, at least ; but it is as well, as 
 I liave heard these terms applied to monuments 
 in petticoats, to specify that the young lady in 
 question had not at all that sort of anatomy. Her 
 iournure was graceful though somewhat theatrical.
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 9 
 
 Chabit, had become a second nature, perhaps,) and 
 her white satin hat, her light-coloured, beautifully 
 fitting silk gown, her ponceau scarf, her lemon- 
 coloured kid gloves, and an exquisite chaussure, 
 finish the sketch I wish to give of Emily Norris 
 ■ — Miss Emily Norris, to speak with more respect. 
 
 Violet was standing in the midst of her apart- 
 ment, a little out of breath ; her costume at that 
 moment consisted of a white dimity petticoat, 
 skirt rather short, short sleeves, and a handker- 
 chief round her neck. Her back hair was twisted 
 into as small a compass as it well could be, and 
 a pair of white satin slippers (not so very white) 
 completed her attire. 
 
 At this period Violet Woodvillc was about 
 seventeen, and uncommonl}^ beautiful. Her face 
 was of an oval contour, her complexion clear, and 
 with a rich colour, exactly the pink of the peach — 
 which is no exaggerated description of many an 
 English complexion. 
 
 Her features were regular and full of expres- 
 sion, in which I am apt to think regular features 
 are often deficient. Her eyes were very large, 
 bright and lovely as the gazelle's. It was not 
 easy to define their colour, but a light hazel 
 would be the shade they were nearest to. She 
 had a profusion of light brown hair, to ornament 
 
 b3
 
 10 VIOLET. 
 
 at will a little Grecian-formed head that would 
 have served a goddess. 
 
 The impression she gave at first sight was that 
 of a beautiful Hebe, with a soul full of mirth and 
 malice; Avhile the extreme quickness of her eye 
 denoted a discernment of intellect which the finely- 
 cut contour of her mouth confirmed ; and when 
 Violet Woodville laughed, the joyous intelligence 
 that lit up her countenance rendered it incon- 
 ceivably handsome. 
 
 Her figure was tall but slight, though rather 
 inclined to embonpoint. She was formed with 
 perfect symmetry: her limbs and her little feet 
 were particularly striking from their beauty. 
 
 Graceful by nature as well as art, it was not 
 easy to dream of anything fairer among woman- 
 kind than Violet Woodville, — even there as she 
 stood in her dimity petticoat, to receive her friend. 
 
 Miss Norris looked nineteen or twenty, and 
 twenty she was. Great was the friendship be- 
 tween her and Violet. They had been together 
 at the French convent, and similar connexions 
 and pursuits had since kept up their intimacy; 
 only superior years, and superior knowledge, (as 
 Violet thought,) made her look up to Emily Norris 
 with considerable deference. 
 
 "My dear Emily," and " my dear A^iolet, how
 
 VIOLET. 11 
 
 glad I am to see you/' were the sort of greetings 
 that flowed profusely for five minutes, and then 
 the young ladies drew chairs and sat down. 
 
 " So, you are still going on with old Dupas," 
 said Miss Norris. 
 
 " Oh, yes ; but Papa and Mamma have deter- 
 mined nothing about me yet." 
 
 " Well, Violet, I wonder you allow that to go 
 on. What's the use of your eternal practising of 
 these steps, and wearing yourself to a thread- 
 paper, with no one but old Dupas to have the 
 pleasure of it ? What's the use of all you have 
 learnt, if it is to be done no good with ? or how 
 are you ever to have any luck, if you are not to 
 be seen? Why, yovi ought to have been out these 
 two years, I declare. You should have beheld me 
 the other night in the new ballet ! I had thunders 
 of applause. — Did I describe my dress to you ? I 
 believe I did. My parts, you know, are mere 
 acting, a sort of dumb show, which 1 do not find 
 too fatiguing, and that is the line I advise you to 
 adopt. Many people think me quite equal to 
 Brocard. — I am not engaged on Saturday: 
 Mamma has made Laportc give her one of the 
 boxes on the fourth tier, but v.e have asked hira 
 to supper afterwards, as v/cll as the new singer, 
 Madame , I forget her name : you will all
 
 12 ' VIOLET. 
 
 come, I hope. I expect it to be pleasant; Mamma 
 will sing one or two songs ont of the new opera, 
 and we have asked a good many people." 
 
 " Oh, I shall hke it of all things," replied Vio- 
 let. " But do tell me, Emil}^ when did you see 
 Mr. Harcourt last? — yesterday, as you hoped?" 
 
 " Yes, I saw him yesterday." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Why I don't know what to say. He is un- 
 doubtedly very much struck with me, and is quite 
 aware he must marry me, or give me up. I do 
 not know what to think. Oh, dear Violet ! what 
 I would give to marry a gentleman ! and I cer- 
 tainly think I ought, with my pretensions, after 
 all — and I am sure other people often tliink so, 
 who see me, that is. At all events, I hope you 
 will do well, Violet," added Miss Emily, with 
 much sentiment. 
 
 Violet coloured. 
 
 " But tell me, Emily, what is poor Mr. Larray 
 doing? Is he not very unhappy ? " 
 
 " Most wretched, I do believe ; and so am I 
 too, when I think of him : but of course, if I can 
 get Mr. Harcourt to propose, I must not think 
 any more about Henri. After all, with the edu- 
 cation ^Nlamma has given me, and with the sort 
 of succes I now have at the Opera, he cannot won-
 
 VIOLET. 1$ 
 
 der I should make — I mean, lie cannot wonder 
 that I should feel, and Mamma too, that, though 
 Mr. Harcourt is a gentleman, and all that, that 
 still he may propose to me, and that then Mamma 
 of course intends I should accept him. But 
 is it not awkward — Henri, as well as Harcourt, 
 is asked to supper on Saturday ? " 
 
 " Indeed ! — then what will you do ? " 
 
 " Oh," replied the young lady, with a laugh, 
 " leave that to me ; I can make Larray believe 
 anything ; and then, as to Mr. Harcourt, he is 
 immensely conceited ; I know he thinks all this 
 time I am dying for him." 
 
 " Good heavens, Emily ! but how lightly you 
 do talk of a person you wish to marry ! " 
 
 " And who would not wish it in my situation ? 
 A nice difference it will be to me all my life, whe- 
 ther I am to be a Lady, or whether I have to 
 dance for bread; besides the not being able to 
 get all the things I should like — whether I have 
 a carriage, or go without — or get all my hats 
 from Madame Carson's, or go on with Cerise, 
 whom, as it is, I mean to leave off. — Of course I 
 wish to marr}^ Harcourt." 
 
 " But you do not care for him, I believe, at 
 all?" 
 
 *' Oh, I care for him quite enough : besides.
 
 14 VIOLET. 
 
 that is notliing — why, I would marry Henri to- 
 morrow, if" he were the primo tenore; but as it is, 
 the thing would be a folly. Mamma says, though 
 I think him charming ; and I only wish he was 
 Harcourt; but he — Mr. Harcourt, I mean — is such 
 an uncertain person; sometimes he is so cold, 
 and at times so capricious — so different from 
 Henri, who is all love, gaiety, and devotion. Ah!" 
 
 Emily Norris paused, and for a brief moment 
 looked almost softened. "Ah!" she continued, 
 " and then he is so handsome ! — Well, well, there 
 is one thing I shall have if Mr. Harcourt marries 
 me ; I shall triumph over that audacious little 
 Celeste, who dared to insult me by walking be- 
 fore me to the dressing-room, the other night, at 
 the Opera, as if I had not the right to walk be- 
 fore a second-rate thing (for that is what she is) 
 like her ! She is handsome, that little Celeste, 
 and can't endure me or Mamma ; because, you 
 know, Mamma is very particular with whom avc 
 associate; and Celeste has no longer the best of 
 characters." 
 
 " Indeed ! what a pity ; she has such pretty 
 manners." 
 
 " Those French girls always have ; and they 
 arc gi'cat hypocrites." 
 
 " Mrs. Norris says she is waiting below, Miss,
 
 VIOLET. 15 
 
 for you to go to rehearsal, she says. Miss," inter- 
 rupted a maid, thrusting in her head at the half- 
 opened door. 
 
 " For heaven"'s sake, dearest Violet," s^id Miss 
 Emily, as she rose to depart, " do mate that girl 
 leave off saying ' Miss' ; it is so horrid vulgar." 
 
 " Oh, certainly ; but I did not know it was," 
 answered Violet, innocently.
 
 ( 16 ) 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " What is the spring of human actions — say 
 Why do we love, hate, govern, or obey ? 
 Whi-nce do our noble&t efforts take their aim ; 
 For what do we incur risk, guilt, and shame ? 
 *Tis vanity — "neath more or less controul. 
 The btiong and ruling impulse of the soul." 
 
 Mr. WooDviLLE, and Mrs. Woodville, and Miss 
 Woodville did as they had been requested, and 
 went, after the opera, to Mrs. Norris's supper. 
 
 It is necessary to say a word or two about 
 Mrs Norris. 
 
 She had been a singer of some eminence ; and 
 between her professional talents and, we may 
 add, ses beaux yeux, very discreetly applied, had 
 realized an income sufficient for her wants and 
 those of her daughter, and which permitted her 
 to indulge in some few luxuries besides, exclu- 
 sively of the little suppers — to one of which wc 
 are about to introduce the gentle reader. 
 
 Mrs. Norris was quite a person of good cha- 
 racter^ not such, pcrhpas, as would be personified
 
 VIOLET. 17 
 
 in the beau ideal of Mrs. Chapono, or of Mrs. 
 Hannah More, but still, as has been said, she 
 had made use of ^e^- beaux yeux with such un- 
 common discretion, that the most censorious 
 persons could find nothing worse to say of her 
 than that, during ten years of her life passed in 
 Italy for the improvement of her singing and for 
 her health, she was very much admired, very gay, 
 and delightfully amiable. Some, indeed, thought 
 she was more particularly appreciated by a noble- 
 man of large fortune, devoted to the fine arts; 
 but nothing certain was ever known on this score. 
 
 The said nobleman married precisely at the 
 same period that Mrs. Norris's husband returned 
 from America, Avliere he had been acting Othello 
 and King John, George Barnwell and Scrub. 
 
 Mr. Norris, however, was a wretch of whom we 
 will not spealc, for all agreed that he behaved 
 scandalously to his wife, and, in fact, he was 
 said to have abandoned her. As to Emily, who 
 was born during the ten years, — Mrs. Norris's 
 ten years in Italy I mean, — he seemed to have no 
 affection for the poor child whatever. 
 
 These deserted creatures prospered, neverthe- 
 less, wonderfully. Mrs. Norris never sang, save 
 and excepting when she felt in the humour. She 
 had no debts, and, in her present position, be-
 
 18 VIOLET, 
 
 sides the tolerably untarnislied reputation wliicli 
 had stood so much wear and tear, she contrived, 
 as has been observed, to have her little luxuries 
 as well as comforts about her, and her petits 
 soupers were sought after and ambitioned in the 
 sphere in which she moved. 
 
 There were about twenty persons assembled 
 when the Woodvilles entered Mrs. Norris's salon. 
 
 The society consisted of singers of celebrity ; 
 of about half a dozen young men of good family, 
 coming under the denominations of roues, gam- 
 blers, or otherwise imperfect as to character, but 
 still vastly entertaining, and very fashionable 
 young men especially. Then there was a young 
 architect, a remarkably conceited painter, a lite- 
 rary man who had written a book entitled "Songs 
 of the Druids " (not generally known), a trans- 
 lator of French vaudevilles, who thought himself 
 better than Scribe ; two or three principal 
 comedians, with a wife or two, women of entire 
 respectability, though of no consideration ; the 
 Pasta, the Sontag, the Taglioni, and the Do 
 Beriot of the day ; — these, with two or three 
 attaches of foreign missions, and a few more such 
 " small deer," were the component parts of Mrs. 
 Norris's party. 
 
 On the whole, it is well to let the reader at
 
 VIOLET. 19 
 
 once into the secret, that it was chiefly given to 
 induce Mr. Harconrt to propose to Miss Norris. 
 
 As yet he had not arrived ; but there were 
 plenty of lights and ices, occasional singing, and 
 desperate flirtations, chiefly between the young 
 men of imperfect character and some charming 
 women, who were there with their husbands, be it 
 understood, for Miss Emily's sake. Indeed, on 
 her account, and to impress Mr. Harcourt with a 
 favourable opinion of the society she kept, Mrs. 
 Norris had been particularly fastidious in her in- 
 vitations on this occasion. 
 
 Miss Norris (whose maid I would rather not 
 have been that evening) was dressed with the 
 most studied attention, to give a good display to 
 her beauty, to enhance it, if that were possible, 
 and to be in the latest fashion, combining all 
 tliis with many more items, that a person like 
 myself, not versed in all the minutiae of female 
 attire, is incompetent duly to expatiate upon. 
 But all these niceties of art were intended to 
 give relief to an air of infinite simplicity, and a 
 laisser aller demeanour of exceeding abnegation 
 of every idea connected with her personal ap- 
 pearance. 
 
 This acme of perfection Emily conceived she 
 had achieved, and she was greeted by her mo-
 
 "20 VIOLET. 
 
 tiler's triumphant approval. It was, undeniably, 
 no small advantage to Emily, the being under 
 the guidance of such a mother as Mrs. Norris. 
 She was a woman such as there are but few 
 to be met with. She possessed the supreme 
 art of good arrangement ; nothing in her esta- 
 blishment was ever displaced. She had a horror 
 of outward and visible errors, and a keen per- 
 ception of the fitness of things. Everytliing 
 connected A\ith herself she shielded from the 
 minutest obloquy, and it was her creed that none, 
 if possible, should ever have occasion to descant 
 upon the externals of life. She had the good 
 taste to avoid pretension where it would have 
 been laughable ; yet her French china, her chintz, 
 her wines, her ecarte tables, her music, her 
 very flowers and ices were better than, or, at 
 any rate, might stand competition with, those of 
 any other house in London. 
 
 Emily was seated on an ottoman, and near her 
 stood a handsome young man, well dressed, and 
 of unassuming manners, so good looking, and 
 with so good an air, that, if he were not what is 
 called a gentleman, there was no outward just 
 cause or impediment to his being one. 
 
 His countenance expressed anything but hap- 
 piness, and Miss Emily was evidently cmbar-
 
 VIOLET. 21 
 
 rassed in his presence ; a feeling which, from 
 whatever cause arising, she hardly cared in her 
 spoiltness to conceal. 
 
 " Why do you turn your head so often to the 
 door ?" asked the young man, rather impatiently. 
 
 Miss Norris coloured, and replied, "Mamma 
 has desired me particularly to assist her in re- 
 ceiving these people. You forget that at home 
 it is absolutely necessary to be civil." 
 
 " Oh ! if that is the only reason, I have no- 
 thing more to say." 
 
 A little put out of temper, Emily rejoined : — 
 
 " What did you suppose was my reason, Mon- 
 sieur Larray, as the one I have given never oc- 
 curred to you ?" 
 
 '' I have no wish to say anything disagreeable, 
 or to offend you just at this moment, but I should 
 like to know whether you expect Mr. Harcourt 
 this evening ?" 
 
 "Mamma asked him — that is, I think she 
 did." 
 
 " Are you really uncertain whether he is asked 
 or not?" 
 
 " Ask Mamma, — there she is, — if you are so 
 anxious to know, she can tell you," — and, to 
 avoid saying more, Emily flew to meet the 
 Woodvilles.
 
 22 VIOLET. 
 
 "How beautiful Violet looks to-night," she 
 exclaimed to Mr. Woodville; "on the stage she 
 would yaryMrore." 
 
 At tliis moment two young men entered the 
 room. The one who first advanced had good 
 features, but a disagreeable expression; he was 
 tall in person, with a nonchalant, indolent, and 
 rather impertinent air ; altogether, however, he 
 was handsome. He glanced with an assured look 
 round the room, and it Avas a great relief to his 
 countenance, when it kindled with some pleasure, 
 on beholding Emily Norris. 
 
 Nothing could be better than the reception 
 Mr. Harcourt met \\ith, (for Mr. Harcourt it 
 was,) from both the Mother and Daughter of the 
 house. 
 
 " You will allow me," he said, " to introduce a 
 friend of mine, I am sure, — I knew, Mrs. Norris, I 
 might venture to bring him ;" and Mr. Harcourt 
 presented the gentleman who had accompanied 
 him. " Mr. D'Arcy, Mrs. Norris, — Mrs. Norris, 
 Mr. D'Arcy." 
 
 Mr. Harcourt himself seemed actually for- 
 gotten in the empressement manifested to receive 
 his friend ; it appeared, in fact, as if the latter 
 had occasioned a general sensation in the society. 
 
 The women — those at least who knew Mr.
 
 VIOLET. 23 
 
 cVArcy — evidently wished to attract his attention: 
 those who did not know him did their best to 
 induce him to seek their acquaintance. All the 
 young men appeared glad to see, and to welcome 
 him amongst them. 
 
 To Mrs. Norris he Avas now the first object, for, 
 with an intuitive perception, she beheld in Mr. 
 d'Arcy the possible arbiter of her daughter's 
 fate. Mrs. Norris had taken some trouble to 
 analyze Mr. Harcourt's character, and she thought 
 he was just the person to be decided by the opi- 
 nion of another, as to whether or no it would be 
 possible for him to marry Emily. She had before 
 heard of his intimacy with Mr. d'Arcy, who was 
 not unknown to her by name or character, and she 
 feared him immensely. 
 
 It was perhaps lucky that Emily was not so 
 much au fait at all this as her mother. She 
 wished to please Mr. d'Arcy as Harcourt's friend, 
 but without foreseeing all the importance of so 
 doing. 
 
 Violet, in the mean time, knowing few people, 
 modest by nature, and considering herself not yet 
 come out, had discovered a corner, into which she 
 retreated as much as she could, and where she 
 found leisure to observe all that was passing, until 
 her attention became strongly riveted by one
 
 24 VIOLET. 
 
 person only. The one person who thus arrested 
 her regards was Mr.d'Arcy; and, had Violet herself 
 been interrogated as to the wherefore, she would 
 have been much at a loss to account for the sort 
 of fascination under which she laboured. 
 
 It was not that Mr, d'Arcy struck her as hand- 
 somer or more pleasing than many others whom 
 she had seen, or that he possessed any single 
 charm to strike her forcibly and at once. But his 
 presence filled up some imperfect and undefined 
 feeling, if I may so express it. A strange sort of 
 contentment stole over her as she gradually sank 
 into reverie, while yet noticing every change of 
 bearing in the new comer. It seemed to Violet a 
 pleasant event in her existence to have met this 
 person, and she dwelt upon his presence with 
 a secret pleasure that she was herself hardly 
 aware of; her mind, however, became impressed 
 \vith one object, and her observation centered 
 upon it. 
 
 Mr. Harcourt soon took a seat by Emily, and 
 a very animated conversation was carried on be- 
 tween them. 
 
 She was really uncommonly handsome, and the 
 sort of person to make a vast impression on most 
 men, and this evening she looked more than usu- 
 ally charming. On Mr. Harcourt's seating him-
 
 VIOLET. 25 
 
 self by Emily, Mr. Larray disappeared unseen by 
 her, perhaps at that moment uncared for. 
 
 When Mr. d'Arcy was introduced to Miss 
 Norris, he conversed with her for a short time, 
 and the melodious voice and discreet words of 
 Emily could not fail to produce an impression 
 favourable to her ; but at this moment it was that 
 something struck Violet as unpleasing in Mr. 
 d'Arcy, — his smile was cold, and his regard ex- 
 pressed penetration, but indifference. 
 
 At supper, Emily sat between Harcourt and 
 his friend. To Violet's surprise, as she was fol- 
 lomng her father to the supper-room, Mr. Larray 
 re-appeared, and offered her his arm. 
 
 " I almost thought you were gone," exclaimed 
 Violet. 
 
 " I did go, Miss Woodville, but I am returned; 
 I conceived I was wrong, and that reflection 
 causes me to be here now." 
 
 " But what made you discover all at once that 
 you were ^vrong ? " 
 
 " My better judgment, I believe, as I walked 
 down the street. Where will you sit. Miss Wood- 
 ville?"— 
 
 During the supper, Mr. Harcourt rather kept 
 in the backgi'ound, that his friend might engross 
 Emily ; and at one time, Mr. d'Arcy's animated 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 26 VIOLET. 
 
 countenance and eager conversation gave him 
 the air of making love upon his own account. 
 
 Emily was in the highest spirits : she thought 
 she had won a new admirer. She laughed and 
 talked — her complexion glowed, she shook her 
 ambrosial curls, and her eyes were dazzling with 
 the consciousness of success, 
 
 Mr. d'Arcy bent over her, and once Violet 
 thought he looked as if he admired her very much. 
 — Mr. Harcourt seemed forgotten : at the moment 
 he appeared to think so, too, for he suddenly re- 
 instated himself in his share of the conversation 
 with Emily. 
 
 Some one asked Mr. d'Arcy to drink wine : he 
 turned to answer, and Violet was again struck 
 with the cold indifference of his expressive coun- 
 tenance. From his great attention to her friend, 
 and the effect it had produced upon her, it was 
 reasonable to suppose that some trace of the 
 feelings of the previous instant would have lived 
 for a moment's space, but no — it was the same 
 regard — almost contemptuous in its calmness, and 
 no trace of emotion was perceivable. 
 
 " What is that gentleman's name ? " inquired 
 Mr. Larray. 
 
 " He is called Mr. d'Arcy. What do you think 
 of him?"
 
 VIOLET. 27 
 
 '' He is very good-looking." 
 " Oh, I did not mean his looks." 
 " Well, I am also struck by his being different 
 from most other people. His air is good, but it 
 is peculiar. He is bored here, or perhaps he is 
 bored everywhere." 
 
 " How do you know he is bored ? " 
 " Look at his countenance." 
 "Ah, now; but it was animated enough an 
 instant ago." 
 
 " What ? Avhen he was talking to Emily ? Yes ; 
 he was endeavouring to understand her." 
 " To understand her ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I mean the sort of person she is; he 
 was endeavouring to penetrate her mind." 
 " Oh ! well, I hope he has succeeded." 
 " He thinks he has, I dare say. Now I do not 
 much like this Mr. d'Arcy; there is something 
 about him that wounds the amour propre of other 
 people. But yet I could much rather forgive 
 Emily for behaving ill to me for that man's sake, 
 
 than I can for Mr. Har " 
 
 " Hush— he \n\\ hear you. But why this dis- 
 tinction?" 
 
 "The one she might prefer to the other 
 
 she cannot — she does not, I know." 
 
 c2
 
 28 VIOLET. 
 
 " But yet you say, you don't like Mr. D'Arcy," 
 (the rising from supper interrupted Violet.) 
 
 It was by this time Sunday morning : (Jne of 
 the ladies, whose face was rather the worse for 
 wear, poor thing ! proposed sacred music. She 
 had never heard any, and was very curious to 
 hear some, she said, and Mrs. Norris she knew 
 sang that sort of thing so well. Being un- 
 common, the proposal succeeded vastly ; and the 
 roues and the charming women were in ecstacy ! 
 
 Harcourt and D'Arcy approached each other, 
 and took seats, without noticing, apparently, that 
 a large vase, filled with roses and mignionette, 
 and an alabaster Venus embracing Adonis rising 
 from the midst of the flowers, concealed an occu- 
 pant of the chair behind the tripod table on 
 which stood the vase ; or else, under cover of " O 
 Absalom, my son !" they conceived their words 
 would fall unheeded. 
 
 Or, perhaps, between his desire to talk to his 
 friend — his passion — and the champagne he had 
 drunk Mr. Harcourt might have let matters of 
 greater moment than this pass without scrutiny. 
 Violet, therefore, overheard their conference; and, 
 thanks to the scanty drapery of the Venus, could 
 partially observe the countenance of one of the 
 speakers.
 
 VIOLET. 29 
 
 "What do you think of her?" enquired Mr. 
 Harcourt, in an agitated tone of voice. 
 
 "As to looks ? — that she is beautiful." 
 
 "D'Arcy, I am desperately in love with that 
 girl." 
 
 "Yes — it is a pity she thinks she can marry 
 you." 
 
 " Oh, but she has no reason for thinking so, 
 and I doubt if she does ; in fact, I have to-night 
 been playing a desperate game with her. — I 
 talked of going abroad, and dropped a few words 
 as if I meant to cut her." 
 
 "Have you ever thought of trying her affec- 
 tion? it does answer occasionally, you know. 
 Have you flattered her sufficiently ? have you 
 adored her svifficiently ?" 
 
 " Oh, every thing I She is proof against every 
 attack." 
 
 "Then she must think you a marrying man: 
 how very unlucky you are, my poor fellow ! it is 
 the worst notion she could have taken into her 
 head. I do not know how to advise you." 
 
 " I am passionately in love — there is nothing I 
 have not done.'' 
 
 "Wliy, I am not so sure of that — you are so 
 d — d indolent, — have you sworn oaths enough?
 
 30 VIOLET. 
 
 Good heavens ! I would feign Catholic, and bring 
 to the hammer every saint in the calendar." 
 
 " Oh, don't be a fool, D'Arcy, when I am dis- 
 tracted." 
 
 "Seriously, then. Have you tried suicide?" 
 
 "No. I have not yet." 
 
 " Well, then — go on that tack to-night, — blow- 
 ing, your brains out, mind — poisoning, or drown- 
 ing does not much touch a woman now-a-days; 
 but they don't like fire-arms." 
 
 "But if that fail?" 
 
 "In that case, I cannot help you. With those 
 eyes, the girl has no business to be coy; and I 
 am much mistaken if her mother ought not to be 
 put in the pillory for her very virtue." 
 
 "But my Emily!" exclaimed Harcourt, in a 
 love-sick voice, " give me your candid opinion of 
 her, D'Arcy. I can bear to hear any thing from 
 you." 
 
 "Well, I think her very handsome: magnificent 
 eyes, and the figure of a goddess. I should like 
 her myself" 
 
 " But Avould you marry her ? " 
 
 " Marry her ! I marry her ? — Ao ! — my ideas 
 on that point may be uncommon, but they are 
 unalterable ! "
 
 VIOLET. 31 
 
 "Then, what would you say, if I told you I 
 had serious thoughts of it ? " 
 
 It was a faint, but bitterly-sneering laugh with 
 which D'Arcy replied to this appeal. 
 
 " Simply," he answered in words at last, " that 
 if you ever found reason to repent your choice, 
 you would deserve no pity. — The world would 
 despise your weakness, — I should, for one^ and 
 you would live to curse the most irretrievable 
 folly you could possibly commit. For heaven's 
 sake, Harcourt, do not be such a fool," continued 
 Mr. d'Arcy, with hushed vehemence,^ — "marry 
 that girl ! an opera-dancer ! and the daughter of 
 that woman, whose very outside better-seeming, 
 is a greater abomination than the undisguised 
 profligacy of that httle French devil I showed 
 you last night ! Never — never ! I beseech you, 
 Harcourt — think twice of such perdition as this 
 act of madness would be !" 
 
 " Ah ! you have no heart, and are incapable of 
 comprehending me." 
 
 " Possibly, in your acceptation of the term ; but 
 you asked me for the truth — I have given it you 
 in all its nakedness, and would tell it you, again 
 and again, to save you from such a fate as this, 
 a fate in which it amazes me that you can even 
 dream of involving yourself"
 
 32 VIOLET. 
 
 " But you make no allowance for circumstances j 
 she is virtuous ; and would not such a creature as 
 that make venial any error I might commit? " 
 
 " No ; there are some things that not any num- 
 ber, or any quality, of such creatures can palliate." 
 
 " You are a brute, D'Arcy." 
 
 " Thank you,*" replied Mr. d'Arcy, calmly : " you 
 requested my advice, and I bestowed it gene- 
 rously ; if the truth offend, I am blameless ; so 
 now let us go and hear ' Jephthah's Daughter'." 
 
 D'Arcy rose, and moved towards the piano; 
 whilst his friend, with inherent spoiltness, devoted 
 himself, for the rest of the evening, still more 
 assiduously, to Emily Norris. 
 
 It was a great relief to Violet, when this con- 
 versation ended. Well aware, that it had not 
 been meant for her ears, she would have moved 
 from her ambush at its very commencement, had 
 not excessive timidity absolutely fixed her to the 
 spot, and the additional awkwardness of betray- 
 ing her presence, as the supposed tete-a t^te pro- 
 ceeded, continued to rivet her to her seat. 
 
 Her father was attending to the music ; and 
 her mother was absorbed in self-complacent ad- 
 miration opposite a mirror, and in listening to 
 the whispered remarks of some of her neighbours. 
 Mr. Larraywas standing in a door-way somewhat
 
 VIOLET. 33 
 
 apart from the society, and seemed occupied with 
 no very agreeable train of thought : he at last 
 espied Violet alone, and approached her. 
 
 " I shall not see Miss Norris again for some 
 time. Miss Woodville," said Mr. Larray, " and 
 perhaps you would be kind enough to tell her, 
 that I avoided bidding her good bye, because I 
 feel wretched ; and I doubt if such a parting, as 
 ours would too likely be, could make me less so ; 
 but tell her I shall be rejoiced to know that she 
 is happy, and that I do not persevere in pressing 
 my attachment upon her, lest I should interfere 
 with results much more splendid than any my 
 
 alliance could offer her" (Mr. Larray sighed ;) 
 
 " and, on the whole, more — that is to say, better 
 for her — I begin to think so now; and it would 
 be preferable to die each day than to marry Emily, 
 if she thought it a sacrifice. Adieu, Miss Wood- 
 ville ! — you deserve a better lot than to be one of 
 these people : you are not even a coquette, and 
 I hardly think you will ever become one." 
 
 Violet began an answer ; but Mr. Larray left 
 her ere she had uttered three words. 
 
 There was now more talking than singing, and 
 more of laughing than of either. The flirtations 
 were getting desperate. The middle of the room 
 was an absolute desert, while the boudoirs and 
 
 c3
 
 34 . VIOLET. 
 
 door-ways were filled by tender couples. Arm- 
 chairs and bookcases, cabinets and commodes — 
 anything, in short, that could make an angle with 
 anything, was dexterously put in requisition. 
 
 A groupe still remained round the piano-forte ; 
 but it consisted only of ladies with jealous hus- 
 bands extant in the room, and of men, like Wood- 
 ville, honester than the others, and with incum- 
 brances. 
 
 Harcourt's countenance, as he leant over the 
 back of Emily's arm chair, still bore the shade of 
 displeasure, which his friend's remarks had called 
 up. It is true " II ne faut pas toujours avoir 
 raison, pour plaire," says the Prince de Ligne ; 
 but it is no less true, " il faut souvent plaire pour 
 avoir raison." 
 
 D'Arcy himself occupied a place near the music, 
 and, from time to time, Avas assiduous to Mrs. 
 Norris. Some people might have fancied he liked 
 that discreet lady, and Violet would have been 
 of that opinion, had she not overheard his abuse 
 of her. I rather think, too, Mrs. Norris herself 
 thought that Mr. d' Arcy liked her ; and she was 
 a very good judge. He was, however, one of the 
 first to withdraw. Then Violet began to yawn, 
 and, taking courage, advanced to her father. 
 
 "Are you not going home, Papa?" she in- 
 quired ; " it is very late, I think."
 
 ( 3S ) 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " Pardon this digression ; 
 But, whatsoe'er may be a man's profession. 
 Whether the trade be noble, or ignoble, 
 Whether he steer a frigate, or a coble. 
 He finds some vast importance in the calling. 
 And deems the universe is kept from falling. 
 And all the interests of man affected, 
 By that to which his talents are directed." — Anon, 
 
 The evening passed at Mrs. Norris's had given 
 Violet much to think of. It was the first time 
 she had found herself in so mixed a circle. Her 
 mother had hitherto taken her very little into 
 society, and this evening's events had given her 
 much to reflect upon. She had gained experi- 
 ence, but her reflections thereupon were not all 
 agreeable ones. 
 
 Accustomed, during her short life, to one class 
 only, she had had no means of forming a judg- 
 ment as to its comparative merits, and with 
 Emily Norris, as her most intimate friend, Violet 
 was not likely to be led to much abstract reason- 
 ing that could prove correct. Her knowledge
 
 36 VIOLET. 
 
 acquired from books was not of a very serviceable 
 kind. Her father possessed a collection of 
 French dramatic authors, and some odd volumes 
 of Pope, of Milton, and of Shakspeare; a few 
 plays of Otway, Congreve, and Rowe ; the works 
 of Sheridan and Mrs. Inchbald; a good many 
 magazines, volumes of farces, &c., &c. Such 
 was the composition of Mr. Woodville'^s library. 
 Now and then he brought home a new novel, 
 lent him by a friend, which was often returned 
 unread ; but, generally, the most modern prose 
 that entered his house was an evening paper or 
 the " Age,'' varied occasionally by a French vau- 
 deville, or the new play as then performing at 
 the theatres royal Covent Garden, or Drury 
 Lane. 
 
 Miss Woodville's education, i. e. her external 
 accomplishments, had been so much attended to, 
 that she had not had time to acquire a love of 
 reading:, and no one in her whole life had ever 
 inculcated it upon her as necessary, or even de- 
 sirable. Violet, then, had, as may be imagined, 
 but scanty means of appreciating her own con- 
 dition, and was not aware that players, singers, 
 and dancers were the light weight, and not the 
 heavy ballast in the scale of social opinion ; nor 
 that disagreeable people of a much lower grade
 
 VIOLET. 37 
 
 ranked above them in the statistics of respec- 
 tabihty. 
 
 She did not know how seldom in the minds of 
 most people moralit} and an opera- dancer were in 
 approximation. Still less was she aware that the 
 sentiments of her parents, and even her ONvn, were 
 influenced by their mode of existence, and that no 
 purity of mind, no principles, however well regu- 
 lated, no stoicism of virtue, however well guarded, 
 can utterly withstand the force of example. 
 
 Either the virtuous become repulsive and 
 austere from excess of precaution, or sin doubly 
 by exclaiming too eagerly against " the mote 
 that is in their brother's eye," or chime in with 
 the small vices and gentler frailties of the cor- 
 rupt ; not doubting, while baser crimes are kept 
 at an immeasurable distance, that so wide apart 
 are their present practice and real excellence. 
 
 No models of right and wrong had been set 
 before Violet, but such as (if I may use the ex- 
 pression) she had found ready to her hand. Her 
 native impulses were all good, but example had 
 done nothing to strengthen them. Good inclina- 
 tions are like raw materials, and must have much 
 trouble taken with them before they can be made 
 serviceable. 
 
 Mr. d'Arcy's contemptuous observations upon
 
 38 , VIOLET. 
 
 Mrs. Norris, and his frivolous praise of her 
 daughter, placed them in a light in which Violet 
 had never seen them before. She then passed in 
 review Emily's calculatiiig encouragement of Mr. 
 Harcourt, and her ungenerous treatment of Mr. 
 Larray. She compared her friend and her mo- 
 ther with many others that she knew of, and was 
 compelled to own that they did not lose by the 
 comparison. 
 
 When once we begin to reason, the process is 
 a rapid one, and it was a sickening moment to 
 Violet when she drew the conclusion that she 
 herself was one of the despised class, whose de- 
 gradation a thousand D'Arcys would be ready to 
 infer ; and that no virtue could be a shield against 
 the opprobrium of marrying an opera-dancer. 
 
 But why was D'Arcy's opinion to weigh so 
 greatly with her ? Whatever was the reason, it did 
 — it might be his voice, his manner, his air, that 
 thus impressed her. But why not say at once he 
 pleased, — and leave the how, to be defined by 
 others, who in like manner have been charmed, 
 while the days, the months, and the years have 
 flown by, yet have they never paused and asked, 
 "Wherefore?'' 
 
 During the latter part, however, of this, to her, 
 eventful evening, the charm had been somewhat
 
 VIOLET. 39 
 
 broken : Violet half feared that he who had so 
 excited her interest, wanted kindness of heart ; 
 she likewise felt a little terror at the harshness of 
 his remarks ; but even these considerations could 
 not change the natvire of her predilection ; a feel- 
 ing, by-the-bye, which neither by word nor look 
 had Mr. d'Arcy upheld for himself, — for, beautiful 
 as Violet Woodville was, he had never noticed, 
 most probably, had never seen her. 
 
 La destinee que Dieu nous a fait, n'est ja- 
 mais celle que nous faisons a nous-meme *. 
 
 Violet suddenly determined she would not be 
 an opera- dancer, but she was quite at a loss how 
 to convey this resolution to her parents. She 
 rarely now gave the same attention to assist the 
 unwearied zeal of M. Dupas, who was at fault in 
 discovering the cause of his pupil's diminished 
 ardour, and urged upon her family with more 
 than his usvial seriousness, the importance of 
 seeking an engagement with the manager of the 
 King's Theatre. 
 
 About this time there was a new ballet in pre- 
 paration, but the heroine was not to be the chief 
 dancer. This character Avas given to Miss Norris, 
 whose forte was in the pantomimic parts. The 
 
 * Massillon.
 
 40 
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 ballet was intended by the manager to be a clief- 
 d'cEuvre : there were in it a good many first-rate, 
 prominent parts, so that he would be enabled 
 with less squabbling than usual to content the 
 ambitious views of the whole corps de ballet. 
 The dresses were to be such as had never yet 
 been seen. The scenery, the decorations, — but 
 we will not write the whole of a newspaper para- 
 graph. 
 
 In the course of the ballet a Venus was to 
 appear, and Miss Norris was to be the Venus. 
 There was very considerable trouble in deter- 
 mining in what attire (perhaps if any) the god- 
 dess ought to appear. 
 
 It was, in fact, a very difficult point to decide. 
 Her earthly representative was inclined to a blaze 
 of silver and jewels, while there was a strong 
 party in favour of a little plain gauze, and much 
 tricot. 
 
 There being no original costume to refer to, 
 was the cause of so much indecision. Upon the 
 whole, the predominating opinion maintained it 
 to be quite indecorus to adorn a Venus with 
 earthly embellishments, and that the object to be 
 aimed at, was to give as ethereal an appearance 
 as could be attained, without too great a risk of 
 a remonstrance from the Bishops.
 
 VIOLET. 41 
 
 Miss Norris again had a great idea of precious 
 stones becoming her exceedingly; and during the 
 dispute a mock tiara of diamonds and rubies was 
 always in her mind's eye, encircling her radiant 
 brow. She remembered once before producing a 
 great sensation in some head gear of this kind, 
 and matters were getting to look unpleasant, for 
 Miss Norris Avas not a little spoilt, and had a very 
 good opinion of her own merits and judgment ; 
 when lo ! a fortnight before the ballet was to be 
 brought forward, in getting out of a dirty hack- 
 ney-coach at one of the rehearsals, her foot 
 slipped on the muddy step, and Emily screamed. 
 
 It was true she had only violently sprained her 
 ancle, but all hopes of being able to glide down 
 from the scenic heaven upon a cloud, on that day 
 fortnight, were put out of the question by this 
 unlucky accident. 
 
 The manager, the dancers, the figurantes, the 
 scene-painters, and even the very scene-shifters 
 were in consternation ; nobody of course pitied 
 the only person who really sviffered. 
 
 The season was already far advanced ; and if 
 the ballet were not produced now, it would not be 
 worth the manager's while to let it appear at all. 
 At the same time he did not see what Venus 
 there was that he could depend upon. He re-
 
 42 - VIOLET. 
 
 viewed, in his mind's eye, every demoiselle of the 
 green-room (by-the-bye, there is no green-room 
 at the Opera), but not one of them was suffi- 
 ciently handsome : there was one who might do 
 very Avell, as to face, but was somewhat too bulky 
 in person. In vain the manager depicted to him- 
 self the young lady, laced in to the uttermost 
 power of the strongest stay-lace — there would 
 still exist a preponderance in her form which 
 would not exactly do for a Venus ; and where to 
 turn for a better, he knew not. 
 
 At this critical juncture M. Dupas, as an old 
 intimate of the manager's, was consulted by him 
 on the momentous topic. Visions of glory at 
 once flitted before the intellectual optics of the 
 dancing-master ; he hastened to have them rea- 
 lized. Yes, he knew a young lady, of the most 
 distinguished beauty, full of grace and talent for 
 the profession — irt a word, a pupil of his own. 
 Could she be persuaded to undertake the en- 
 gagement, and did it suit the views of Monsieur to 
 give her one, he (Dupas) could not but view it as 
 a compact mutually advantageous and desirable. 
 
 All this sounded well ; but the manager, who 
 was a cautious man, evinced hesitation. He said 
 he must see the young lady; he would go the 
 length of believing all that M. Dupas said of her
 
 VIOLET. 43 
 
 accomplishments, but still he must see her before 
 he in the slightest degree compromised him- 
 self. 
 
 The manager, in accordance with a previous 
 arrangement with M. Dupas, made at the termi- 
 nation of their conference, called on the following 
 day on Mr. Woodville, with whom he was pre- 
 viously acquainted, and had an opportunity of 
 satisfying himself of the correctness of Dupas' 
 report. 
 
 Violet was in the room with her father when 
 the manager entered : she was introduced to him, 
 and, all unconscious of the object of his visit, she 
 bore his scrutinizing looks with modest assurance; 
 and, having staid long enough in the room to 
 complete the excellent impression her first coup- 
 d'oeil had conveyed to him, made the earliest ex- 
 cuse for retiring, and left her father and this im- 
 portant personage to their deliberations. M. Dupas 
 shortly after knocked at the door, and was added 
 to the council of three — for a council it soon 
 became. 
 
 Mr. Woodville Avas dazzled by the brilliant 
 chance it offered for his daughter's debut ; but 
 Mrs. Woodville, he said, must be consulted — 
 their mutvial intentions respecting their daughter 
 had hitherto been so undetermined, &c. &c. : he
 
 44 VIOLET. 
 
 would, in a day or two, inform the manager whe- 
 ther Miss Woodville could avail herself of his 
 very obliging proposal ; and after a little more 
 conversation of the same sort, the manager took 
 his leave, thinking that Mr. Woodville only 
 held out, in order to obtain the offer of a higher 
 salary, and which he fully resolved to augment 
 on the morrow. 
 
 " Do you hesitate, Mr. Woodville?" exclaimed 
 M. Dupas, the moment they were alone. 
 " You forget my wife, my dear Dupas." 
 " Your wife ! Her own mother can never ima- 
 gine any opposement to the future glory of la 
 petite : can any thing be more ravishing than the 
 prospect of the deb^t she will make ? The new 
 ballet, for which the whole of the town are mad 
 with knowing of ! To be at once lancee, as the 
 object of enthusiasm and admiration and extasie- 
 ment ! Wliat is there that she may not expect ? 
 I am all breathless with the anxiety of my feel- 
 ings ; that the whole desire of my life should be 
 so suhlimement realise, — and est il possible that 
 you are not penetrated, in and out, with your good 
 fortune ! This it is to be an Englishman ! — the 
 porter that you drink, and your bad climate, I 
 suppose ; so that you have no fine sentiments — 
 no conception of the really great : you are inca-
 
 VIOLET. 45 
 
 pable of tilings elevated ; and Miss Woodville^ my 
 Violet — my little child— my pupil — my bijou t 
 your own daughter — will be abandoned by you — 
 she is to be sacrificed, the pauvre enfant ! He- 
 las! on a de grands malheurs dans ce mo7ide." 
 
 M. Dupas ceased speaking ; but he sighed 
 profoundly. The poor man's anguish was not 
 feigned. Woodville, who was used to his tirades, 
 said a few pacifying words, and then went really 
 to consult Mrs. Woodville. 
 
 The manager, in the meantime, as he left the 
 house, walked up the street, muttering and think- 
 ing to himself — " Beautiful creature, certainly ! 
 and will do — but she must be rouged with care : 
 I can take an opportunity of seeing to that my- 
 self. While they are at their first engagements, 
 these husseys are tractable : yes, if I am not mis- 
 taken, I have made a find : the ballet will at- 
 tract, if it is only by means of the Venus ; and I 
 am not sure whether the beauty of this young 
 Houri will not look much more ethereal than that 
 of the black-eyed Norris girl. This one is the 
 most uncommon style of the two. I only foresee 
 one difficulty — she is too respectable. The effect 
 would be perfect, and my fortune would be made, 
 if I could only have her properly dressed : gossa- 
 mer robe, fastened by a zone — neck and shoul-
 
 46 VIOLET. 
 
 ders quite bare, or a mere loop, that she might 
 not be called Eve in the newspapers ; and, to 
 
 save appearances with the Saints, — We 
 
 shall see; I am sure it will answer; and the 
 price of Opera-glasses will rise." 
 
 Violet was taken by surprise, and found she 
 had not courage to make her parents an avowal 
 of the dislike she felt to the career they now in 
 good earnest desired she should embrace. They 
 considered it an opportunity not to be lost. 
 
 Violet felt ashamed of her own feelings, per- 
 haps of not having sooner discovered them; be- 
 sides, after the pains that had been taken with 
 her, how was she to find the heart to declare that 
 it had all been time thrown away ? 
 
 She thought of poor M. Dupas and his despair 
 at such a result to his many lessons. She then 
 reflected on the money expended upon her edu- 
 cation, and the bad return it would be to refuse 
 the only pecuniary means she knew she could 
 ever have in her power of aiding her parents. 
 
 The finale was, that, between shame and shy- 
 ness, and the innate sweetness of her disposition, 
 Violet's resolution gave way. But the sad feel- 
 ing of self- degradation that accompanied her 
 compliance made her in secret shed bitter tears, 
 and often did she wish that her lot had been
 
 VIOLET. 47 
 
 differently cast, while she almost lost the hope of 
 rising above the level on which she mentally con- 
 ceived herself to be placed. 
 
 Still she bestowed attention on her profession, 
 more even than she had devoted to it for months 
 past. She desired, at least, to excel in her new 
 career. 
 
 She attended rehearsals as little as possible, 
 for these she hated, but at home, and with the 
 unremitting pains- taking of M. Dupas, she lost 
 no opportunity of studying her part. It was not 
 a very difficult one, and had it been more so, 
 Violet's extreme beauty, and an exquisite cos- 
 tume, would have counterbalanced many defects 
 in the performance. 
 
 In the meantmie the renown of the new ballet 
 had gone abroad, and when the night for its first 
 performance arrived, not a box was vacant, and 
 there was not standing room in the pit. The 
 most interesting conversations were momentarily 
 suspended as the curtain, drawing up, discovered 
 the first scene to the expectant audience. 
 
 " They say there is to be a new dancer to- 
 night, the most beautiful girl that was ever be- 
 held," said Lord John to his Pendant. 
 
 "An Englishwoman, by the name, though,"
 
 48 
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 said a lady, " so she will be awkward, I am afraid ; 
 all Englishwomen are." 
 
 "That's true, — but there's that Miss Norris 
 did it uncommonly well. Horace," whispered the 
 speaker, " did not she break her leg or something, 
 jumping out of Harcourt's cab ?" 
 
 " Either her leg, or her rib, or something. 
 They swear Harcourt means to marry her." 
 
 " Does he ? then I will tell Crocky to give him 
 good advice and desire him not." 
 
 " Hush, — here is the new girl, by Jupiter ! If I 
 have not dropped my opera-glass ! " 
 
 It was in the middle of one of the most en- 
 chanting scenes of the ballet that Violet Wood- 
 ville, personifying the goddess of love and beauty, 
 made her first public ajipearance on a stage. 
 
 Nervous to the last degree, Violet almost 
 fainted under the violence of her emotions. The 
 stage-lamps restored her courage a little, as thev 
 always do, and the imperious necessity of not 
 giving way, did still more to sustain her. She 
 profited by the advice of M. Dupas, — to take no 
 heed of the audience, and to think of her part 
 only, not of her judges. 
 
 Suddenly a loud rush of applause rang on her 
 ears, and the young girl was again on the point
 
 VIOLET. 49 
 
 of being overcome. These were r\ot the whis- 
 pered tones of admiration falling like music on 
 the ear of the unprotected novice, but the loud 
 and unexpected shout of the admiring multitude 
 that first greeted the Violet, as incense to her 
 beauty. Some minutes passed ere she could 
 quite regain her self-possession. 
 
 The scene was at length over, and then she 
 threw herself into her father's arms and shed 
 tears. M. Dupas, in his enthusiasm, quite felt 
 as if she were his own child as he pressed her 
 to his heart. Tears streamed down his cheeks 
 without his knowing it, while Mr. Woodville, as 
 a younger man, felt quite ashamed of his own 
 emotion, and tried to smile and listen to the con- 
 gratulations of friends and by-standers. 
 
 Woodville himself was engaged as one of the 
 orchestra, but for this night he had requested 
 his conge. — " I could not play," he said, " whilst 
 my daughter danced." 
 
 Nothing could exceed the entire success that 
 attended Miss Woodville. Her beauty and her 
 extreme gracefulness left nothing to desire, — but 
 above all, her uncommon beauty ! Her figure was 
 so finished by nature and set off by art, that it 
 alone represented perfectly the beau ideal of a 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 50 VIOLET. 
 
 Venus. Still, lovely as she looked on the stag^e, 
 it was considered necessary to have a closer in- 
 spection, ere a decided opinion could be pro- 
 nounced by the cognoscenti, ready as they were 
 to acknowledge that, at the distance from which 
 they had seen her, it was no exaggerated praise 
 to declare she looked divine. 
 
 Deafening plaudits hailed the finale, and even 
 the ladies lingered in their boxes to see the last 
 of " the new opera-dancer." 
 
 Her parents' jo}', and her own most natural 
 vanity, gave some consolation to Violet in the 
 first steps of the path on which she had so re- 
 luctantly entered. In one week a new existence 
 opened to her. 
 
 She never went to the theatre without the pro- 
 tection either of her father or her mother, and in 
 this respect it is due to her parents to say that 
 they did their duty. 
 
 The young men rushed behind the scenes to 
 make love, and settlements too, if they might ; 
 but Violet's modest manner, and licr father's 
 watchfiilness, shielded her from the lightest word 
 of offence. By turns, surprised, excited, flat- 
 tered, pleased, and rarel}^ mortified, Violet gained 
 courage, and earned her distinction. She made
 
 VIOLET. 51 
 
 new acquaintances, she mingled in a larger circle, 
 and acquired some of that worldly knowledge in 
 which she had hitherto been so deficient. 
 
 She was gay, if not happy besides, for she had 
 little time for reflection, and nothing positive to 
 regret. Often too the real, or seeming brilliancy 
 of her position, would shed its enchantment over 
 the visions that rose to her imagination, as they 
 will do to that of every young person ^A'ho has 
 the world before them still. 
 
 Delightful moments, when all the disagreeable 
 realities of life are obliterated by the brief joys of 
 an hour ! and when in a paradise of fiction it is 
 possible to forget that if we are not to be single 
 among our fellow-creatures, as happiness is not 
 theirs, neither will it exist without alloy for our- 
 selves ! Yet would I say, dream on ; for, after-life 
 may have its pleasures and its sanguine hopes, 
 but never again can we derive, as we have done, 
 from the resources of a bright, unbruised spirit, 
 that poetry of thought that can create a heaven 
 on earth to the very young. The scene is sure 
 to change, and the clouds of sorrow are ever 
 gathering, though unseen by us, ready to burst 
 and dim the svmshine of our happiest moments. 
 Though again and again the elastic mind rises 
 
 D 2
 
 52 VIOLET. 
 
 above the storm, yet we see that mind crushed by 
 degrees, and faintly growing to mistrust present 
 happiness, while futurity is only seen through the 
 medium of the worst despondency. Alas ! to 
 change it thus, how much sorrow must have lin- 
 gered o'er the now subdued and doubting spirit, 
 that once knew but the certainty of every scheme 
 it cared to realize ! 
 
 Miss Norris was still confined to the house 
 with her sprained ancle, for having walked about 
 when she was told to keep on her sofa, it suddenly 
 became worse, and she was now obliged to be 
 careful from fear of another relapse. 
 
 Emily thought she was very glad of Violet's 
 aureole de gloire, but in her heart she was a little 
 jealous, which, however, it was very natural she 
 could not conceive herself capable of being in the 
 least possible degree. 
 
 Miss Norris amused herself every day during 
 her illness, by putting on the most becoming 
 dressing gowns she covild find, and the listening 
 for Mr. Harcourt's cab, either driving to her door 
 for him to inquire very particularly how she was, 
 or oftener still to make those inquiries himself in 
 person. 
 
 Still he did not propose, and the season was 
 drawing to an end.
 
 VIOLET. 53 
 
 Emil}^ however, grew more virtuous every day, 
 and Mrs. Norris was beginning to think whether 
 it would not be a good thing for her to do, as she 
 had read in fashionable novels that managing 
 mammas sometimes did; i. e. declare that her 
 daughter's affections Avere irreparably engaged, 
 and her happiness destroyed ; and that therefore 
 Mr. Harcourt must either discontinue his visits, 
 or he must propose. 
 
 Mrs. Norris discussed these measures with 
 Emily, but did not find her daughter so docile as 
 she was wont to be ; and Miss Norris one day 
 flatly told her mother that she begged the affair 
 with Mr. Harcourt should be left to her own 
 caring for, lest he should be worried away from 
 her altogether by the manoeuvi'ing of other 
 people, which Emily averred always spoiled these 
 affairs. 
 
 Miss Norris was agreeably roused one morn- 
 ing from a fit of low spirits by the rapid wheels of 
 Mr. Harcourt's cabriolet, driving to her door much 
 earlier than usual. 
 
 He must be come to propose, thought Emily. 
 " Mamma," exclaimed the young lady at the top 
 of her voice, for mamma was in another room, 
 " Mamma, am I becoming ? Mamma, where's 
 mamma ? mamma — don't you hear, am I becom-
 
 54 VIOLET. 
 
 ing V Mrs. Norris now rushed in, and the sig-ht 
 of Emily rolling her curls round her fingers 
 united to her important question, and the most 
 imploring interrogative eyes, told her, at once, of 
 the arrival she had not sooner learnt. 
 
 " Here, my dear, — here's a little, — there's yet a 
 moment, — I will detain him — make haste, — not 
 too much, mind." These broken sentences were 
 spoken Avith reference to an old bit of rouge which 
 the provident parent drew from her pocket, and 
 which with the last injunction of "not too much, 
 mind," she thrust into her daughter's hand. 
 
 "Thank you, mamma," said the young lady in 
 a sweetly grateful voice, and the riglit shade 
 being cleverl}^ applied, Emily was happy in her 
 mind, and felt she had all her smiles at command 
 to enable her to overcome this hitherto obdurate, 
 but not hopelessly unproposing man. 
 
 " My dear Emily," said Mr. Harcourt, " I am 
 anxious to know liow soon you will be well enough 
 to join a water-party down to Greenwich, we are 
 to make it quite a fete ; Stanmore is to manage 
 it all, and it is to be the pleasantest thing in the 
 world ; but as I can have no pleasure without you, 
 it is quite necessary for me to know when you 
 can be one of us." 
 
 Though this was not a proposal, Emily fore--
 
 VIOLET. 65 
 
 saw a very agreeable da3^ and she brightened 
 considerably, while, \vith the aid of Mrs. Norris, 
 she named the time about which the apothecary 
 might consider it good for her, and pretty good 
 for himself, that she shoud be emancipated from 
 the sofa. 
 
 The point was arranged at last; and long after 
 Mr. Harcourt left her, Emily was still building 
 castles in the air on a new foundation derived 
 from the expected day of pleasure. 
 
 Violet was now taken up in so many different 
 ways that she had not so much leisure as for- 
 merly; and Emily being obliged to remain at 
 home, they had not met very lately. Miss Norris 
 wrote her a note, requesting her to come and see 
 her that evening, if she could, with the intention 
 of learning whether Violet Woodville had been 
 invited earlier than herself to Lord Stanmore's 
 Greenwich party. That she was, or would be 
 invited was certain ; for Emil}^ had already 
 heard of the open admiration Lord Stanmore 
 professed for her beautiful friend ; and she was 
 also anxious to obtain some authentic information 
 upon this subject. 
 
 It was very true that amongst the many who 
 were struck with the uncommon loveliness of our 
 heroine, there was one very young man, of a
 
 56 
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 somewhat peculiar character, undeveloped, but 
 perhaps not the less pleasing. 
 
 Lord Stanmore was among the first to make 
 acquaintance with the new opera-dancer ; but he 
 was surprised and annoyed when he found how 
 difficult it would be for him to obtain her affec- 
 tions—that is, her affections as he meant to 
 obtain them ; and he soon perceived that, if se- 
 ducing her was not hopeless, it could only be by 
 means of winning her attachment, and by the 
 bad principles he could not but suspect were only 
 dormant in her bosom. " I can win her hardly 
 by her vanity," thought he, " and still less by her 
 avarice, for she has none." 
 
 Slowly her admirer became impressed with the 
 virtue of Violet Woodville's character, and her 
 good conduct was undoubted. 
 
 Lord Stanmore was now really unhappy : he 
 could not think of marrying her, yet he was very 
 much in love. He was twenty-two, and his own 
 master. He would not fly from the object of his 
 passion ; there w as always a latent trust in his 
 breast, that example and great temptation might 
 prove foes to Violet, and friends to him. He was 
 encouraged also by thinking that he had made 
 some impression on a heart as yet untried — he at 
 least hoped so.
 
 VIOLET. 57 
 
 It was certain that Violet was flattered by the 
 respectful preference of her admirer — doubly re- 
 spectful Lord Stanmore made it appear, because 
 he was well aware that it was the most profound, 
 as well as the most delicate flattery he could offer 
 to one in her situation. 
 
 Her parents, and even M. Dupas, already 
 dreamt of her as the bride of the rich young peer. 
 Violet dreamt no such dream ; but she did not 
 the less encourage, after a gentle fashion. Lord 
 Stanmore's admiration. He was good-loolcing, 
 and a charming person — besides, he was her f.rst 
 love. 
 
 He speedily made acquaintance with all the 
 prima donnas and ballerinas, through whose 
 means he found he could share the society of 
 Violet. At concerts and practisings, at rehearsals, 
 at suppers, and reunions after the ballet ; at the 
 house of one or other of the operatic corps, he 
 found the opportunities he sought, and was most 
 assiduous in availing himself of them. It was 
 always something to be making love, and even 
 if nothing more came of it, he felt a sort of mali- 
 cious pleasure in the hope that he might make 
 himself regretted. 
 
 It was chiefly for the sake of Violet Woodville 
 that Lord Stanmore proposed the Greenwich 
 
 d3
 
 58 VIOLET. 
 
 water-party ; and he gave her carte blanche to ask 
 all her fricjids, whilst he invited a nnraber of men 
 to add to their number. They were all to meet at 
 Whitehall, and go down to Greenwich by water. 
 Violet was naturally delighted at the pleasant 
 day she expected to pass, and nnich pleased also 
 by the manner in which Lord Staninore made 
 her the queen of the fete. 
 
 Violet Woodville Avent to see Emily as she 
 requested, and gladlj^ availed herself of her per- 
 mission to ask her friends, by hoping Emily and 
 her mother would be among them. 
 
 " O, I did not know, Violet, that this party was 
 all for you ! Mr. Harcourt has asked me already," 
 said Emily, a little piqued at finding she was not 
 the first personage on this occasion. " But tell 
 me, is it true that Lord Stanmore is vcr}'^ much in 
 love? How do y(m manage him, Violet? — do 
 you think he is at all a sort of man to marry you ? 
 Has he any mother, or anj^ tiresome old guardian 
 to meddle with what they have no business ?" 
 
 " I do not kiiow," answered Violet, colouring ; 
 " but as for marrying me, I am not so ambitious ; 
 Lord Stanmore's relations would hate me, if he 
 did marry me, and I could not bear to be de- 
 spised by any one." 
 
 " What great nonsense is that you are talking.
 
 VIOLET. 59 
 
 child ! why I could fancy you were come out of a 
 wood all at once." 
 
 " Oh, you know, Emily, people look upon 
 things differently. After all, it Avould be very 
 wrong for a person like Lord Stanmore to marry 
 me, who am not his equal in any way." 
 
 Miss Norris burst into a loud laugh. 
 
 " Heaven help your understanding ! If I did 
 not know you better, I should think you were the 
 greatest fool alive. Who has put these crotchets 
 into your head ?" 
 
 " Not a being, believe me, but we may all make 
 our own reflections." 
 
 " You had better make no more such as these ; 
 in our condition of life that sort of thing will not 
 do at all. I never heard Lord Stanmore was a 
 saint, — is it to please him you have learnt so 
 much wisdom ?" 
 
 " Come, don't laugh too much at me, Emily. 
 You know there is truth in Avhat I have said, at 
 all events." 
 
 " I dare say ; 3^ou may tell me as much of the 
 Proverbs of King Solomon, but I am not going 
 to quote them, for all that. Well, I will talk no 
 more nonsense, — but tell me, what do you hear 
 about me and Harcourt? — what is said about it.
 
 60 , VIOLET. 
 
 do you hear ? — and is it thought he will propose 
 for me ?" 
 
 " Indeed, Emily, people are very ill-natured in 
 what they say of you sometimes, and I wish Mr. 
 Harcourt would propose to you, as you desire it 
 so much, and then nothing more could be said." 
 
 " What do they say of me ? I suppose it is 
 that little spiteful Celeste, who never has for- 
 given me for taking Harcourt away from her; 
 what does she say of me, Violet ?" 
 
 " Oh, it is not little Celeste only, but other 
 people ; they declare he never will marry you, 
 and that you must know it." 
 
 " Well, I think differently,— and if Mr. Har- 
 court does propose, I own I shall glory in it, on 
 account of that impertinent Celeste. She is so 
 jealous, there is nothing she will not say of me. 
 Pray, dear Violet, is she asked to be of the party 
 to Greenwich ?" 
 
 " I fear so, but you need not care for that." 
 
 " Oh dear no, I shall so like it ! Harcourt will 
 treat her with the utmost contempt, and, after 
 her behaviour to me, I shall certainly not be 
 sorry for her mortification. And then, Violet, if 
 I do marry Mr. Harcourt," continued Emily in 
 exuberant gaiety, — 'Miow I shall like to have
 
 VIOLET. 61 
 
 you constantly with me, and what amusement we 
 shall have ! You will always be my best friend, 
 and Mr. Harcourt likes you already, and I am 
 sure he will be so kind afterwards ; and then he 
 is the most generous person I know, and will give 
 me every thing in the world I desire. How cu- 
 rious it will be for us to go to the opera together 
 in our own box, will it not? And there I shall 
 see Celeste all that way off, — ha, ha, ha! — dancing 
 as she always does, with one foot more turned in 
 than the other, and seeing me where she cannot 
 get at me with all her ill-nature — how nice it will 
 be for us to go in that way together !" 
 
 " Dearest Emily, you are very kind to think of 
 me so; I do wish it was all settled with Mr. Har- 
 court; but you have never told me if you have 
 heard any more of M. Larray ; I am afraid he 
 thovight you behaved unkindly to him." 
 
 Emily Norris made no reply, but her expres- 
 sion changed. 
 
 " He is gone to Paris, is he not ? " 
 
 " Do not name him now," exclaimed Emily^ 
 bursting into a violent fit of tears, and evincing 
 grief as violent as her gaiety had been the very 
 instant previous : and leaning on the table, she 
 hid her face with her hands.
 
 62 VIOLET. 
 
 " Good heavens ! do jou care so much for him? " 
 said Violet Woodville in astonishment. 
 
 " Indeed I do, — he is the only person in the 
 whole world I ever reall3' preferred, — and — per- 
 haps I shall never see liini again." 
 
 "Then wli}^ Emily, have yon behaved to him 
 in the Avay you have ? yon knew him to be de- 
 voted to you." 
 
 ^ " Ah ! if I coidd recall the past it should all be 
 different. I thought if I could only marry Mr. 
 Harcourt, that was ever}' thing, and that I should 
 be a lad}', and then that odious Celeste could 
 affront me no more. I M^as not always in the 
 same mind. Tliere were times that I would 
 sooner have Ijeen Henri's wife than the King of 
 England's ; but then we quarrelled, and he was 
 jealous ; and mamma too, the moment she thought 
 it possible Mr. ] iarcourt woidd marry me, never 
 talked of anj^ thing else ; and of Henri being 
 poor, and of ho\v rich I sliould be, and that 
 was the great thing. And I could not help 
 liking to flirt with Mr. Harcourt, because of that 
 French girl, who Jias always been interfering 
 with me all my life ; and then I (piarrclled dread- 
 fully with M. Larray, because he said he heard 
 that Mr. Harcourt would not marry me, and that
 
 VIOLET. 63 
 
 I should lose my character, aiid he threatened to 
 give me up for ever if I would not promise not 
 to see Mr. llarcourt any more; and I was very 
 angry, and declared that all sliould be at an end 
 then with Henri, for, that si^ice he said this, I 
 would not OA'cr marry him, and that I would not 
 be governed by any body. 
 
 " I was certainly very angrJ^ I think I told 
 Henri I wondered how he could expect that I 
 should not prefer Mr. Tfarcourt to Jiim, and that I 
 had a right to do as well for myself as 1 could. — 
 I do not knoA\' how it was, lie was in a passion 
 with me at first, but at last he softeiied entirely; 
 and, when I least thought of liis doing so, he 
 held out his hand and took mine, and said, " Let 
 us part friends, — dear Emilj-, may God bless you! 
 — I have loved you very much — I will not ask 
 you ever to think of mc again, but, for your own 
 sake, have prudence ;" — aiid l)cforc I had time to 
 answer, he left me, and next day went to Paris. 
 
 " This was the first idea I had of his leaving 
 England, except on thai one evening at our house 
 when he bade me a sort of faroAvell through 
 you ; but we had been friends after tliat, and I 
 never thought he Avas serious in meaning to go 
 abroad.
 
 64 VIOLET. 
 
 " So now it is all over, and I shall never" 
 
 Tears choked her utterance, and Emily gave way 
 to a burst of grief she never reckoned upon 
 undergoing, or her own selfishness would have 
 saved her from the infliction.
 
 ( (35 ) 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 "Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows, 
 As proudly sailing o'er the azure realm, 
 In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes, 
 
 Youth at the prow, and Pleasure at the helm." 
 
 "Mamma, it is sucli a lovely day!" exclaimed 
 Violet Woodville, lier face radiant with pleasure : 
 " how delightful ! — nothing could be more per- 
 fect ! " 
 
 It was the day fixed for the water-party to 
 Greenwich; exquisite in truth it was, — just one 
 of those days which we can have, even in this 
 country,— just such a day as it is worth while to 
 exist in^ and to possess no other blessing. 
 
 Should the reader be capable of appreciating 
 the actual charm there is in a very fine day, he 
 will understand the force of Violet Woodville's ex- 
 clamation of " How delightfvil ! " and when, added 
 to the weather, we can combine the gayest spirits 
 and the most smiling joy of a young mind, — 
 confess with me, my reader, say what we may.
 
 66 VIOLET. 
 
 there are some heavenly hours m this world of 
 ours, and that sometimes it is worth while to 
 have been born, and to have incurred the 
 chance of all the weal or woe that may fall to the 
 lot of man. 
 
 It was about one o'clock ; the Woodvilles were 
 ready to set forth. It had been agreed that the 
 whole party should meet at Whitehall-stairs, and 
 proceed thence in boats to Greenwich; the 
 Woodvilles and the Norrises were going together. 
 At this moment a note was brought to Mr. 
 Woodville, from Lord Stanmore. 
 
 " This is most provoking," said he, handing 
 the note to Mrs. Woodville. "Indeed it is," 
 replied that lady, -with an expression of conster- 
 nation. " Indeed it is ; so Violet's new, beau- 
 tiful pink hat goes for nothing, and she might as 
 well not have had a new one ! " 
 
 " Nay, indeed, that I don't see at all ; little 
 Violet ought to have all the hats in the kingdom, 
 such a good, pretty little daugliter as she is to 
 me;"" and the fond father kissed his child with 
 proud affection. 
 
 " Oh, I did not mean that Violet should not 
 have as many new bonnets as she wants, only 
 that beautiful pink one she does look so well in, 
 and it cost a great deal ; but as I knew she was
 
 VIOLET. 67 
 
 to see Lord Stanmore, on that account I would 
 make her have it, wasn't it, Violet ?" 
 
 " Dear father, all this time you have not told 
 me what the note contains ; never mind my bon- 
 net, mamma, but tell ine that." 
 
 The note certainly communicated disagreeable 
 intelligence. It was from Lord Stanmore, to say 
 he had that instant received a bad account of his 
 mother's health ; she had sent for two physicians, 
 and he was led to fear there was danger. He 
 was, consequently, instantly going down to 
 Brighton, where Lady Stanmore was staying. 
 He desired, hoAvcver, that the party might pro- 
 ceed Avitliout him. All the arrangements were 
 made for it, and he had requested a friend to 
 take his place on the occasion. Lord Stanmore's 
 note concluded with expressing great regret at 
 losing so much pleasure as he had anticipated in 
 sharing the society of the Woodvilles, and sor- 
 row for the cause of his deprivation. 
 
 Violet looked rather blank on finishing this 
 note. A great part of her happiness vanished. 
 She went to the window and began to think the 
 day was not so fine as before. She mused for 
 some minutes, and then, turning round, inquired 
 in an absent manner what was to be done now 
 about going.
 
 68 
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 " Oh, we go, of course, all the same," replied 
 Mrs. Woodville, who very much liked what she 
 called a pleasure party ; " don't you see Lord 
 Stanmore, in a very thoughtful manner, particu- 
 larly requests that we should upon no account 
 give up going, stating that he has got a friend 
 to take his place. What's his name, Mr. Wood- 
 ville ? Does Lord Stanmore mention the name 
 of the friend who is to preside in his place to- 
 day ? Give me the note. No — a friend, — no, 
 there's no name, — that's a pity. I wonder Lord 
 Stanmore did not mention his friend's name, — it's 
 always as well to know who's who." '' 
 
 "You are sure he is a gentleman, can't that 
 content you, Mrs. Woodville? What does it 
 signify what his name is V said Mr. Wood- 
 ville. 
 
 " Oh, of course I suppose he is a gentleman, 
 but still it is as well to know what people are be- 
 sides." tr 
 
 " Well, for my part, I don't see what more 
 there is to know besides." 
 
 '* No, you never do know what you ought. 
 Well, here's the glass coach. I suppose you 
 gave a guinea for it for the day as usual, Charles, 
 eh? It is a very neat one, I declare, — just as 
 good as if we had our own carriage."
 
 VIOLET. 69 
 
 " Yes, I desired to have a nice one this time. 
 Now get in, or we shall be too late ; you know 
 we are to call for the Norrises." 
 
 When the Woodvilles and the Norrises 
 reached ^\^litehall Yard they were late, at least 
 it appeared so from the previous arrival of two 
 other vehicles, one being green, the other a deep 
 yellow. 
 
 Out of the windows of these several equipages 
 protruded some fair faces, but I do not know 
 whether the eminently Parisian hats that waved 
 on the top of these faces were not, in some in- 
 stances, fairer still. 
 
 Impatience was strongly exhibited on the 
 most coquettish countenance ; and two or three 
 cabs were waiting in the court, while their 
 owners, in the very Avhitest gloves, were alter- 
 nately walking about, admiring the French polish 
 on their own boots, or stopping to pacify the 
 anxious sylphs of the glass coaches. 
 
 The Woodville party was clearly the cause of 
 all this restlessness, and their arrival was hailed 
 accordingly. Then began the letting down of 
 steps, and the gentlemen"'s little cab boys touch- 
 ing their hats, and endeavouring to get noticed 
 and obtain their orders, so as not to have to wait 
 all dav anrl nprliaps all nii^ht too, in Whitehall
 
 70 VIOLET. 
 
 Yard for their masters, by whom their wretched 
 little existences, and that of their poor cab horses, 
 were being equally forgotten. 
 
 Then there was the shawling of the ladies. 
 They were all of them good-looking, or approach- 
 ing to it, which some women contrive to make 
 about the same thing. 
 
 One there was smarter, and still more aux 
 petits soins with herself than the rest of her com- 
 panions. She was really pretty, and had taken 
 every care to make the most of that advantage. 
 
 " Mon cachemire — mille pardons, — mais c'est 
 egale, Milor, — ne voiis derangez pas, Alitor, — mais 
 c^ a faif, je V021S assure/' — and, on this assurance, 
 the Milor, of course, redoubled his attention to- 
 wards draping the folds of an exquisite cache- 
 mire des Indes on the shoulders of the lady in 
 question. 
 
 " There's Celeste," whispered Emily Norris to 
 Violet, as she availed herself of Mr. Harcourt's 
 assistance to walk down to the stairs. 
 
 " Ah, mais voila ma chere Miss Norris, — mais 
 quelle jolie robe qu die porte ! H faut ahsolument 
 que je lui parle un tout petit mot," cried the owner 
 of the cachemire, as she advanced towards Emily, 
 leaning on the arm of her Milor. 
 
 " Chere Miss Norris, I must tell you, you are
 
 VIOLET. 71 
 
 charming to-day. I have to feliciter j^ou, have I 
 not ? Congratulate 3^011 call it. And j^ou, too, 
 Mr. Harcourt. Well, you will live very happily 
 together, I do not but believe you Avill. Drole 
 de chose que le mariage ! c'est une liaison pour la 
 vie! mais tons les deux vous efes faites pour cela, 
 n'est-ce pas? et quand esf-ce que ce sera, ma tres 
 cherer 
 
 The last words were conveyed in a loud whis- 
 per. Emily Norris endeavoured to look as if she 
 did not understand; and, with as much coolness 
 as she could assume, she replied : — " I do not 
 know to what you allude, jMadlle. Celeste, but I 
 am so sorry for the ungrateful reception you met 
 with in the ballet on Saturday. Every body has 
 told me of it, and I cannot tell you how it dis- 
 tressed me for your sake." 
 
 " Eh, taais ne vous donnez pas cette peine, mon 
 ange de bonte. Main c'est que jai fait nial expres 
 pour niexcuser de ce role qui m''ennuii a la mart ! 
 Mais dites done, — vous me prierez a vos noces, 
 fespere ? Ah, voila Milor qui m' attend toujours ; au 
 revoir, cher en/ant;'" and the malicious Celeste 
 skipped off, happily conscious of ha\dng said the 
 most disagreeable things she could, if not to 
 Emily, at least, to her lover, who was out of tem-
 
 '112 VIOLET. 
 
 pel accordingly, for Mr. Harcourt never could 
 bear to be annoyed, — it is very disagreeable. 
 
 Violet was upon her father's arm, still a little 
 distressed at the unavoidable defection of Lord 
 Stanmore. 
 
 Laughing and talking, the whole party reached 
 the boats. In these, two or three gentlemen were 
 already occupied in preparing for the reception 
 of the ladies, and one of them now jumped for- 
 ward, and said something to Mr. Harcourt about 
 introducing him. Mr. Harcourt obeyed by pre- 
 senting this gentleman to Mr. Woodville and his 
 daughter, and in him Violet at once recognised 
 Mr. d'Arcy, whom she had never beheld since 
 the night when she met him at Mrs. Norris's. 
 
 The impression he had then produced had al- 
 most worn away. 
 
 Mr. d'Arcy said he was desired to fulfill all 
 the duties of his absent friend, Lord Stanmore, 
 on this occasion, and asked, with an air of de- 
 ference, to conduct Miss Woodville to the boat. 
 
 As he spoke, D'Arcy gazed in admiration on 
 the most beautiful face he thought he had ever 
 beheld. 
 
 At length everything was arranged, and Mr. 
 Woodville, and Violet, Emily Norris, and Mr.
 
 VIOLET. /O 
 
 Harcourt (who was still writhing under the in- 
 fliction of Madlle. Celeste), that young lady, her- 
 self and her Milor, were all stowed in the first 
 boat, but ere it shoved off D'Arcy discovered 
 that there was no remaining place for him. 
 
 "D'Arcy," exclaimed Lord WilHam C , 
 
 " what are you looking at ? There's plenty of 
 room for you in the other boats." 
 
 " So I see, but tliis is the one I mean to go in ; 
 who will move ? 
 
 " Why you don't think we shall ?" 
 
 " Indeed I do, my dear William, — one of you 
 must. I am particularly desired to see that Miss 
 Woodville is taken care of, and I cannot think 
 of going in one of the other boats when she is in 
 this," and, stepping forwards, Mr. d'Arcy whis- 
 pered something *in Lord William's ear which 
 had the effect of making him propose to his com- 
 panion, i. e. to Celeste, to find places elsewhere. 
 
 Now, Madlle. Celeste had already practised 
 some manoeuvring to be where she was, and to 
 be ousted thus she thought unbearable, and 
 this opinion she expressed to Lord William. 
 
 " Madlle. does not like moving, D'Arcy ; she 
 made a point of being in this boat;" and he 
 added, confidentially, " see if you can get her out 
 yourself, it's all one to me, but I mustn't affront 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 VIOLET. 
 
 her, because I am making love to her, and I 
 have so many affairs just now on hand, I can't 
 afford losing time to make it up if I quarrel with 
 her." 
 
 With an air of soft benignity D'Arcy proffered 
 his hand to Celeste, and, on obtaining hers, gave 
 it a most hardy gripe, which acted the part of a 
 lever to the Frenchwoman, whether she would 
 or not ; but he accompanied the action with a 
 smile and a look he meant for her alone, and 
 one that he would sooner have resigned all 
 chance of the place he aimed at possessing than 
 Violet Woodville should have noticed. It tho- 
 roughly overcame poor Celeste, who went away 
 with a better grace than she threatened to do at 
 first. 
 
 To make one more, instealfl of the two who 
 
 were gone, a Madame N was ushered into 
 
 the vacant place, who, not ha\dng a cavalier, 
 said she did not want one, and was taken at her 
 word. 
 
 D'Arcy was quickly by the side of Violet ; and 
 at the same instant a waterman called out to Mr. 
 Woodville, to leave his daughter, in order to trim 
 the boat by sitting on the opposite side. 
 
 D'Arcy, in an easy manner, lamented Lord 
 Stanmore's absence, and did not scruple to ex-
 
 VIOLET. 7b 
 
 press the reason, which would, he said, make the 
 deprivation be doubly felt by his friend. 
 
 Violet replied with embarrassment. The con- 
 versation turned on other subjects : she found 
 Mr. d'Arcy an easier person to converse with 
 than she expected, and in spite of the timidity 
 which she involuntarily felt, whenever the recol- 
 lection of his conversation with Mr. Harcourt 
 crossed her mind, still his agreeableness won 
 upon her. 
 
 His manner, too, she found different from what 
 she had considered it on that occasion. There 
 was none of the superciliousness she had disliked ; 
 and when by accident she saw his expression, 
 Violet only beheld the most speaking counte- 
 nance, and not a feature, as she thought, that 
 was not lighted wifh philanthropic benevolence. 
 
 Violet Woodville was fairly pvizzled; she won- 
 dered how she could ever have thought ill- 
 naturedly of him. 
 
 " Do you know. Miss Woodville," said D'Arcy, 
 " I saw you at the Opera, for the first time, on 
 Tuesday. I am only just returned to town. I 
 have a great deal to thank you for ; I never 
 knew in my life, before, how exquisite an enjoy- 
 ment it is to admire with such intensity ! " 
 
 "I am very glad to hear the ballet pleased 
 
 E 2
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 you ; — indeed, I think the scenery is beautiful,' 
 answered Violet with shyness. 
 
 " Oh, I am not thinking of the scenery," and 
 D'Arcy smiled archly in her face. " I do not 
 remember it even, I only thought of seeing my 
 beau ideal of a Venus so unexpectedly embodied, 
 as I saw it then, — as I see it now ! But you are 
 tired of hearing you are handsome, and, young as 
 you are, you find the theme is hackneyed. Do 
 not hate me if I could not fail to worship, and to 
 tell you so, as all those that ever beheld you 
 fain would." 
 
 " No, Mr. d' Arcy, I am not so used to compli- 
 ments as all that," said Violet, na'ivement ; " but 
 only I Hke people not to exaggerate so much to 
 me, because I think they must suppose how 
 vain I am, and that, you know, is not flattering 
 at all." 
 
 " Flattery," muttered D'Arcy, half to himself, 
 " no one ever flattered you." 
 
 " Are you fond of the Opera, Mr. d'Arcy ? " 
 
 " Yes, very ; I like it because, in the first place, 
 I am really fond of music : and, whether or no, I 
 frequent it on principle." 
 
 " But why on principle ? " 
 
 " We become so vile and liardened occasionally-, 
 I think it is an immense thing to get one's old
 
 VIOLET. y / 
 
 romance brushed up — revived a little at intervals, 
 and nothing does that so effectually as a good 
 opera. These touchings up do the basest hearts 
 an infinite good. Ah ! I suppose I talk nonsense 
 to you, who can know nothing of the world, — may 
 you long remain blest with ignorance : you ought, 
 for, if I ever read a countenance, yours is the pic- 
 ture of a charming mind. I could look at you for 
 ever, and I could not imagine you possessed one 
 fault ! Tell me, have you one in the world ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes," answered Violet, laughing, " so 
 many ; but I shall not tell them." 
 
 " Well, I think you would if I were to press 
 you very much." 
 
 " What makes you think so ? " 
 
 " You have an air of candour that bids de- 
 fiance to concealment of anv kind." 
 
 " Altogether, you have a better opinion of me 
 than I deserve ; I am not in the least better than 
 other people, I assure you." 
 
 " For instance," said D'Arcy, " not better than 
 any one of us in this boat ? I confess," he con- 
 tinued, " I am curious to comprehend this stand- 
 ard of your own perfection. To begin with that 
 
 formal Madame N , who has been the Emilia, 
 
 pocket-handkerchief woman in Otello for the last 
 three seasons, to the best of my recollection, — an
 
 78 VIOLET. 
 
 excellent woman, for what I know, but would you 
 exchange all the good you are sure of in your- 
 self, for the qualities you may suppose her to 
 possess ? " 
 
 "No, no!" 
 
 " Well, there's Miss — Miss Norris, what do 
 you think of her ?" D'Arcy spoke with an enquir- 
 ing eye. Violet reddened, for she was reminded 
 of the scarcely less than contempt with which 
 she had before heard D'Arcy speak of Emily 
 Norris. 
 
 " Miss Norris is a great friend of mine," she 
 answered^ almost deprecatingly. 
 
 " Ah ! '' exclaimed D'Arcy. Violet raised her 
 eyes to his. They were fixed upon her with 
 earnest penetration, while a smile played round 
 the corners of a very handsome mouth. Then 
 those eyes, as they encountered Violet Wood- 
 ville's, softened ; and timidly Violet turned her 
 head away. But, in her heart, she felt pleased ; 
 and the soft voice, in which it was necessary 
 D'Arcy's remarks should be made, was not with- 
 out its effect on her susceptibility, whilst it pre- 
 vented their being heard by their companions. 
 
 D'Arcy had very handsome eyes, and the most 
 expressive I ever saw ; they were not continually 
 handsome, but they had some latent charm : it
 
 VIOLET. 79 
 
 existed, but was not always evident ; and at times 
 it slept entirely beneath that look of utter indif- 
 ference which had been so much remarked by 
 Violet when she first met him. 
 
 " There's Mr. Woodville, but we will pass him 
 over : he is your father, and that at once endears 
 him in my mind." 
 
 " Oh, yes ; if you knew my father;, he is better 
 than anybody in the world : I wish I was but half 
 as good as he is." 
 
 " I believe you. — Now for Mr. Harcourt: 
 what say you for his excellencies of character ? " 
 
 " I see him almost for the first time." 
 
 " Then there remanis only myself to discuss. 
 Would you, at a venture, exchange all the good 
 feelings you must be conscious of for mine ? " 
 
 " But, again — I know you so little, Mr. d'Arcy, 
 yet I dare say you are a very good person." 
 
 The innocent gentleness with which this was 
 spoken would have touched a tiger's heart : D'Arcy 
 did not smile ; he could not. 
 
 " D'Arcy," exclaimed Mr. Harcourt, who found 
 he had exhausted his sentimentalities with Emily : 
 " D'Arcy, did you ever see a girl like that 
 little Celeste ? By Jove ! what could she want 
 here?" 
 
 " The pleasure of sitting opposite Miss Norris
 
 80 - VIOLET. 
 
 and yourself, I presume; undeniably no small 
 pleasure," said D'Arcy, bowing to Emily. 
 
 But the manner was changed. In those few 
 words Violet could hardly recognise the person 
 she had just conversed with. His look, too! It 
 was that look and that tone that Violet could not 
 bear. 
 
 " Is Madlle. Celeste a friend of yours, Miss 
 Woodville ? " asked Mr. Harcourt. 
 " No ; I hardly know her." 
 " No ! " said Woodville : " I am not very 
 fond of Madlle. Celeste, and I like to choose 
 nice friends for my good little daughter there. 
 You must excuse my being very fond of her. 
 She is my only child, and the best that ever lived, 
 I am sure. But I have no business to be saying 
 so here ; I do not know what made me so silly," 
 continued the father, half modestly, half ashamed 
 of his parental pride. D'Arcy looked at Wood- 
 ville's honest countenance, and he wondered in- 
 wardly. 
 
 Before dinner the whole party went sight- 
 seeing, as is usual, I believe. D'Arcy took care 
 not to relinquish the charge of Violet, and she 
 was too happy to wish for any change. So off 
 they all went to see the Hospital, as most of the 
 party had done a hundred times before ; but
 
 VIOLET. 81 
 
 •which was no reason for their not doing it again 
 now. 
 
 Many a 303^0113 party has trod the courts of 
 Greenwich Hospital — many; and if those old 
 stones could speak, what tales of love they could 
 reveal ! Vows spoken there, and long forgotten. 
 There, too, many a tear has fallen^ and many a 
 ringing laugh has sounded; and oblivion, and the 
 dust of the dead are all that remain of eventful 
 hours — the joy or the misery of a human life ! 
 But of these things there is no record ; for the 
 heart has none. 
 
 E'en such is time, which takes in trust 
 Our youth, our joys, and all we have, 
 And pays us nought save age and dust ; 
 Which, in the dark and silent grave, 
 When we have wandered all our ways, 
 Shuts up the story of our days. 
 
 Sir W. Raleigh. 
 
 Before Emily quitted Mr. Harcourt's arm, on 
 arriving at the " Ship," where they were to dine, 
 Mrs. Norris approached, and said to Emily, in a 
 sort of genteel voice, which she used on particular 
 occasions — " Dearest, I fear I spoilt half your 
 happiness to day, by not being able to be with 
 you on the water. Emily cannot bear to be 
 chaperoned by anybody but myself, Mr. Harcourt : 
 she is quite childish about that. But you saw. 
 
 E 3
 
 82 VIOLET. 
 
 love, there really was no room for me ; and the 
 Woodvilles are such good people, and they were 
 in the boat ! " 
 
 •' Oh, thank you. Mamma ; I did regret your 
 not being with me ; but I knew you could not 
 help it," answered Miss Norris. 
 
 " Mamma," said Emily, while adjusting her 
 hair before dinner, " Mamma, I beg you will get 
 anywhere but near me at dinner — above all, do 
 not sit opposite to me. It is very easy for you, 
 if you try, to get a seat a long way from me down 
 the table, on the same side — only a long way from 
 me, mind that !" 
 
 " Very well," said Mrs. Norris, " and pray don't 
 let your temper get the better of you, so as to 
 have any of your snapping at Madlle. Celeste. 
 She will do you harm yet if you are not care- 
 ful ; for my part I shall be particularly civil to 
 her." 
 
 "Harcourt," said D'Arcy, the first opportunity 
 he found, " what is this new girl ? " 
 
 '■. What— which ? " 
 
 " That little Woodville, to be sure !" 
 
 " Miss Woodville ? " 
 
 " Oh, how punctilious you are become ! Upon 
 my word, Harcourt, the society you keep im-
 
 VIOLET. 83 
 
 proves you amazingly. Miss Woodville, then," 
 continued D'Arcy, with an emphasis on the Miss. 
 
 " Why, she is a very nice girl, I believe, and it 
 is no use your looking after her." 
 
 " Indeed ! en attendant, I shall like to know 
 something of her." 
 
 " Well, I tell you, she is a very nice person." 
 
 " Be more explicit, pray : how do you know 
 anything about her ? " 
 
 " She happens to be a particular friend of 
 Miss Emily Norris, and gets advice from her; 
 and Emily possesses such high principles, that I 
 have an opinion of anybody who is her friend," 
 said Mr. Harcourt, slowly and pompously. 
 
 " The devil you have ! '' exclaimed D'Arcy, 
 bursting into laughter; "well, I don't despair, 
 notwithstanding. Thank you, you have told me 
 a great deal," 
 
 The dinner was excellent, and gaiety was the 
 order of the day. The champagne was declared 
 to be the best ever tasted, and, on that account, 
 it was tasted very often. All the ladies were in 
 good humour. Milor and Celeste became great 
 friends, and he hoped he should not have to 
 waste as much time in making love to the lady as 
 he at first feared.
 
 84 VIOLET. 
 
 Emily and Mr. Harcourt went on remarkably 
 well, for two people who, after all, were playing 
 at cross purposes. 
 
 Mrs. Norris with her lynx eyes saw them, and 
 everybody else, though she obeyed Emily's in- 
 junction, and did not sit too near her. Mrs. Norris 
 was one of those who particularly approved of 
 the champagne, and thought it almost as good as 
 any lover, and Avondered she had not thought 
 so all her life. So she drank it; and went 
 on looking benignly at all the world, but keep- 
 ing herself as decorous as she possibly could, 
 so as not to be a reproach to the rest ; for Mrs. 
 Norris was quite of opinion with the man in 
 'Moliere's Misanthrope:' — 
 
 "A force de sagesse, on petit &he blamable, 
 
 La parfaite raison fait tout extreinite, 
 
 Et veut que Ton soit sage avec sobriete. 
 * i^ * * * 
 
 En c'est une folie a nulle autre seconde, 
 De vouloir se meler a corriger le monde." 
 
 After dinner D'Arcy was extremely civil to Mr. 
 Woodville, and talked a great deal about the 
 orchestra at the King's Theatre; and blamed 
 the manager much for being stingy. He then 
 praised Violet exceedingly, and, with great 
 frankness, extolled her dancing, and told Wood- 
 ville numerous things that he (D'Arcy^ had heard 
 in eulogium upon her.
 
 VIOLET. 85 
 
 In the evening, walking in the park was pro- 
 posed, and acceded to by all. 
 
 D'Arcy found a moment to express his anxiety 
 about Mrs. Woodville's shawl being the right 
 one, and to beg she would allow him to introduce 
 a cousin of his. Lord Toppington, who was among 
 their number ; and he brought vip a raw boy of 
 sixteen, and presented him, saying, " The young 
 gentleman was most anxious for the honour of 
 making Mrs. Woodville's acquaintance." He 
 next whispered in his ear — " There, Arthur, that's 
 a great thing I have done for you, you may be 
 much obliged to me, — offer your arm directly, 
 and don't stand staring like a fool." 
 
 Then D'Arcy glided back to Violet, who was 
 attending to some young men, and, at the same 
 time, forced to listen to the honied words of little 
 Celeste, who was fond of new acquaintances, and 
 liked teaching "the young idea how to shoot." 
 She was rather a clever gipsy, that Mademoiselle 
 Celeste. 
 
 A walk by moonlight is a very pleasant thing 
 with a lover, and a lover, too, just beginning to 
 bud into one. A budding lover is a much plea- 
 santer thing than a full-blown one, very often ; 
 there is so much trouble attendant upon the 
 latter sort.
 
 86 VIOLET. 
 
 D'Arcy said nothing positive to Miss Wood- 
 ville about his being in love with her ; he was as 
 discreet on that head as Mrs. Norris herself 
 could have desired, and Violet grew more and 
 more pleased with him. He pointed out the 
 moon and the stars to her, but in a new way, it 
 seemed to Violet ; so that it was really the same 
 thing to her as if she had never seen them 
 before. 
 
 It may be worth remarking, that Violet and 
 D'Arcy, out of some twenty people who composed 
 the party, were the only ones who made an 
 observation on the beauties of Nature. Celeste 
 and Milor thought of nothing of the sort ; and if 
 Celeste had shown a disposition that way. Lord 
 William never could have found time to reply to 
 such a singular little caprice d'esprit. 
 
 Emily and Mr. Harcourt sauntered on toge- 
 ther. The latter Avas not aimable. He declared 
 he could not understand Miss Norris's beha- 
 viour : her unkindness was extraordinary. Was 
 he not devoted to her ? — had she a desire it 
 was not his to fulfil ? Was he not her slave ? 
 Had she ever had reason to doubt his affection ? 
 Had he not forsaken every other lady for her 
 sake ? — and yet, what was the return he met with? 
 He could no longer doubt Miss Norris had de-
 
 VIOLET. 87 
 
 ceived him ; her affections were already engaged ; 
 he was but the victim of her coquetry, and was 
 the most miserable of men ! 
 
 That last assurance, as a lover, he was, of course, 
 bound to add, whether it were true or not. All 
 these sentences sounded very euphoniously ; but 
 what of that — for not one of them hinted at a pro- 
 posal — and Emily still thought that might be 
 
 obtained, finally ; — if not — why then but 
 
 Mrs. Norris was so discreet a woman, that it is 
 not fair to surmise on the future actions of any 
 one under her guidance. 
 
 As for Mrs. Woodville, and her boy Topping - 
 ton, they trotted on together ; she, poor woman, 
 trying to make such innocent conversation as ap- 
 peared the best suited to him, as she conceived ; 
 and he, more shy than he ever was in his life 
 before, and a thousand times more in awe of a 
 lady who acted at Covent Garden, than even of 
 his stiff great grandmother, the Duchess of 
 Mightiness, when she sent to give him a lec- 
 ture, or to stop his allowance. He thought it, 
 however, very kind of his cousin D'Arcy to have 
 got him to this water party, and still more kind 
 to have introduced him to so distinguished a per- 
 son as Mrs. Woodville. 
 
 " Remarkably pleasing young man, Mr. d'Arcy,
 
 88 
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 I think ; did not you, Mr. Woodville ?" inquired 
 Woodville's spouse, as they reached home in the 
 glass coach. 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; and he was very attentive to all 
 of us, I thought ; and he told me also that he 
 admired Violet so very much, which showed him 
 to be a sort of frank young man, without any 
 double dealing about him, wliich is what I hate. 
 I do not like it when young men come and talk to 
 a girl, and are not for saying anything of it to 
 her parents : I, who know the world well, always 
 guess that means no good ;" and upon the close 
 of these pertinent observations, Mr. Woodville 
 stepped upon his own threshold. 
 
 The next time Violet saw Mr. d'Arcy was 
 while he was sitting in a side-box at the Opera ; 
 before she became aware of his presence, she 
 thought only of the audience. Now he alone was 
 that audience. The judgment of the multitude, 
 pending upon herself at that moment, was forgot- 
 ten — contending feelings were hers. She hated 
 so that D'Arcy, the despiser D'Arcy, should be- 
 hold her one of the tribe for whom he had de- 
 clared so much contempt. I at least will show 
 him I deserve not his ill opinion, thought Violet ; 
 " Still I am an opera-dancer," she involuntarily 
 exclaimed ; and never, since its commencement.
 
 VIOLET. 89 
 
 had Violet Woodville's dislike to her profession 
 so forcibly recurred to her. 
 
 Two or three days afterwards D'Arcy called 
 upon the Woodvilles : he had heard, he said, 
 from Lord Stanmore. Lady Stanmore was not 
 better, and his friend wrote in wretched spirits. 
 He was exceedingly attached to his mother, and 
 Mr. d'Arcy declared, from the account he re- 
 ceived, he thought it a hopeless case; and he 
 grieved over Lord Stanmore's affliction in conse- 
 quence. 
 
 c^ Violet was in the room during D'Arcy's visit, 
 and she could not help feeling that his eyes 
 were riveted upon her, when he mentioned Lord 
 Stanmore. She was really sorry for her ad- 
 mirer's distress, and she said so without dis- 
 guising it. 
 
 D'Arcy talked more of Lord Stanmore to her 
 father and mother than he did to herself During 
 his visit M. Dupas came Vn ; and while the family 
 greetings were going on, D'Arcy contrived to 
 approach Violet. 
 
 "• Do you never walk, Miss Woodville ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ; very often." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 " Very early ; before breakfast, often." 
 
 " Where ? "
 
 90 VIOLET. 
 
 " In Kensington Gardens : we live so near ; it 
 is convenient." 
 
 " With Mrs. Woodville ?" 
 
 " No ; Mamma is not up so early." 
 
 D'Arcy longed to ask, — Alone, then? or 
 With whom ? but he did not quite dare ; for 
 he was aware that the drift of his questions was 
 unperceived by Violet, and he feared that, had it 
 been otherwise, he might give umbrage. Violet 
 actually did not surmise the course of his in- 
 quiries. It is possible, without being a fool, to 
 be quite unknowing in the ways of the world ; 
 and Violet was the most unsuspecting of human 
 beings. Her simplicity of mind, as to all that 
 was artful or designing, placed her almost in the 
 position of a child who learns to read, but, from 
 hating the pursuit, gains no improvement. Violet 
 Woodville daily heard, and sometimes saw, in- 
 stances of deception, and even of vice ; but while 
 she knew such things were, she did not dream of 
 them in connexion with herself 
 
 There are minds like this, beautiful only as 
 they were created ; and how sad it is to think 
 that soon the contact of other minds shall tarnish 
 the purity of such as these, and reduce them to 
 their own level. Yet are we all alike destined 
 for an ordeal ; and if virtue falls into error, we
 
 VIOLET. 91 
 
 are bound to doubt its true perfection. It was 
 not made to pass as useless ; and it has been said 
 by one* who was well read in the hearts of his 
 fellow-creatures, — " La meme faiblesse qui nous 
 fait trouver des ecueils au milieu du monde et 
 de la cour, nous auroit fait une tentation de la 
 retraite meme. Nous portons partout avec nous 
 la source de nos crimes et de nos malheiirs, et 
 ainsi il ne faut pas attendre notrc surete des de- 
 hors de la situation." 
 
 * Massillon.
 
 ( 92 ) 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " The game of life — how is it played — by whom — 
 For what ? — What fearful trickery 
 To gain some wretched end : and, still more sad, 
 How much of mental power, whicli ought to boast 
 A nobler aim, employed for means the basest ! 
 'Tis brave to see two knaves engaged, each bent 
 On duping his opponent ; but, alas ! 
 There are some nohler victims, some whose fate 
 Might wring hot tears of blood from human hearts." 
 
 Old Play. 
 
 " Charles," said Mrs. Woodville to her husband, 
 " I cannot help thinking Lord Stanmore gets 
 Mr. d'Arcy to call here, that he may see us for 
 him, as it were : you know that is so like a man 
 in love. I fancy, too, somehow, Mr. d'Arcy 
 knows we have guessed that ; for he is quite at 
 his ease, and comes in to us in a way as if he 
 thought we could only be glad to see him." 
 
 " And so we are," replied Mr. Woodville ; " but 
 1 would rather see Lord Stanmore himself. I 
 hope Violet is not thinking too much of him, poor 
 little girl ! These fine gentlemen may go on for
 
 VIOLET. 93 
 
 awhile ; but if anything comes to turn their at- 
 tention, there's an end of them. Who knows 
 what fine lady he may fall in love with any day, 
 at all those balls and places that we have nothing 
 to do with ? Don't talk about him to httle Violet, 
 for fear she should get to think more of him than 
 it is well she should " 
 
 •' Not I ! lleally, Mr. Woodville, one would 
 think sometimes you took me for a fool ! I have 
 not heard Violet name Lord Stanmore these 
 three days ! " 
 
 •• I am sure he was in love with her, however ; 
 and he knew well enough, from what he saw of 
 me, I was not the sort of person to let my daugh- 
 ter do anything that she should not do ; and, 
 with the education we have given her, I would 
 have him to kno.v she's fit to be the wife of any 
 Lord. If he only knew the money we spent 
 upon her I Perhaps he thinks she can only 
 dance ? " 
 
 • I do not know what he thinks ; but I should 
 like to have done with him, one way or other : 
 there's a swarm of those young men every night 
 after the poor girl, all making up their mind she 
 will come to their turn. If it was not for our 
 always looking after her, I do not know what they 
 would not be saying to her."
 
 94 VIOLET. 
 
 " Oh/' rejoined Mrs. Woodville, " I take care 
 of that, or else M. Dupas does. I do wonder 
 when we shall see Lord Stanmore, for the season 
 will be over in three weeks, and, if his mother 
 should die, why then he will go into black, and 
 will not be going about for some time. Parents' 
 mourning, though, is not worn so long as it used 
 to be, is it, Charles ?" 
 
 " I don't know, — but I don't see what differ- 
 ence it makes to us." 
 
 "Ah, well, I do though. There's a ring,— see, 
 is it the Norrises ? — no, it's Dupas, — no, it's Mr. 
 d'Arcy." 
 
 Mr. d'Arcy had certainly familiarized the 
 Woodvilles with his visits, without their ever 
 having the appearance of being abrupt or un- 
 called for. During these visits he saw Violet, 
 but not always. When he did not he never 
 asked for her, but he stayed less time when she 
 was not there. He was fond of music, and un- 
 derstood it, and sometimes he got Mr. Woodville 
 to play to him upon the violoncello. Very often 
 he brought new music with him, and he had al- 
 ways something to say about Lord Stanmore. 
 
 Violet was never engaged in the ballet, that 
 she did not see D'Arcy in the box nearest to 
 her ; and there was no one whose applause was
 
 VIOLET. 95 
 
 more frequent, or more loudly expressed. By 
 degrees she got accustomed to seeing him always 
 at the Opera. She liked him more each time 
 she met him, because each time she found some- 
 thing of her original misgiving about him dimi- 
 nished. She soon beheld only the pleasing side 
 of his character. 
 
 Violet now seldom thought of Lord Stanmore : 
 she had liked him, but D'Arcy interested her. 
 Ah! what a difference there is in the meaning of 
 those two words ! Interest another in your 
 favour, be it man or woman, and much may 
 follow, — to please merely is to do nothing. And 
 is it not true that there are some people who 
 please, but who cannot interest? There is a 
 wide distinction between pleasing exceedingly, 
 and interesting exceedingly, — either may hap- 
 pen, and neither in connexion. 
 
 About three weeks had elapsed since the 
 Greenwich water-party, and one or two more of 
 the same sort took place. D'Arcy made love, 
 but not openly. He still left Violet in doubt. 
 As yet he had not done anything decidedly 
 declaring his sentiments, but he ascertained that 
 he had no rival, and that was what he most de- 
 sired. " Les impressions sont d'autant plus dan- 
 gereuses qu'elles sont insensibles."' Few of us
 
 96 VIOLET. 
 
 pause to analyse our feelings, and Violet was not 
 one of those few. Our feelings are born, they 
 grow, they inspire us vitally, and then, and not 
 before, we wake to a knowledge of them. After 
 all, though a great deal may be said about know- 
 ing ourselves intimately, and of the utility of 
 such knowledge, I doubt if there be really any 
 advantage in it. 
 
 The commencement, too, of all sentiments of 
 love or friendship is so soothing. Distrust is 
 disarmed^ suspicion has its opiate ; and, if these 
 first moments of illusion are to be destroyed, say 
 ye, who can, what remains in lieu of them ? and of 
 what avail is all the reasoning of philosophy if it 
 deprive us of one little iota of human happiness ? 
 
 D'Arcy had not yet endeavoured to profit by 
 the chance which he had discovered for himself, 
 of meeting Violet in her morning walks. He 
 had his reasons for this delay. He thought that 
 Violet would conceive that she did not know him 
 enough, not to be more surprised than he desired 
 she should be at the interruption. 
 
 He had ascertained that a housekeeper, or old 
 servant of the Woodvilles, was her duenna in 
 these walks. The Woodvilles lived near Ken- 
 sington, and Violet, who was not a strong person, 
 was advised to get the morning air in the gar-
 
 VIOLET. 97 
 
 dens, and it suited particularly the domestic ar- 
 rantrements that these walks should be taken 
 early. 
 
 " Pray, D'Arcy," said Mr. Harcourt, one night 
 at Crockford's, "what have you been at lately?" 
 
 " I have been very much occupied. But I put 
 the same question to you. You look very ill." 
 
 "And so I am, — horridly ill. I am so wor- 
 ried, — I am miserable." 
 
 " That's a pity. ' II ti'y a pas cle plus grcmde 
 folie que d'etre maUieureux.' * What's the 
 matter ?" 
 
 " I am in such a scrape with the Norrises, — 
 Celeste has been blowing me to the devil. I had 
 hysterics, and scenes, and faintings, — and I de- 
 clare I don't know what to do." 
 
 " Cut, to be sure, — don't be a fool." 
 
 " Not if I thought Emily really liked me." 
 
 " Upon my soul, Harcourt, you are as weak as 
 water," exclaimed D'Arcy. 
 
 " Ah, I don't believe you ever cared for a wo- 
 man in your life," replied Harcourt, pettishly. 
 
 D'Arcy laughed out aloud. 
 
 " What ! not for Mrs. O'Colly ? and didnt I 
 turn hair-dresser for the Italian girl ? Didn't I 
 ruin myself for Estelle ? and didn't I go to Rome 
 
 * Du Deffaiid. 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 VIOLF.T. 
 
 after a woman, who had been divorced, for the 
 sake of two other men ? Didn't I become a Me- 
 thodist for the brewer's wife? and wouldn't 1 
 have sold myself to the Devil for " 
 
 " Oh, I know you, D'Arcy. At all events, you 
 don't understand my feelings." 
 
 " Well, but stay, I want to ask you, — a'n't you 
 going to have a supper, or something of that 
 kind, at the Norrises this week?" 
 
 " What do you ask for?" 
 
 " There's some one to be there I want to meet, 
 and they haven't asked me, — it is a mistake, I 
 suppose." 
 
 " I am not asked myself" 
 
 " Perhaps, then, you would like me to see if I 
 can intercede with the lovely Emily for you ; or 
 is it that slippery crocodile, her mamma, who has 
 turned you out of the house?" 
 
 " No, it's no use," said Mr. Harcourt, shaking 
 his head despondingly. 
 
 " Harcourt," said D'Arcy, more seriously than 
 D'Arcy often said anything, "as we are old 
 friends, I should be half inclined to give you 
 advice this time unasked for; but I will not, be- 
 cause I believe I should be doing the most use- 
 less thing I ever did in my life.'' 
 
 " Thank you, D'Arcy, I believe you are a good
 
 VIOLET. 99 
 
 fellow. I am going to throw a couple of mains," 
 and Harcourt moved towards the hazard table, 
 well pleased with the amenity with which he 
 thought he had listened to D''Arcy's advice ; for 
 it did not occur to him that, though he guessed 
 its natvu"e, that, nevertheless, he had not heard it. 
 
 Of his own accord D'Arcy went the next day 
 to call on the Norrises. He found Mrs. Norris 
 and Emily, but the latter was evidently failing 
 in an attempted escape from the room as he en- 
 tered it. Both mother and daughter looked dis- 
 comfited. Mrs. Norris, however, soon recovered 
 her usual placidity, and then said she was to 
 have music the next evening, and hoped she 
 should see Mr. d'Arcy, if he had nothing better 
 to engage him. 
 
 This was all D'Arcy wanted, but he stayed a 
 few minutes making conversation. Emily had 
 hardly once spoken. D'Arcy talked of Harcourt, 
 and said he was out of spirits; Emily still did 
 not revive. At last D'Arcy observed there were 
 tears in her eyes, tears, too, that she wished to 
 conceal, and that she looked cross as well as 
 unhappy, which made D'Arcy sure it was not 
 feigned grief. 
 
 A touch of curiosity led him to observe her 
 more closely. She thinks Harcourt is off. I sup- 
 
 f2
 
 100 VIOLET. 
 
 pose, thought D' Arcy ; and, perhaps, this sleek 
 Jezabel, her mother, has been scolding her 
 for it. 
 
 Mrs. Norris went on talking in her smooth, 
 agreeable, proper way, and suddenly, as if she 
 could no longer control her feelings, Emily 
 moved to the window. D'Arcy then rose to go, 
 but at that minute Madame N was an- 
 nounced, to whom, on her entrance, Mrs. Norris 
 manifested great civility. Mrs. Norris had lately 
 
 struck up an intimacy with Madame N . She 
 
 said she was delighted to cultivate so estimable a 
 person as every body knew Madame to be. It 
 was everybody knowing it, made Madame 
 N so very estimable in Mrs. Norris's esti- 
 mation. 
 
 During the greetings and seatings between 
 the new comer and Mrs. Norris, D'Arcy ap- 
 proached the window, where Emily was still 
 standing. She certainly looked very unhappy, 
 and turned away, to hide her countenance from 
 DArcy. 
 
 ''Miss Norris," said D'Arcy softly, "is there 
 any way in which I can serve you ?" 
 
 Emily opened wide her tearful eyes. She had 
 grown afraid of D'Arcy, and had guessed his 
 covert dislike, though she never could feel sure
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 101 
 
 of it, because it was not easy to feel sure of any- 
 thing about D'Arcy. If he sneered in one 
 breath, he complimented her in the next ; he 
 never Avas brusque ; he often was very civil. 
 Emily had not made him out, but she was 
 simply getting to dislike him for that very rea- 
 son. D'Arcy's present question was uttered in a 
 different tone from what she had ever heard 
 D'Arcy speak with before ; at first she hardly un- 
 derstood him. He added — " If I can, I shall be 
 most happy." 
 
 An expression of intelligence now lighted 
 Emily's face. Her mother's back was turned 
 towards her at this moment, — Mrs. Norris was 
 still intent on her new visitor. Emily glanced 
 her eye at these two persons, then, with great 
 haste, drew a letter from her bosom, and crushed 
 it almost into D'Arcy's hand ; he put it into his 
 pocket, and then appeared to be only busy with 
 his handkerchief. 
 
 "For Harcourt?" he said, inquiringly, and un- 
 der-voiced. 
 
 " No, no, — not for him, you will see, — in the 
 post, — you will see, — thank you for ever !" 
 
 D'Arcy thought he never saw Emily Norris 
 look handsomer than she did at that moment.
 
 102 VIOLET. 
 
 when she cast a look of evident gratitude towards 
 himself. 
 
 Just as Mrs. Norris's little blue, or little red, 
 or little green page (I forget which) was shutting 
 the door upon D'Arcy, and the latter was putting 
 his hand upon Emily's letter, in order to examine 
 the superscription, he was arrested by the sudden 
 appearance of Lord William B . His man- 
 ner was eager, as he joined D'Arcy, hastily. 
 
 " Oh, I was just going to yovi, D"'Arcy, — I 
 wanted to find you/' exclaimed Lord William, in 
 a graver voice than usual. 
 
 "Very well, then Ave will wall<: on together." 
 
 "D'Arcy," continued Lord William, "I am in 
 a scrape ; 1 shall have to fight, and I want you 
 to be my second.'' 
 
 " Of course, my dear fellow ; but I am sony to 
 hear this, — what is it ?" 
 
 " It's that cursed little Celeste who is at the 
 bottom of it. She has been telling lies, and that, 
 and her infernal coquetry have played the devil."* 
 
 " Ah, I thought she looked mischievous ; you 
 should always examine the breed well before you 
 have anything to do with these ladies. But how 
 is it, William ?" 
 
 " It seems, Avhen I took to her, she belonged to
 
 VIOLET. 103 
 
 Spottington. I thought her free, — I never asked 
 her, — how should such a thing come into my 
 head ? I thought she had a great deal of cash 
 for one who was in the way of getting her living 
 honestly ; for I was fool enough to be taken in, 
 and thought she cared for me, and believed her 
 when she said she allowed no other man to make 
 love to her ; and I knew she floored Dick Went- 
 worth. Well, one day who should 1 get a chal- 
 lenge from but Spottington, saying, he was only 
 just returned to town, or he should have asked 
 me sooner to give him satisfaction for my un- 
 gentlemanlike conduct. I thought the man was 
 mad ! I called at his house to try and see him, — 
 he was out. Then I wrote to him, asking him 
 to say, at least, what he meant. Presently 
 Bubble arrived, to tell me that he was Spotting- 
 ton's friend, and that he was desired by him to 
 inform me, that I must be aware my usurping 
 Madlle. Celeste's affections, at a time she was 
 under the positive protection of Spottington, was 
 a piece of treachery that Spottington could not 
 forgive. The truth is, the whole affair might 
 have been explained, and I wovild have done it 
 myself with any other man than Spottington, 
 but I hate him, and I have reason to suspect 
 that this is but an excuse, after all, to call me
 
 104 VIOLET. 
 
 out, for he and I have quarrelled before, only then 
 he could not show his teeth." 
 
 '' And so, for a fool and a coquette, your life 
 must be staked ?" 
 
 " Be it so, — we must take these chances, and I 
 myself have been a fool. Well, you will be my 
 second, — that's all I wanted you for." 
 
 D'Arcy and Lord William separated at the 
 end of the Colonnade in Regent Street. 
 
 D'Arcy then remembered Miss Norris's letter, 
 which Lord William's recital had caused him 
 partly to forget. He searched for it in his 
 pocket, and could not find it. Neither could he 
 find a silk pocket-handkerchief, which had been 
 in the same pocket. He was not long in con- 
 cluding that a thief had deprived him of the one, 
 and unavoidably of the other at the same time, 
 for he recollected having taken out his handker- 
 chief, when drawing out the letter to read the di- 
 rection, at the moment he was joined by Lord 
 
 William B , and that, in the interruption, he 
 
 re deposited the two together. It was evident 
 that, in abstracting the handkerchief, the letter 
 had been lost. 
 
 D'Arcy was sorry for this accident, it looked 
 like carelessness on his part, which made him 
 regret having proffered his services ; besides.
 
 VIOLET. 105 
 
 he did not well know how, before the next 
 evening, he could convey to Emily the know- 
 ledge that her wishes had not been obeyed. If 
 she had not denied it, he would still have felt 
 assured that the letter was for Harcourt. It 
 was so unlucky, not having seen the direction, — 
 it would have been some clue, as to knowing 
 when Emily could expect an answer to her 
 epistle. Without running the risk of Mrs. 
 Norris's being informed, D'Arcy did not see how 
 he could let Emily be made aware immediately 
 of this misadventure ; and Mrs. Norris, it was 
 clear, was the last person she meant should know 
 any thing about it. D'Arcy did not much think 
 the Y)ickpocket would forward the letter to its 
 destination ; it was not an impossibility, however. 
 In the mean time, he came to the conclusion that 
 nothing more could be done till the next night, 
 at Mrs. Norrises. 
 
 He went to Tattersall's and met Harcourt. 
 
 " Harcourt," said D'Arcy, "after all, you never 
 told me what occasioned this blow up of yours 
 with the Norrises." 
 
 " Celeste wrote an anonymous letter to Mrs. 
 Norris, taking away her character. It was found 
 out, and traced to Celeste ; and poor Mrs. Norris 
 was furious, because, as she said, if it had been 
 
 F 3
 
 106 VIOLET. 
 
 sent to any body else, — but it was a thing which 
 had never happened to her before, and she never 
 could forgive it. Had she deserved it, she de- 
 clared, she should not have minded; but as 
 it was, it was too bad. Poor woman ! I never 
 saw her in such a slate of anger before. In addi- 
 tion to this. Celeste gave the whole account of 
 the gold chain I purchased for her a month 
 ago, when we made friends for a day or two. 
 She heard me say I had won a hundred pounds 
 of String the black-leg, and, as she asked about 
 it, I could not do less than buy her that chain 
 with some of the money. — All this is her infernal 
 spite against Emily." 
 
 "And was it for this you were turned out of 
 the Norris establishment ? " 
 
 ""Not entirely ; but I had both women upon me 
 at once : and, as I could not well deny the little 
 transaction of the chain, Emily sulked; but her 
 mother drew up, as if she was old Scarron's 
 widow, and said she could not permit my con- 
 tinuing any longer my visits — that Emily's affec- 
 tions were engaged — her health gone ; and, as it 
 now appeared, her own character attacked, which 
 was the most extraordinary and unheard of 
 malice, and that she could not disguise from 
 herself, that even the last horrible aspersion had
 
 VIOLET. 107 
 
 arisen, in some measure, from her intimacy with 
 one who was every way unworthy of the innocent 
 confidence reposed in me by herself and her 
 daughter. So now you have it. What could 1 
 do?" 
 
 " What did you do ? " 
 
 " I left the house, crest-fallen, and have been 
 ill ever since. I have called, and they don't 
 admit me." 
 
 " Then you will not be there to-morrow 
 night?" 
 
 "Yes, for I shall write a note to Emily to say I 
 must see her, which I must." 
 
 "Then we shall meet there. I am going. I 
 make love to neither mother nor daughter, and 
 am in the odour of sanctity with both." 
 
 How happy Violet Woodville felt all the day, 
 and days before, at the prospect of meeting 
 D'Arcy at the Norrises that evening. There is so 
 much happiness in the certainty of meeting a 
 beloved object ! and to know that you are also 
 the object of their wishes ! 
 
 This certainty, which is soon acquired, is one of 
 Love's young decrees, and its most pleasing one. 
 There is the quiet pleasure,but not the agitation ; 
 the passion is still growing, like a rose-bud ; 
 there is the beautiful opening flower, but the
 
 108 
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 thorns are yet unfelt, and you could think there 
 are none. 
 
 Love in the soul, not bold and confident, 
 But, like Aurora, trembles into being ; 
 And, with faint, flickering, and uncertian beams, 
 Gives notice to the awakening world within us 
 Of the full blazing orb that soon shall rise, 
 And kindle all its passions.— Then begin 
 Sorrow and joy : iinutlerable joy, 
 And rapturous sorrow ! 
 
 Violet as yet knew nothing of the " sorrow 
 and joy; unutterable joy, and rapturous sorrow ;" 
 hut she felt exceedingly happy. 
 
 D'Arcy was one of the earliest comers to Mrs. 
 Norris's, but, for once, Violet was not quite his 
 first object. He hastened towards Emily Norris, 
 who was then unoccupied, and looking brighter 
 than when he saw her the day previous. 
 
 D'Arcy at once told her of the ill-luck about 
 her letter, and said he could only endeavour to 
 atone for his carelessness by being doubly 
 anxious to execute any further commands of hers. 
 
 "I had not seen the address," said D'Arcy, 
 " and if you had not told me to the contrary (at 
 least, if I remember right), I should have thought 
 a friend of mine would have been in greater 
 despair than even myself at the loss of your letter." 
 
 " You did not see the address ? "
 
 VIOLET. 100 
 
 " No/' D'Arcy was too well bred to ask it 
 then, but he would have liked to have done so. 
 
 Emily thought a moment ; and, colouring, said, 
 with evident hesitation, " Well, perhaps, as the 
 
 letter was lost, it is as well — What I mean 
 
 is, that I will not write another — and let it be 
 forgotten altogether. I believe I was wrong." 
 
 " Certainly ; forgotten let it be, if you desire 
 it," said D'Arcy ; and he was moving away, when 
 Emily gently called him by name — " Mr. d'Arcy, 
 I hope, though I have not expressed it, that 
 you will believe how much obliged I shall ever 
 feel to you for your kindness yesterday morning. 
 I shall not forget it, and I did not expect it from 
 you. I had a sort of consciousness you did not 
 — much like me ; and I am the more grateful to 
 you — I shall be so always." 
 
 Emily Norris had a very melodious voice ; and 
 in saying these words it sounded more so than 
 usual. There seemed a sincerity about her, too, 
 which D'Arcy did not think she possessed ; and 
 he left her, liking her better, or disliking her less, 
 than he had ever done before. " And, undoubt- 
 edly, she is very handsome," said he, inwardly, 
 as he turned to look for Violet Woodville. 
 
 " It is three long days since I have seen you," 
 said D'Arcy, addressing Miss Woodville.
 
 1 10 VIOLET. 
 
 " Yes, so it is/' answered Violet, as if she 
 too thought they were long days. 
 
 " And now that I do see you — if you knew 
 how much pleasure it gives me ! " exclaimed 
 D'Arcy. 
 
 Not knowing wdiat answer to make, Violet said 
 nothing ; but the embarrassment in her ingenu- 
 ous countenance did not make it less beautiful ; 
 and so thought D'Arcy, as he contemplated her, 
 ere he again spoke. 
 
 " There is but one thing to mar my satisfac- 
 tion — the uncertainty of when I shall again pos- 
 sess it. Of that you are heedless ; and even your 
 pity for my uncertainty is perhaps denied me ? " 
 
 " Oh, I would give you all the pity in the world, 
 if I did but know why it was to be given ; that is, 
 if I really knew it was for something that you 
 might be pitied for, with good reason," answered 
 Violet, with gaiety, but with some embarrass- 
 ment. 
 
 " Perhaps," said D'Arcy, gravely, " I have a 
 right to your pity, though it may not suit you to 
 believe so." 
 
 " T never could pity you.'' 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " I really hardly know how to say it ; but I 
 never could pity you, oh, never ! You strike me
 
 VIOLET. lil 
 
 as a person that never either pitied, or would 
 
 pity." 
 
 " I must have appeared to you then as an 
 uncommonly unamiable character ? " 
 
 " No, not at all ; but I have an idea you would 
 so despise being pitied ; and I cannot fancy your 
 being very pitying or kind to others." 
 
 " Neither, upon the whole, am I ; there you 
 are right. But then it is that I care for so few 
 people. I am often amused, but seldom inte- 
 rested." 
 
 " Often amused ! " said Violet, opening her 
 eyes wider ; " that surprises me, because that is 
 what you don't appear to be." 
 
 " And you have corrected me, — no, it is true I 
 am not amused — hardly ever — I meant something 
 else." 
 
 "What then?" 
 
 " I can very often laugh, con amore, but still I 
 am not amused, I confess, even then." 
 
 " Exactly ; you are only sneering." Violet 
 blushed ; she feared she had said something very 
 rude. 
 
 D' Arcy was a little surprised ; but he answered, 
 " Well, and if 1 allow you are right, at my age 
 you will often do the same. But how have you 
 guessed so well ? — you never saw me sneer?"
 
 112 VIOLET. 
 
 " Yes, I have, very often; I did not like you 
 for it at first." 
 
 At first ! thought D'Arcy. 
 
 " I must be honest enough to confess 1 never 
 meant you to have made this discovery," con- 
 tinvied D'Arcy. " While I am near you, my 
 mind is in such a different state from what it is 
 at any other time : I hoped you would only have 
 judged of me as such as I am when with you ; 
 for you have the power (I have learnt it now) to 
 awaken all that is good within me; and it is 
 hard that, without my leave, you should have 
 seen the revers de la medaille,' 
 
 " I think you ought to be so glad, on the con- 
 trary. I could not endure being better thought 
 of than I deserve ; I would rather, almost, that a 
 personhadtoo bad, than too good an opinion of me." 
 
 " I do not doubt it ; but you and I are such 
 different persons : there is a perfection about you 
 that Nature has utterly denied to me. I sink 
 beneath my own iniquity, and will willingly stoop 
 to deceive — that is, when I care to do so." 
 
 " Oh, I don't say that : I dislike deceit." 
 
 " But if frankness should bring upon me your 
 despisal ? " 
 
 " Never : and, besides, I thought, before, you 
 were frank ; now I almost fear you were not."
 
 VIOLET, 113 
 
 " Did you think thus of me before, Miss Wood- 
 ville ? " said D' Arcy, brightening : " thank you ; 
 you shall see, from this day forward, a want of 
 sincerity shall not prove my failing in your eyes ; 
 I will promise that, at every hazard. Am I re- 
 stored a little to your good opinion ? " 
 
 " Yes, a little, you are," answered Violet, 
 smiling ; and both were silent, and both were 
 happy. 
 
 " Miss Woodville," at length, said D'Arcy, 
 " there are those, I fear, of whom you think much 
 better than of myself ; are there not ? " 
 
 " No, Mr. d'Arcy." 
 
 " No ? Yet others have tried, more daringly 
 than I have ventured upon doing, to gain your 
 approbation. I began by admiring ; I have 
 ended by fearing you ; and when I approach you, 
 I am actually timid." 
 
 " Oh, no, Mr d'Arcy," replied Violet, gravely ; 
 " you Avill not make me believe that : I am not a 
 person to intimidate any one." 
 
 " Not even a lover ? " said D'Arcy, in a very 
 low and clear voice. 
 
 Violet blushed and started. 
 
 " Not even a lover ? " repeated D'Arcy, when 
 he received no answer. 
 
 "No, no; why should, why should they "
 
 114 VIOLET. 
 
 " It would depend upon the measure of their 
 affection," said D'Arcy ; '' but then yon could 
 not be loved moderately. Oh, heavens ! what a 
 world of aifection might live for ever upon one 
 look from you ! " 
 
 " I have no lovers, Mr. d'Arcy, so I know 
 nothing of all this, and I could make no one feel 
 timid, I am sure ; and there is no one ready, with 
 such a great deal of affection to bestow upon me, 
 who, perhaps, would be very undeserving of it 
 all." 
 
 " I could contradict all you have said — I see 
 you would rather I did not." 
 
 D'Arcy rose abruptly, and went towards Mr. 
 Harcourt, wlio entered the room at that moment, 
 looking uncommonly bashful, and as if he knew 
 he was a very naughty boy indeed. 
 
 " Allow me to support you on this trying occa- 
 sion,'' said D'Arcy. " I will give you the aid of 
 my presence, so as to enable you to approach 
 somewhat nearer to the chair of la dame de vos 
 pensees." 
 
 " Wliy, of course," said Harcourt, seriously, 
 " a man in my situation does feel very awkward : 
 Emily is such a very correct person — that anec- 
 dote about the chain must have offended her — it 
 would any woman, any delicate-minded creature
 
 VIOLET. 115 
 
 like Emily. D'Arcy, suppose you come up with 
 with me to face Mrs. Norris? — Do you think 
 she looks black? " 
 
 " Very ; but still I should argue in favour of 
 your obtaining her consent, if you propose for 
 Emily." 
 
 " Really," said Harcourt, seriously, " do you 
 know, she is such a very singular woman, that's 
 more than I am sure of, upon my honour." 
 
 " Indeed ! I would not be uneasy, never- 
 theless : ' while there"'s life, there's hope,' you 
 know." 
 
 " Oh, tell me, D'Arcy — so you were second ? — I 
 meant to have asked about it sooner ; but these 
 women put everything out of my head. So 
 
 B has only a flesh wound in the small of the 
 
 arm ; and Spottington has left the country ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and carried off Celeste with him. They 
 went away in a chaise-and-four, that he had wait- 
 ing for him, in the lane, in case of accident. 
 William had one ready for himself, too ; and 
 Celeste was to get into whichever post-chaise 
 was called in requisition. However, she fainted 
 away when the pistols went oif ; and Spottington 
 found her in the bottom of his chaise, with the 
 post-boy giving her a dram. They are at Calais 
 by this time."
 
 1 16 VIOLET. 
 
 " I am cl d glad of it. Celeste has always 
 
 been in my way.", 
 
 "Yes, — but she has the prettiest eyes I ever 
 saw. What is Goring abovit?" and D'Arcy re- 
 turned towards Violet Woodville, who was almost 
 liidden by a group of young men who were 
 standing: round her. The conversation seemed 
 animated, and Violet looked very gay. 
 
 D'Arcy joined the group. 
 
 " Miss Woodville has been saying very unkind 
 things to all of us, D'Arcy, and we want her to 
 make amends to one of us, at least, by declaring 
 which of us four she likes the best ; now you're 
 come we are five." 
 
 " And suppose I were to tell you," said Violet, 
 laughing, but feeling shy, " you know all the rest 
 of you would be displeased." 
 
 " Oh, but never mind," exclaimed Mr. Goring, 
 " we will put up with the aifront, for the sake of 
 knowing who can, or who does please Miss 
 Woodville." 
 
 " But that is what you will be none the nearer 
 to, Mr. Goring. I shall not tell, after all, who it 
 is I like the best, but which of you all I dislike 
 the least,'' continued Violet, smiling in the gaiety 
 of her heart. 
 
 " Oh ! then you do admit there is one person
 
 VIOLET. 117 
 
 you really do like ! — what a happy, happy person 
 he must be !'' 
 
 '•'No, indeed, I said no such thing, I am sure, 
 Mr. Goring, — I did not say there was anybody I 
 liked. Did I? did I?" Violet asked, looking 
 round in much confusion. 
 
 " No, Miss Woodville,'" answered D'Arcy, 
 hastily, " you said nothing of the kind ; and as 
 we all know it is not any of us who can really 
 please you, so if you had said so it could only 
 make us a little more miserable than you know 
 you have made us long before." 
 
 " Yes, you have no idea how you break all our 
 hearts," said Mr. Goring ; " but, for my part, I 
 would be contented if you would only be as mer- 
 ciful to me as you are to D'Arcy." 
 
 "Then you do not know what Miss Wood- 
 ville's mercy is, or you would not say so," ex- 
 claimed D'Arcy, sharply, for he saw the annoy- 
 ance Mr. Goring's speech occasioned Violet 
 Woodville. 
 
 Mr. Goring had long been one of her admirers, 
 but he had met with no encouragement. His 
 manner was not such as could render him suc- 
 cessful with a person whose mind was not de- 
 praved ; and Mr. Goring had not an idea of any 
 woman's mind being anything else.
 
 118 VIOLET. 
 
 " D'Arcy," said Goring, in a whisper, " that 
 was a sharp answer of yours to curry favour." 
 
 " Be assured I will make no more such answers. 
 Goring, when they are unnecessary," D'Arcy drily 
 replied. 
 
 " Miss Woodville," said Mr. Goring, boldly, 
 " Mr. d'Arcy, I presume, is a declared swain .''" 
 
 " Goring, why do you annoy her ?" said one of 
 the other young men, sotto voce, but Mr. Goring 
 did not appear to have heard the rej)roof. 
 
 D'Arcy at once saved Violet from ha\ing to 
 reply. 
 
 " No," he said, " I am not a declared lover ; 
 Miss Woodville has never allowed me to become 
 one ; and I am sufficiently aware of my own de- 
 merits, to see she is not unjust even when she 
 disdains," 
 
 " My father, I think, must want me, I will go 
 to him," said Violet, rising from her seat. 
 
 " Going, Miss Woodville V exclaimed Mr. 
 Goring, in pretended astonishment, and annoying 
 high spirits ; and, as he spoke, he stood before 
 her with his arms outspread, so as to impede her 
 passage. 
 
 During the last ten minutes, Violet Woodville 
 had been enduring great annoyance. She was 
 hurt to the quick by Mr. Goring's manner, and
 
 VIOLET. 119 
 
 his words too, and she thought to herself, all this 
 he thinks he may say to me because I am only 
 an opera-dancer; if I were anything else he 
 would not venture to have behaved thus. But 
 now, as he stood insolently before her, Violet 
 suddenly summoned her courage, and she an- 
 swered Mr. Goring's question, when he repeated 
 it, — " Going, Miss Woodville, going ?" 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Goring, you have been so agreeable, 
 were I to stay longer I should be quite spoiled." 
 D'Arcy offered her his arm, she took it, and he 
 led her instantly to her father, who was with the 
 music party at the end of the room, and, as well 
 as Mrs. WoodviUe, intently listening to Madame 
 
 N singing Gluck's beautiful ' Eurydice,' and 
 
 the music of that beautiful song soothed the feel- 
 ings of the wounded Violet Woodville, and she 
 could have listened for ever to one of the most 
 enchanting airs that was ever composed. 
 
 " Did you hear that impertinence ?" said Mr. 
 Goring, turning round to his companions. 
 
 " Not at all," cried two or three youths at once, 
 " not at all, you deserved it, Goring, — you were 
 very uncivil to her." 
 
 " Pray, what did I say that was uncivil ?" 
 
 " Oh I it was your manner, you know you 
 meant it."
 
 120 VIOLET. 
 
 " Well, I wonder what right she has to expect 
 anything better ? She is Stanmore s mistress, if 
 she belongs to no one else." 
 
 " What's that you say ? She is a dear, honest, 
 real little Venus, that I will swear to," cried a 
 half-fledged, tender-hearted young midshipman, 
 reddening with zeal. 
 
 " No, no, come, come ; be fair. Goring. She's 
 a good girl now, and Spenser is right," said one. 
 
 "Yes," cried another; "and Stanmore would 
 not stand by hearing yovi take away her character, 
 I can tell you, if he were here." 
 
 "No, poor little girl," exclaimed a third, "she 
 is only too honest for it to last, I fear." 
 
 " Yovi hope, j^ou mean." 
 
 " Granted, for she is honest, — so. Goring, don t 
 scandalize her because yovi don't happen to be 
 the favourite ; that's not fair. Goring." 
 
 " Never mind. Goring ; perhaps you will be the 
 winning horse next time," said the young sailor 
 again ; " there's more pretty girls than one in the 
 world, thovigh there's not another in Europe half 
 as pretty as Miss Woodville ; but then, you know, 
 some people must take what they can get, — 
 that's what they tell the Middies on board the 
 Atalanta." 
 
 Mr. Goring, finding by these observations that
 
 VIOLET, 121 
 
 he had the worsts and not the best of it, acknow- 
 ledged his error ; but added, he had no idea of 
 an Opera-dancer standing up for virtue ; in 
 former days they would not have dared to have 
 thought about such a thing, — it was all that 
 cursed cant about Reform which had brought 
 things to such a pass. 
 
 *" My dear Violet," said Mr. Woodville, " Mr. 
 d'Arcy was talking a great deal to you last night 
 at Mrs. Norris's; what was he saying to you?" 
 
 "Oh papa, Mr. d'Arcy is such a good person!" 
 exclaimed Violet, eagerly ; " when I find how dif- 
 ferent other people can be, I like him so much !" 
 
 Mr. Woodville opened his eyes ; he was sitting 
 at breakfast with his daughter. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Woodville was studying very hard 
 the part of Elvira, in Pizarro, which she had 
 been requested to perform on an emergency at 
 Covent Garden, on a two days' notice. 
 
 "What's that you say about Mr. d'Arcy, 
 Charles?" 
 
 " We were talking, — I and little Violet." 
 
 " Oh, very well ; I am not attending, — I cannot. 
 While I think of it, Mr. Pizarro,— Mr. Woodville, 
 I mean, — mind I have ordered some nice little 
 landrails for dinner; they are expensive little 
 birds, to be sure ; but I am fond of them, and my 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 VIOLET. 
 
 cold is so bad, — so I thought we would have a 
 treat. If my voice is not better by to-morrow, 
 I shall never be able to get through the great 
 tragedy scenes about the child, and the little 
 pathetic parts: I must have some new eggs 
 beat up." 
 
 '' Well, Violet," resumed Mr. Woodville, having 
 pre\'iously expressed himself content with the 
 prospect of the landrails, " we did not end our 
 remarks about Mr. d'Arcy." 
 
 " No, papa, but now I will tell you all about it." 
 
 " About what, Violet ?" exclaimed Mrs. Wood- 
 ville. 
 
 " How you do interrupt one !" 
 
 " To be sure, that must be the case as long as 
 you sit here, my dear !" said Mrs. Woodidlle. 
 ''Mr. Woodville, I suppose I am to have some 
 breakfast, though I am to act at Covent Garden 
 to-morrow night. How rude you are sometimes, — 
 and so vuifeeling too, — cut me another slice of 
 bread and butter, Violet. I hope I shall not 
 forget to tell Hummings that the landrails must 
 not be over-roasted ; that dries them up, and they 
 are not so good." 
 
 " Well, Violet, so what did Mr. d'Arcy say, to 
 please you so much ?" 
 
 Violet recounted to her father Mr. Goring's
 
 VIOLET. 123 
 
 disagreeable manners, and the opposite conduct 
 of Mr. d'Arcy. 
 
 "Mr. d'Arcy behaved like a gentleman, and 
 Mr. Goring did not ;" replied Woodvillc. "But, 
 Violet, I am not for Mr. d'Arcy falling in love 
 with you, or you with him." 
 
 "No, papa: but then he is not in love with 
 me," said Violet, blushing, " I assure you." 
 
 " I suppose, you mean, he has not told you so, 
 — eh, my darling child?" 
 
 " No, dear father, indeed he never has exactly, 
 not yet."" 
 
 " Well, Violet, you know I am not a silly, strict 
 father but I Avish to caution you, — you are very 
 young, my child, — you do not know the world, as 
 I do ; so it is I who, as your father, must be wise 
 in time for you. 
 
 "You see, Violet, although you are a pretty 
 little girl, you are not a lady. We have almost 
 brought you up like one, and you are a great 
 deal better than many ladies, every way, I'll be 
 bound; but still you are not one. Every one 
 knows your mamma acts, and that I play the 
 violoncello, that we may earn money enough to 
 live, and for you, too, not to be ill off, happen 
 what may. 
 
 " Now all these gentlemen that you meet with, 
 
 G 2
 
 124 VIOLET. 
 
 and who make you such fine speeches, may in 
 themselves, some of them, be very nice people, 
 but they will not fall in love with you the less for 
 that ; and their telling you so means no good, 
 for they will not marry you, Violet, — or if they 
 would, their relations will not allow them to do 
 so. 
 
 " They are to be blamed for it, when these 
 gentlemen go too far, because they are well 
 aware that though it may do you harm, it can do 
 none whatever to them. Mind, Violet, I don't 
 say it is an impossibility that you should ever 
 marry a gentleman, for it is not ; and you de- 
 serve it, if ever any one did; but it is not a 
 likely thing : and when I see these young men 
 buzzing about you, it alarms me, because I 
 always guess it means no good. 
 
 "Now this Mr. d'Arcy is a very taking young 
 man indeed ; I myself cannot but like him, 
 and he has an open way that wins one's 
 heart, somehow. At first, too, I thought he came 
 to see you because he was Lord Stanmore's great 
 friend." Woodville sighed, — partly because he 
 was out of breath, for he was not in the habit of 
 delivering such long speeches. " And now I do 
 think it is all for himself, or rather for you, 
 Violet, that he likes to see us. But that will not
 
 VIOLET. 125 
 
 do, — Mr. d'Arcy is not a gentleman who will ever 
 think of marrying, were he to be in love ever 
 so, — he is not a marrying person, — and, indeed, 
 I have heard one or two things of him, which 
 have made me not like him quite so well. At 
 all events, I dont wish you to like him too 
 much, Violet." He paused at length, and Violet 
 Woodville trembled as she ventured to ask her 
 father, what it was he had heard against Mr. 
 d'Arcy. 
 
 " They say he is very apt to fall in love, and 
 not very long either to care for one lady." 
 
 " Oh, father, that is so unlike Mr. d'Arcy's 
 manner, — he has enemies who say this !" 
 
 " His manner is not what is to tell us about a 
 gentleman's constancy. But I did not think ray 
 saying this would annoy you, as I see it does, — 
 you must like Mr. d'Arcy very much, I begin to 
 think, Violet?" 
 
 " No, indeed, father ; but only be just to him, 
 
 and I 1 will do anything you like, — only pray 
 
 don't be unkind to Mr. d'Arcy on my account, — 
 because he has been so kind, — and I am sure he 
 does not deserve that." 
 
 "Well, Violet," said Mrs. Woodville, looking 
 off her book, " I have been hearing something 
 of what your father's been saying, and I hope
 
 12G • VIOLET. 
 
 you will attend to it, — you have been distracting 
 me sadly. What I still expect is, that Lord 
 Stanmoro will propose for you, my dear ; what I 
 ahvays say is, why should not he ? But it is 
 right of your father to tell you not to think of 
 him only, all day long, because there is no say- 
 ing ; and, if his mother should get better, which 
 she may, you are sure she will be against you. 
 Now, call Hummings, — she must be home from 
 the green-grocer's by this time ; before she does 
 the dinner, I must speak about the landrails, 
 or I know they will be dried to a chip. Lock 
 up the tea, Violet. John," said Mrs. Woodville, 
 turning to the slender-looking footboy, Avho en- 
 tered the room, "is Mrs. Hummings not come in 
 yetr 
 
 " No, Ma'am ; am I to take away the break- 
 fast things?" 
 
 " Yes ; and, another time, leave out the word 
 things, — breakfast, — not breakfast things. Let 
 me know when Hummings does come back. 
 There's a ring at the door; oh, it's only Dupas." 
 
 The old Frenchman was always well received 
 by the Woodvilles, and Violet loved the old 
 man. 
 
 " So," gaily exclaimed M. Dupas, " I hear of 
 nothing but Violet's lovers ; she is a sly little
 
 VIOLET. 127 
 
 thing, and never tells me a word about them ; but 
 I see and I hear," and he winked good-hu- 
 mouredly at his protegee. 
 
 " Well, Dupas, let us have them, — count them 
 up for me, like the cherries on a string, that I 
 may hear and choose for her myself," said Wood- 
 ville, laughing. 
 
 "Well, then, I am told there's Mr. d'Arcy 
 thinks of no such thing but Miss Violet, and 
 never goes anywhere but he is to see my little 
 pupil. Is that so?" 
 
 " You see I was not so wrong, Violet," said 
 Mr. Woodville, archly. Violet blushed and 
 laughed ; for she had recovered a little from the 
 conversation with her father, and she could not 
 help feeling gratified that people thought Mr. 
 d'Arcy did care for her. But she was embar- 
 rassed, and she caught hold of M. Dupas' two 
 hands, and began dancing with him the part she 
 had to perform with her supposed lover in the 
 ballet. M. Dupas only laughed, and looked at 
 her dancing with delighted eyes. 
 
 "M. Dupas," said Mrs. Woodville, " what do 
 you think of Mr. Harcourt's marrying Emily 
 Norris?" 
 
 " He will not do it, I am sure." 
 
 " Well, I must leave you, — for T am so taken
 
 128 VIOLET. 
 
 up with this new part I have to act on a day or 
 two's notice. I suppose Hummings is come home 
 by this time. Perhaps you will dine with us to- 
 day, M. Dupas?" 
 
 M. Dupas accepted the invitation.
 
 ( 129 ) 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 •'Thus doth the wily fisher weave his net." 
 
 "' Alack, alack ! that heaven should practise stratagems 
 Upon so soft a subject." 
 
 Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 While Violet Woodville and her father were 
 talking about D'Arcy, they little imagined where 
 he was at that very time bestowing himself. 
 D'Arcy w^as walking up and down within five 
 doors of the Woodvilles' abode. 
 
 He did not look pleasant, he yawned, and with 
 his stick he beat his boot, and once he struck the 
 iron railing very hard. He kept continually 
 looking over his shoulder, and occasionally walked 
 round the corner of the street, but always re-ap- 
 peared in a few seconds, though cautiously, and 
 with the air of a man who is wisely thinking, when 
 he cannot observe much himself, that neither can 
 he be much observed. At first, he only looked 
 impatient and bored beyond endurance. 
 
 It is astonishing what changes come over a 
 
 g3
 
 130 
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 visage, which can reflect with much expression 
 the workings of the mind. D'Arcy's was abso- 
 lutely peculiar, from the force of his countenance 
 upon all occasions. 
 
 Any one aware of his intimacy with the Wood- 
 villes would have expected, perhaps, to see 
 D'Arcy, as he was so long in their street, either 
 gazing sentimentally up at the windows of the 
 house, where he might have beheld part of 
 Violet's sleeve or Mrs. Woodville's cap-string, — 
 things quite important enough for a lover's fancy 
 to feed upon a whole day ; or that, in the hope of 
 being seen, though he could not see, he would 
 have continued his walk in front of the house ; 
 or, at least, that his eyes should have wandered 
 to the front door, as if from that issue he trusted 
 for the reward of his pedestrian watchings. But 
 not a bit of it, for D'Arcy's eyes were invariably 
 inclined in one direction only, and that Avas al- 
 ways downwards. 
 
 It was almost as if the brick foundation alone 
 of Mr. Woodville's house drew his attention,— 
 the bottom of the iron railings, or the lowest step 
 of the door,— doAvn it was, always down, that his 
 eyes were directed. 
 
 At last he became more demonstrative in his 
 actions, for he went and peeped into the area,
 
 VIOLET. 131 
 
 and presently did so again : this time it was a 
 satisfactory survey, for, with excessive alertness, 
 D'Arcy retreated backwards, and began walking 
 rapidly, but looking now as if he wished to knock 
 hardly anybody down, instead of everybody, so 
 that it was plain he was at once in better hu- 
 mour. 
 
 In the meantime a woman was seen slowly as- 
 cending from the said area. She was rather 
 stout, and forty; she had on a cotton gown, a 
 white apron, a coal-scuttle black bonnet, and 
 horrid shoes upon criminal hoofs (for it would 
 not be right to designate them as feet) ; and, 
 without describing her any further, it is sufficient 
 to say that, seen from any point of view, she 
 might have been deemed peculiarly exempt from 
 the power of inspiring any man with the desire 
 for her presence manifested by D'Arcy. She 
 was never intended to have to resist the insidious 
 attentions of a man a bonnes fortunes. It might 
 be charitably inferred that Providence had con- 
 sidered these small temptations as unnecessary 
 trials, and had, therefore, placed this good wo- 
 man specially beyond their influence. 
 
 The respectable person in C[uestion was no 
 other than Mrs. Hummings, and she it was who 
 fulfilled the functions of ladies' maid, cook, and
 
 ]32 VIOLET. 
 
 housekeeper in the Woodville menage. She it 
 was also who escorted Violet Woodville in her 
 morning walks. 
 
 D'Arcy had ascertained, by means of a servant 
 he had sent to reconnoitre on six successive 
 mornings, that it was at this hour, namely, be- 
 tween ten and eleven, that Mrs. Hummings was 
 in the habit of leaving the house upon the fur- 
 therance of some domestic affairs ; for instance, 
 there was a connexion between these matutinal 
 walks and the landrails Mrs. Woodville was to 
 eat for her dinner that day. 
 
 D'Arcy desired to speak with Mrs. Hummings, 
 and to do so cost him all the bore and the ex- 
 ertion of which the reader has been made aware. 
 Now he beheld her: there she was, plodding first 
 down one street, then up another. 
 
 D'Arcy only waited till Mrs. Hummings was 
 out of sight of Mr. Woodville' s house, in order to 
 address her. He felt his courage rather at a 
 low ebb, when he made up his mind that now or 
 never was the moment of attack. 
 
 He switched his cane several times, coughed, 
 kicked and scuffled with his boots, and, at last 
 brought himself into a parallel line with the 
 black coal-scuttle bonnet. 
 
 First imagining, and then finding she really
 
 VIOLET. 133 
 
 had less room on the pavement than previously, 
 Mrs. Hummings looked round and saw D'Arcy. 
 She altered her pace, — but he did the same ; 
 she eyed him sternly, — but D'Arcy replied by 
 an affable smile. " Ma'am," said he, " could 
 
 you be so very obliging as to direct me to 
 
 street ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir ; turn to the right, and then to the 
 left, and there you are," 
 
 " Thank you, ma'am. Pray have I not the 
 pleasure of speaking to a most respectable 
 domestic in the family of Mr. and Mrs. Wood- 
 ville ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir ; did you want any thing with 
 them ? I know your face, as coming there very 
 often, sir." 
 
 " No, — but I have much wished to see you, and 
 have sought this opportunity of meeting you." 
 
 " Sir ! " said Mrs. Hvimmings, looking less 
 condescendingly ; " what is that you're saying, 
 sir.' 
 
 "I own, I have desired to see you, Mrs, Hum- 
 mings; I have so constantly heard your praises 
 from all the family, that I was well aware of the 
 lady-like person I should find you, and that 
 knowledge gives me courage to address you on a 
 little business of my own."
 
 134 
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 Mrs. Hummings had been colouring very much 
 while D'Arcy spoke, and she now turned full 
 round upon him, with red cheeks, and, likewise, 
 red eyes like a leopard's, so, at least, they seemed 
 to poor D'Arcy, while she exclaimed, " Sir ! a 
 gentleman like you, visiting our family, ought to 
 be ashamed of yourself, for looking after a re- 
 spectable woman like me, that's old enough to 
 be your mother. Sir ! I would have you to know 
 better!" 
 
 Mrs. Hummings bounced past D'Arcy, as if 
 she did not mean her last words to be taken 
 in vain. 
 
 There's no saying what D'Arcy felt; but he 
 had a material point to gain, — he was a man of 
 great courage, and he did not allow his feelings 
 to divert him from its pursuit; — he followed Mrs. 
 Hummings. 
 
 " Good heavens, ma'am ! could you for a mo- 
 ment suppose I had the intention to insult a lady 
 like yourself? of whose excellent character I was 
 that instant telling you I had been so well-in- 
 formed? — my business with you was not exactly 
 about yourself." 
 
 These words struck Mrs. Hummings; she 
 began to think she had been precipitate in her 
 comprehension of D'Arcy's discourse. It may
 
 VIOLET. 135 
 
 have been owing to a little adventure, of the 
 nature she now suspected, having befallen her 
 the previous week, in an ill-lighted street, and 
 whilst the moon was under a cloud, that Mrs. 
 Hummings was on this occasion so susceptible. 
 Having discovered her mistake, she was anxious, 
 by her present civility, to make amends for it. 
 
 The ice broken, and upon the whole, as D'Arcy 
 hoped, not unsuccessfully, he ventured to proceed, 
 and requested Mrs. Hummings's approval of his 
 joining herself and ISliss Woodville the next 
 morning in Kensington Gardens, should they 
 happen to be there. D'Arcy explained that 
 Violet had no knowledge of his request, but he 
 Said he had something of importance to commu- 
 nicate, and that this was the only means of con- 
 versing with Miss Woodville alone. He hoped, 
 therefore, that Mrs. Hummings would be so kind 
 as not to mention to Mr. or Mrs. Woodville the 
 fact of his designing to meet their daughter, as 
 they might, or might not, approve of it; D'Arcy 
 said he really could not say which, but at all 
 events, he observed, under her chaperonage, 
 Mrs. Hummings must be aware there w^ould be 
 no impropriety in his appearing accidentally to 
 meet Miss Woodville in Kensington Gardens."
 
 136 VIOLET. 
 
 " What's the meaning of that word, sir ?" asked 
 Mrs. Hummings, gloomily. 
 
 "What word?" 
 
 " Some such word as chapperingage. — What 
 do you mean by saying that sort of word to 
 me, sir ?' 
 
 " Oh, I understand," answered D'Arcy, hardly 
 able to conceal his laughter, while he explained 
 the meaning of the word chaperonage, and at the 
 conclusion of the explanation he slipped a couple 
 of sovereigns into Mrs. Hummings' red vmgloved 
 hand. Mrs. H. stared, and tried to return the 
 money ; D'Arcy would not hear of it. " I could 
 not, — I could not, Mrs. Hummings, — I only at- 
 tempted to make a small amends for the unfor- 
 tunate alarm I at first occasioned you by my 
 abrupt intrusion ; as a proof of your forgiveness, 
 I must beg, — indeed, I must desire you will say 
 no more about it. I fear I have already taken up 
 your time too much, — I hope you will be good 
 
 enough to — to" D'Arcy hesitated with his 
 
 words, for he hardly knew what he was saying. 
 
 At that moment he beheld, advancing up the 
 street, a well-known associate whom he would 
 rather not have met just then. 
 
 At that hour of the morning, D'Arcy considered
 
 VIOLET. 137 
 
 he was quite safe, and might devote, unseen, his 
 attentions to Mrs. Hummings ; nothing but a 
 clerk of the Foreign office could be visible at 
 such an hour, and this was not the way to Down- 
 ing-street : otherwise, his present companion was 
 not the lady he would have aimed at being seen 
 to escort; and there could not have occurred a 
 more laughable circumstance to any creature who 
 knew D'Arcy, than to have beheld him at this 
 moment. 
 
 Besides the sort of person D'Arcy was in him- 
 self, he was always remarkably recherche in his 
 dress ; he was not less so than usual now, aiid 
 Mrs. Hummings, of all people in the world, of- 
 fered a singularly uninviting contrast to D'Arcy. 
 Still there he was, bending his head under her 
 black, horrible bonnet, and talking with all the 
 eagerness he might have done, if she had not been 
 old, or ugly, or honest, — in one sense of the word. 
 
 The first two qualities Mrs. Hummings did 
 not concern herself about; it was her having 
 some glimmering of the last- mentioned one 
 which caused her still to hesitate, while D'Arcy 
 felt as if he could have hung her up to the next 
 lamp-post. " Nonsense, nonsense ; it can do 
 Miss Woodville no harm. Well, only for once — 
 I cannot stay — I see a friend ; now, my dear Mrs.
 
 138 VIOLET. 
 
 Hummings ! there; what does it signify — 
 
 who will know ?" 
 
 Between Mrs. Hummings's anxiety to return 
 the sovereigns, and D'Arcy's impatient refusal 
 to receive them, they very nearly dropped. 
 D'Arcy could only exclaim, " Turn round that 
 corner ; get out of the way :" and, without wait- 
 ing for the reply, walked quickly up the street, 
 till he was within hail of his unwelcome friend. 
 
 " He cannot have seen her," said D'Arcy to 
 himself, but almost aloud, as he joined a pale and 
 interesting-looking young man, of distinguished 
 appearance. 
 
 D'Arcy turned his head — Mrs. Hummings had 
 obeyed his injunctions, and Avas out of sight. 
 
 " My dear fellow, how glad I am to see you ! " 
 cried D'Arcy, with extended hands. 
 
 " And so am I to see you, D'Arcy ; but I did 
 not expect to do so just here. Who on earth 
 were you talking to, when I saw you at the end 
 of the street ? " 
 
 " Oh, an old woman, wife of a man I owe some 
 money to." 
 
 " Oh, a dun ! — but what has fetched you out, 
 at this time of day, in such a direction as this?" 
 
 " I had to see that woman, and have a good 
 deal to do to-day ; so I got up early."
 
 VIOLET. 139 
 
 " Not a bit of it, D'Arcy : you have got some 
 love affair in the wind." 
 
 " What ! with that old devil, do you think ? — 
 But tell me, — how is Lady Stanmore?" 
 
 D'Arcy's companion looked grave at once, 
 although he answered, " Better, thank God ! — 
 My Mother has been Avretchedly ill ; but they do 
 think her better — at least I was assured there is 
 no immediate danger, or you may be certain I 
 should not have left her. But I have been out 
 of London so long, that I had much to arrange, 
 and am obliged to be in town for a day or two ; 
 but I shall return to my poor Mother the moment 
 I can." 
 
 " When did you come up ? " 
 
 " Last night. " 
 
 " Where are you going V' 
 
 " I am almost ashamed to say ; however, to 
 
 " Shall we walk on together?" 
 
 " Do. But — why, I will tell you where 1 was 
 going, — to those Woodvilles ; it is so long since 
 I have seen them ; but I am half ashamed to 
 confess it." 
 
 " Pshaw ; I know them very Avell too — now, 
 «he is a beautiful little girl : I am almost in love 
 with her myself"
 
 140 VIOLET, 
 
 " What has she been at, D'Arcy ? " 
 
 " Nothing, I think ; the father and mother 
 keep such a look-out upon her." 
 
 " They are right ; for she is almost too good to 
 be thrown away. But what men are about her ?" 
 
 " There's Goring, chiefly, I suspect — and Dor- 
 mer, besides Cramden ; but it was before you left 
 town Cramden began with her, was it not ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but doesn't she encourage any of 
 them?" 
 
 " No ; it's very odd ; but I don't think she 
 does." 
 
 " Singular ! for there is not one of those girls 
 that dance that ever were good for anything ; or, 
 if they are in the beginning, they are always 
 utterly and entirely corrupted in six months."" 
 
 " Utterly and entirely " 
 
 " Extraordinary, is not it? " 
 
 " Most extraordinary ! " 
 
 " By-the-bye, D'Arcy, did it ever appear to 
 you as if she cared for me at all?" 
 
 " No ; I never observed anything, as if she 
 did in the least." 
 
 " Oh," said Lord Stanmore, in a mortified tone, 
 " I was fool enough to think she liked me better 
 than other people, at one time." 
 
 " Well, I dare say she did ; but, you know, you
 
 VIOLET. 141 
 
 have been away a month ; and, you know, ' les 
 absena otit toujours tort.'' " 
 
 " She is a beautiful creature, D'Arcy, is she 
 not?" said Lord Stanmore, thoughtfully. 
 
 -Yes, beautiful!" 
 
 " Such a graceful being?" 
 
 " So graceful ! " 
 
 " And such pretty manners ! — so unlike any- 
 thing belonging to her class ! " 
 
 '' So unlike ! " 
 
 " Nothing plebeian about her — the most aris- 
 tocratic loveliness she has ; hasn't she ? " 
 
 " Oh, she has, certainly." 
 
 " I wonder," pursued Lord Stanmore, as if he 
 were thinking aloud — " I wonder Avhat will be the 
 fate of a creature like that ? If she is virtuous, 
 she will end by having a rich tradesman's low- 
 souled son for her husband ; or else some rascally 
 singer at the Opera will marry her, to make 
 money by her talents — spend it — ill use, and, 
 probably, abandon her ! " 
 
 " Just so " 
 
 " And how hard, that that should be the result 
 of having a mind superior to the set of people she 
 associates with ! " 
 " Oh, so hard ! " 
 " D'Arcy, what are you about ?— you don't
 
 142 VIOLET. 
 
 talk ; for tlie last half hour you have done 
 nothing but echo my words." 
 
 "Have I? Oh, I suppose I was thinking of 
 something else. I have been so bothered lately : 
 I am waiting all this time, you know, for an 
 appointment abroad." 
 
 " But I thought you had got that settled?" 
 
 " Why, so I had ; but I can't leave England 
 just now — I am so in debt, and it does not suit 
 me. So I have made a compromise ; for I found 
 
 out I should oblige Lord , by pretending 
 
 not to be in a hurry ; and he gave G , his 
 
 nephew, my appointment : I am to have another 
 later. I want to get something in England, if 
 I can — I mean to try." 
 
 " Well, I am so glad to have met you, D'Arcy." 
 
 By this time the two friends had reached the 
 street wherein was Mr. Woodville's house, and 
 D'Arcy was taking leave of Lord Stanmore, 
 when the latter exclaimed, " Oh, but do come in 
 mth me here ; I had almost rather you would ; 
 I am out of spirits, and you will help me to get 
 on with them ; it is difficult sometimes to find 
 conversation for these sort of people ; and as you 
 know them " 
 
 D'Arcy did not require to be asked twice. 
 
 The Woodvilles were much surprised by the
 
 VIOLET. 143 
 
 appearance of Lord Stanmore, and Woodville 
 was too open-hearted not to make his satisfaction 
 evident ; while Mrs. Woodville made a thousand 
 kind inquiries after the mother of her intended 
 son-in-law. 
 
 Lord Stanmore cared little to reply to her ; he 
 only wanted to talk to, and to look at Violet. 
 
 1 do not know that we can ever more fully tell 
 
 how dear another is to us, than when we meet 
 
 them after an absence. We did not know before 
 
 how the sight of that object could make our 
 
 pulses beat^ or chill vis with the nervousness of 
 
 insecure affection, so deeply felt by a doubting 
 
 heart. These are feelings which have their silent 
 
 agony, for they are among those that are never 
 
 told, or if they are, who can imagine the mental 
 
 suffering that has been endured by the mere 
 
 force of the words in which those sufferings are 
 
 told, words that seem trifling in the ears of even 
 
 an interested listener. But so it is; our most 
 
 unpleasant hours have often been occasioned by 
 
 the smallest nothings, and quite as often by our 
 
 own susceptibility alone. All of us perhaps have 
 
 these sensations, but not one of us can enter into 
 
 them when they are another's. Of this truth we 
 
 have an innate consciousness, and from this cause 
 
 the minutise of any individual's unhappiness re-
 
 144 VIOLET. 
 
 main untold even to his most intimate friend. If, 
 at the end of a long life, a prosperous man — one 
 whose cares were established to have been but 
 few — if this man could lay bare the whole past 
 feelings of his existence, he himself would be 
 astonished at the number of small and long- 
 forgotten sorrows he had undergone ; things so 
 little tangible, that the pen could not define, and 
 the tongue would have been despised for uttering 
 them. 
 
 D'Arcy, after greeting Violet as usual, with- 
 drew himself from her, and obligingly took up 
 the attention of her parents and of M. Dupas, 
 who was also in the room. A sufficiently ani- 
 mated conversation was thus got up between 
 these four persons, which left Lord Stanmore at 
 liberty to approach Miss Woodville. He was, 
 however, embarrassed, and she felt so likewise, 
 though from a different cause. She was conscious 
 of being changed towards Lord Stanmore, now 
 that she met him again, and by him was forcibly 
 reminded that his attachment to her remained 
 the same. Still she talked to him, and only grew 
 absent when she began to remember that as yet 
 D'Arcy had not once addressed her. This was 
 so unlike him, she was at a loss to account for it. 
 He went on, however, talking to the Woodvilles
 
 VIOLET. 145 
 
 as if Violet did not exist in his heart ; and her 
 astonishment at this neglect grew greater every 
 minute; for we all know that if we ever make 
 mountains of mole-hills^ it is when our self-love 
 is in the case. 
 
 At length there was a sort of general pause, 
 which Mrs Woodville interrupted by saying that 
 to-morrow was to be the next Opera, the last 
 night of her daughter's appearance this season. 
 
 " If I continue hearing that my mother is bet- 
 ter, I shall certainly go to-morrow to the Opera," 
 said Lord Stanmore. " D'Arcy^ will you come 
 to my box ?" 
 
 "No," replied D'Arcy ; "I have an engage- 
 ment that will prevent me, one I cannot avoid." 
 
 Violet heard^ but she thought she could not 
 have heard. She looked at her admirer, but his 
 face was not turned towards her. Her manner 
 grew feverish. When we are quite young, from 
 being unused to deal with covert annoyances, we 
 bear them not only impatiently, but betray by 
 our deportment our secret discomfort. 
 
 D'Arcy's apparent neglect of her was as no- 
 thing to Violet, compared with his declaration 
 that he should not go to the Opera on her last 
 night ! 
 
 Violet could not recover from the dismay it 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 VIOLET. 
 
 occasioned her ; and in vain she tried to read 
 D'Arcy's mind in his countenance. Lord Stan- 
 more in the mean time felt deeply hurt by the 
 comparatively cold reception he received from 
 Miss Woodville; and now in moody silence he 
 ceased to address himself to her, and had it then 
 been possible he would have expressed his per- 
 ception of her estrangement. D'Arcy and his 
 friend at length rose to take leave, and then the 
 former fixed his eyes upon Violet. She looked 
 at him, and hers were eyes that asked his pity. 
 She almost drew her breath with hesitation, lest 
 she should lose some one last word of D'Arcy's. 
 She yet hoped to hear him inquire when he 
 should again meet her. 
 
 D'Arcy had always found so many side-ways 
 of ascertaining this, but not a syllable passed his 
 lips in allusion to it He held out his hand to 
 bid her adieu, and Violet tried to speak, but the 
 words would not come. D'Arcy looked at her 
 once more, but this time she was sick at heart 
 and she saw him not. 
 
 Hitherto she had found D'Arcy her undeviat- 
 ing worshipper ; to-day he seemed almost uncon- 
 scious of her presence ! 
 
 The door closed, and D'Arcy and Lord Stan- 
 more were gone. Perhaps I shall never see him
 
 VIOLET. 147 
 
 again, thought Violet Woodvillc, — for, reader, 
 have you never felt (that is, if you have ever 
 loved) that in moments of despondency this 
 strange idea has risen in your mind ? It is but 
 one of those spasms of a grieved heart that tears 
 itself with every self-delusion. " My God ! then 
 I have dreamt it all, and he does not care for me ! " 
 
 Violet would have cast away that thought, 
 but it recurred continually, and at night in lier 
 dreams it lived. 
 
 Lord Stanmore and his friend walked on in 
 silence, at least up one street, and then it was 
 Lord Stanmore who spoke. 
 
 " D'Arcy, what can have happened .'' " 
 
 " What ? to whom ? " 
 
 " To her, — to Violet Woodville ; she is altered ; 
 1 find she is not the same person as when I left 
 her." 
 
 " You mean, in her manner towards yourself?" 
 
 "Yes; I find I must either have been egre- 
 giously mistaken in her, or " 
 
 "Or what?" 
 
 " Or that she is a thorough coquette, which I 
 never can believe. Who in this world can one 
 trust?" exclaimed the young man. 
 
 " You are speaking very solemnly ; can it be 
 possible that you are in love ? " 
 
 h2
 
 148 
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 " To distraction ; and I do not care who knows 
 it. Besides, I told you so long before." ' 
 
 " Yes, but I did not believe you, although now 
 I do." 
 
 ''And pray why now ? " 
 
 " I can conceive it so very possible, for I am 
 myself in love with Violet Woodville." 
 
 " YovL, D'Arcy ! are you in earnest ? " 
 
 " Yes, I think I am." 
 
 " What do you mean to do ? " 
 
 " I was not sure whether through you I might 
 not ascertain." 
 
 " Pshaw ! you did not show any signs of caring 
 for her during our visit. ' 
 
 " No ; I thought I would give you a fair chance, 
 as I have been able to make play during your 
 absence. Not much, though ; the father or 
 mother, or that cursed old Frenchman, are al- 
 ways there ; and you know, Stanmore, what an 
 obliging fellow I can be to a friend that I like 
 as yourself So you got on ill with her this 
 morning ? ' 
 
 " Devilish ill, I think, or she is changed ; 
 she was absent. Wlio has been making a fool of 
 her while I have been away ? " 
 
 " They have all been trying it ; but I declare I 
 cannot exactly say who our rival is."
 
 VIOLET. 149 
 
 •' Our I you need not say our — I do not believe 
 you are thinking of her." 
 , " On my word I am. Why not ? " 
 
 " I conceived you to he otherwise engaged ; 
 besides, she is not in your line," 
 
 " Oh," said D'Arcy, " but she is handsome 
 enough for anything, and my heart is capacious." 
 
 " How I always hate your cold answers, D' Arcy. 
 I am desperately in love with that girl," exclaimed 
 Lord Stanmore passionately, and he stamped 
 with his foot on the pavement. 
 
 '' You will succeed with her at last, perhaps, — 
 don't knock down that old barrow woman " 
 . " Ah ! I am not likely now ; and those spies 
 always abo\;t her, too." 
 
 " They would like you to marry her." 
 
 " Which, of course, I shall not do." 
 
 " I see you thought I expected you to say you 
 would," answered D'Arcy, laughing aloud. 
 
 " No ; and you need not laugh again in your 
 vile way. But I do love her with all my soul ; 
 is she not a little divinity ? But, D'Arcy, if you 
 arc so in love, why do not you go to the Opera 
 to-morrow night ? " 
 
 " Oh ! that was still to give you an opportunity 
 of making up for lost time. And so, Stanmore. 
 you do not think she likes you now ?"
 
 150 VIOLET. 
 
 " No ; she used, or something like it. Can it 
 be Goring ? He is such a brute she would only 
 hate him. But I will see her again ; and I will 
 watch, — I Avill find out, — there is nothing I will 
 not do." 
 
 " Well, shall I see you at Crockford's to- 
 night ? " 
 
 " I think not ; I am too unhappy, and al- 
 together " 
 
 Here Lord Stanmore and D'Arcy parted ; the 
 latter walked on with a light step, and was soon 
 out of sight, while the young Peer proceeded 
 more slowly in another direction. 
 
 Violet remained a prey to vexation of spirit. 
 " How untrue to say youth is the happiest season 
 of our life, with its keen feelings laying them- 
 selves so bare to the vulture, experience. Youth 
 is a season that has no repose *," we feel so 
 acutely then, and every petty grief cuts like a 
 sharpened razor. 
 
 Violet could not recover from D'Arcy's altered 
 manner, and his declaration that he was not 
 going to the Opera. She asked herself a hundred 
 times, was he changed ? Or, (the supposition 
 flashed horribly across her,) had all D'Arcy's ap- 
 parent liking merely been an interest, the source 
 
 * L. E. L.
 
 VIOLET. 151 
 
 of which was in his friendship for her known 
 admirer, Lord Stanmore ? And now was he only 
 desiring to promote the success of his friend? 
 
 If the supposition was far-fetched it was not 
 unnatural, for love is so feeble in its judgments, 
 so wonderful in its mental devices, so erring 
 in its weaknesses, so bitter in its imaginings, 
 so cruel in its suspicions, so unjust in its rea- 
 sonings, so sublime in its folly, so partial in its 
 arguments, and so ingenious in its self-torture, 
 that there can be no limits to its inconsistency or 
 to its doubts, and the power of the understanding 
 sinks beneath the force of that single passion, 
 even while its strength is weak. 
 
 Or, can I have offended him, thought Violet ? 
 wronging her gentle heart with the idea. 
 
 The morning following this inauspicious visit 
 was a bright day in Avigust, and we all know the 
 relief given to the spirits by obtaining fresh air 
 and exercise; so Violet was not less ready than 
 usual to set forth vipon her morning walk with 
 Mrs. Hummings. She intuitively desired by any 
 means to dissipate her uncomfortable feelings. 
 Every day and every hour that she had spent 
 with D'Arcy, since the time she first knew him, 
 had been conjured up by memory to soothe her
 
 152 VIOLET. 
 
 grief, and to convince herself that D'Arcy's con- 
 duct must have been unintentional. 
 
 Slie proceeded along the straight walk by the 
 elm trees in Kensington Gardens, >yithout the 
 spirits to explore the more intricate paths, as she 
 sometimes did, enjoying with childish gaiety the 
 freshness and the verdure. 
 
 Violet walked on slowly and in reverie, and 
 Mrs. Hummings felt hardly more at ease than 
 her young mistress, and secretly hoped tliat 
 something would prevent Mr. d'Arcy from keep- 
 ing his determination of meeting them ; but the 
 hope was hardly born in the tender bosom of 
 Hummings, ere it was cruelly killed, by the ap- 
 pearance of D'Arcy walking quickly towards 
 them. 
 
 When Violet saw him, she could scarcely be- 
 lieve her eyes, — but he approached. " How sin- 
 gular," she thought, " that he should be going 
 this way, and at this hour, — as if it was really on 
 purpose that I might see him ! At all events, he 
 must speak to me, — I shall have that pleasure," 
 — and with this conclusion her young heart 
 bounded with joy : so when D'Arcy held out his 
 hand, and smiled, it might be, more gravely than 
 usual, but still with his accustomed tenderness.
 
 VIOLET. t^ 
 
 Violet felt only too happy, and her delight shone 
 with exquisite truth in her lovely countenance ! 
 jtijF'Le sentiment vif court, tant que Ton vent les 
 risques de Tilliision, et s'il se trompe quelquefois? 
 il a aussi senti en recompense, et exprime pour 
 ainsi dire de I'objet qui lui est presente, tout ce 
 qu'il pouvoit avoir de touchant. *" 
 
 " I am so surprised to see yovi ! where were you 
 going ? " inqviired Violet Woodville, with bash- 
 ful artlessness. 
 
 "I had no object except one," replied D'Arcy, 
 " I have but one in the world now I think, of any 
 kind, — may I walk on with you ? Tell me, if you 
 would rather that I did not." 
 
 " No, — no," — stammered Violet ; not very con- 
 scious what she ought to reply. " But shall I 
 turn, as I met you going in the opposite direc- 
 tion?" 
 
 "I was, Miss Woodville," answered D'Arcy, 
 with emphasis. 
 
 " But if I knew your way, — the one you wished 
 to go, — I would so much rather, — I mean just as 
 soon walk that way as this;" Violet spoke with 
 some confusion. 
 
 " It is the same to me. I came here but for 
 
 * Portrait de Madame de Flamorens. 
 
 H 3
 
 154 VIOLET. 
 
 the purpose of meeting you ; did you actually 
 suppose my coming here was accidental?" 
 
 "Indeed I did, Mr. d'Arcy. I covdd not tell 
 that you desired to — to — to see me, at so early 
 an hour, — and besides " 
 
 "And besides; well, you do not continue?" 
 
 " And besides, I knew that you would call, if 
 you wished to see us." 
 
 "Yes; but in calling I could not have seen 
 you alone, and the gene of never doing so is in- 
 supportable to mc, — I find I can bear it no 
 longer !" 
 
 Violet turned her head in the direction of 
 Mrs. Hummings, but she found her duenna had 
 unaccountably lingered some paces behind. 
 
 "Listen to me," said D'Arcy, impatiently, "do 
 not look after that ugly old woman. Oh, listen to 
 me for this once, at least, — I would give so much 
 for one word of kindness from you, — for one word 
 only, Miss Woodville, — will you listen to me if I 
 tell you?" 
 
 " I do not know what you are going to say," 
 exclaimed Violet, blushing. "But another time, 
 not now, — I believe I ought to be going home." 
 
 " The vain excuse ! — Yes, now it shall be, — but 
 you well know — you must long have seen it. I
 
 VIOLET. 155 
 
 shall say nothing that could surprise you, — and 
 yet" D'Arcy paused, and appeared to reflect. 
 
 Reader, I know not why he hesitated, nor can I 
 guess at the nature of his reflections. He spoke 
 again after a few seconds, and bending over the 
 castdown eyes of Violet, he uttered, with a tone 
 of humbleness, and of dejection too : " I was 
 going to tell you, — as I do now, — that I love 
 you !" 
 
 At least, there is one word in the English lan- 
 guage that has music in its sound, — Love ! Who 
 can pronounce it, and not say it is a gentle word, 
 soft and beautiful as its meaning? Oh ! breathe 
 it how, and when, and where you will, is it not 
 always a touching word? and, should it be ut- 
 tered by one whose affection we delight in, it is 
 a dream of bliss to hear it, and one that will be 
 unfor gotten wliile every other joy lies buried 
 beneath the sorrow that fails us not: covering 
 with its heavy mantle the happy hours that have 
 gone before. But, as first uttered by a loved 
 being, the memory of that word will endure. 
 
 It may be heard again and again, yet will not 
 half its charm be the hope of once more feel- 
 ing the magic pleasure its sound at first con- 
 veyed ? Oh no, those feelings we can never know
 
 156 VIOLET. 
 
 twice, whether they are called into being in the 
 spring of life, or in later years, it matters not. 
 
 Violet Woodville made no reply to D'Arcy, 
 but she hung down her head, and blushed deeply. 
 D'Arcy watched her in silence. At length he 
 whispered, "Am I not to hear one word from you, 
 — you surely are not offended Avith me? — you 
 cannot be ; and the declaration of a great af- 
 fection, be it from whom it may, can merit no 
 despisal." 
 
 " Alas !" said Violet, with an unequal voice, " if 
 I knew but what to answer, Mr. d'Arcy !" 
 
 In his heart, D'Arcy felt how much more these 
 guileless words conveyed than their speaker ima- 
 gined. 
 
 " Tell me, at least, that you believe me !" 
 
 " Even that I cannot do. I have been so 
 taught to disbelieve all such professions, that 
 how am I to know yours are more to be relied on 
 than others' ?" 
 
 " To whom would you compare me ?" exclaimed 
 D'Arcy. " To the tribe who haunt you ? who 
 admire you, I grant, — but admiration is not love; 
 — you do not think that one of all those men 
 feels towards you as I do ? or is it possible that 
 you can do me the injustice of thinking so ?"
 
 VIOLET. 157 
 
 i-- " But then, Mr. d'Arcy, what is the reply you 
 desire me to make ? do you wish me to declare 
 that I suddenly place faith in you — and on your 
 simple showing ? — rest convinced henceforth, that 
 you do —love me." 
 
 *' Say it, oh say ! you believe that I do !" 
 
 Violet shook her head. 
 
 " I see it all," cried D'Arcy, his countenance 
 darkening. " There is another person who might 
 have made this declaration, and it would then 
 have been more acceptable." 
 
 " On my word you are wrong," said Violet 
 Woodville, vehemently, " there is no one in the 
 world I care for in the sense you mean." 
 
 " Not even Stanmore, I suppose ?" her lover 
 ironically demanded. 
 
 " No, Mr. d'Arcy, not even Lord Stanmore." 
 
 " At all events you hate me?" 
 
 ''Oh no!" 
 
 " Oh no," said D'Arcy, repeating her words in 
 the softest tone of his musical voice, " but since 
 you will not believe I love you, why should 1 be- 
 lieve that you do not hate me ?" 
 
 " At all events, you did not even like me yes- 
 terday," Violet replied, partly in the endeavour 
 to lead the conversation into another strain.
 
 158 
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 "You would not speak to me, Mr. d'Arcy,'" and 
 she coloured violently. 
 
 D'Arcy answered readily, by quoting the beau- 
 tiful old verses of Sir Walter Raleigh. 
 
 " Wrong not, sweet mistress of my heart. 
 The merit of true passion, 
 With thinking that he feels no smart 
 Who sues for no compassion. 
 
 " Since if my plaints were not t' approve 
 The conquest of thy beauty, 
 It comes not from defect of love, 
 But fear t' exceeding duty. 
 
 '• For, knowing that I sue to serve 
 A saint of such perfection. 
 As all desire, but none deserve, 
 A place in her affection, 
 
 " I rather choose to want relief. 
 Than venture the revealing-; 
 Where glory recommends the grief, 
 Despair disdains the healing." 
 
 " You have a good memory, Mr. d'Arcy ; are 
 you fond of poetry ?" 
 
 " No — yes, — we will not discuss that now ; and 
 will you not vouchsafe me one word of kind- 
 ness .' 
 
 Violet was silent, — she at last replied, but it 
 was with an effort — " I wish to say nothing that 
 is ungracious to you, Mr. d'Arcy, but since you 
 call upon me for my sentiments, may I not tell 
 you that if you do, as you say, love me — Avould
 
 VIOLET. 159 
 
 not the best proof of it have been to have avoided 
 the conversation you have now begun ? It must 
 end here, — I am quite aware that it ought to do 
 
 so. 
 
 Violet spoke with a quivering hp. She knew 
 not how her words might be taken by D'Arcy, 
 and she dreaded to offend him, as we ever dread 
 to offend everything we love, — nor could she love 
 the less for being so lately told she Avas beloved. 
 
 " I have said nothing that is disrespectful to 
 you. Miss Woodville," replied D'Arcy, with gen- 
 tleness, " that, at least, I am incapable of But 
 I did not think I should find you the one who 
 would receive with coldness the avowal of a true 
 affection. I have not asked you to return it, — I 
 am conscious, alas ! that I have no right to do so ; 
 but your pity I had hoped for, — and if you did 
 but know what it is to love, and to love as I do, 
 you would not thus have denied it to me. It 
 was all I lioped to obtain from you. Others may 
 be more fortunate than I can be, — they may win 
 the heart whose sUghtest wish I could kneel to 
 listen to. I have not known you long ; but from 
 the hour I first saw you I was touched by you. I 
 admired your excessive beauty, and wondered at 
 its perfection ; then I heard you speak, and as 
 I grew to you I became fascinated. At first I
 
 iGO VIOLET. 
 
 despised myself for my folly, for so I thought it ; 
 and, until T met with you, I never conceived that 
 I could feel for any living being as I do towards 
 you. You treat me with indifference, — well, be 
 it so, — I cannot care the less for you ; and could 
 I serve you I would lay down my life to do it. I 
 am most unhappy ; and, on my honour, I have 
 not uttered one word that is not true." 
 
 " I am flattered," said Violet, " that you should 
 think it worth your while to tell me this ; and if 
 you do — if you do love me, as you desire me to 
 believe, — you can understand that, as I never 
 can return your affection, it is better for me to 
 avoid the possibility of being led to do so." 
 " There is no danger of that. Miss Woodville." 
 " I know not, and it is better, therefore, to 
 think no more of it." 
 
 " Yes ; bat, as far as I am concerned, that is 
 not done so easily, — and I really cannot see, while 
 others are allowed to say all that I have said to 
 you, why I am to be made the exception ?" 
 
 " But others do not say to me what you have 
 said, at least never with my permission." 
 ** Not Lord Stanmore, for instance ?" 
 " Again ! not even Lord Stanmore." 
 " You will not tell me that you do not know 
 that he is in love with you ?"
 
 VIOLET. 16) 
 
 ^ jT'But that I cannot help; what I mean is, that 
 he has no opportunity of telling me so that my 
 parents could disapprove of." 
 
 " Well, I see that I have nothing to hope for. 
 You will have many admirers, Miss Woodville, 1 
 do not doubt ; but you may believe me when I 
 say that mine is a better love than theirs. I would 
 have devoted myself to you — I should have prized 
 you more than anything that exists in the world ; 
 and could I have met from you with but the 
 slightest kindness, I think I could have lived for 
 years on the bare recollection of it, and should 
 have gloried in proving that my words have not 
 deceived you, and that mine was an undying 
 affection. As it is, I wish to spare myself further 
 pain — I shall shortly leave England, and it will 
 be for years." 
 
 Violet turned very pale, but she made no 
 answer. 
 
 " When I return, be it when it may, or it may 
 never be — the bitterest recollection I shall have 
 ever known will await me — of one whose afiection, 
 whose pity, I sued for in vain : and no terra of 
 years, and no absence, Avill efface from my me- 
 mory the force of my feelings, or how my soul 
 could have clung to loving the only thing I ever 
 looked on and found no fault in."
 
 162 VIOLET. 
 
 " Why do yovi intend to remain so long 
 abroad ?" asked Violet with a faltering voice. 
 
 " Circumstances might oblige me, but inde- 
 pendently of them, I solemnly declare to you, 
 that you, and you alone, are the charm that makes 
 me care for anything, even to live ! I am old of 
 my age, sometimes I am sick of life, and the 
 beautiful part of human nature has been hidden 
 from me. I have known misfortune, I have en- 
 dured vexation of spirit, I have lived to despise 
 the world ; above all, I have lived to doubt that 
 one good and pure being existed in it ; and then 
 I met with you, and was forced to own such a 
 one did exist. Yovir beauty and your artless 
 character attracted me till I grew to love you, 
 and madly. I have thought of you till I have 
 conceived it to be all a wild dream, and that I 
 had fancied it, but I saw you again, and you 
 looked more beautiful. I heard your voice, and 
 I heard your guileless, unspotted mind in the 
 tones of that voice, as I saw it, too, in your 
 speaking countenance, and worlds, had I pos- 
 sessed them, I would have laid at your feet ! 
 
 " I grew to fear you, and I dared not tell you 
 of my love. I sometimes thought you were a 
 hallowed creature, and longed to worship you. 
 Now I have told you all, and you have repulsed
 
 VIOLET. 163 
 
 me. I did not know before how horrible it is to 
 cast one's all of happiness upon a die and to lose 
 it. While I have life I shall love you, and on 
 earth I may never see you again !" D'Arcy 
 stopped and held out his hand to bid her adieu. 
 
 Violet took it and burst into tears. 
 
 •* Why, why do you shed tears?" exclaimed 
 
 D'Arcy. 
 
 " I cannot bear yon to leave England, Mr. 
 
 d'Arcy," exclaimed Violet almost convulsively, 
 as she wiped away the glittering drops. 
 
 " Never I I never will, if you will tell me to 
 stay," he vehemently answered. 
 
 " Oh, no, not for me, not on my account," con- 
 tinued Violet almost inarticulately ; " but do not 
 go abroad, unless you must, pray do not." 
 
 " I would sooner die than do it now," exclaimed 
 D"'Arcy. "You are agitated — lean on me ;'' and 
 he drew her arm through his, and neither of them 
 seemed to remember that a Mrs. Hummings 
 drew breath in the world. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. d'Arcy," said Violet, a little come 
 to herself; " what I said was very foolish ; I had 
 no business to say it — ^you had better forget it." 
 
 " Forget it ! I covdd not if I would. Do not 
 be so ungenerous ; grant me to live through one 
 day, at least. I am but your slave — I never can
 
 164 VIOLET. 
 
 importune you; and I would hide myself from 
 every living thing sooner than annoy you. You 
 have but to say the word, and I will still disap-' 
 pear from your sight for ever. But now, have 
 patience with me. I am happier at this moment 
 than I have been for years !" And Violet could 
 hardly doubt that D'Arcy spoke the truth, for he 
 looked so happy, and that was not his general 
 expression. 
 
 The lovers walked on conversing till they 
 reached the opposite gate. D'Arcy's respectfid 
 manner disarmed her of all mistrust, and, in spite 
 of herself, Violet felt a joy she had never known 
 in her life before. 
 
 "And to-night I shall not see you, and it is 
 your last night," said D'Arcy, alluding to the 
 Opera of that evening. 
 
 "Where shall you be?" inquired Violet. 
 
 " I have an engagement to go twenty miles 
 
 from town with Lord , the Minister for the 
 
 Home Department. It is important for me to 
 keep the engagement ; nothing, in fact, but ne- 
 cessity would make me give up the pleasure of 
 seeing you to-night: as it is, I have not much 
 
 chance of it, as I have to speak to Lord on 
 
 business, and shall be detained, or I could still 
 go to , and find myself in the Opera in
 
 VIOLET. 165 
 
 time for the last act of the ballet. To-morrow I 
 shall call at your house^, if Mrs. Woodville is not 
 informed of our meeting this morning; she will 
 not think my visit is made so very much too soon." 
 
 "' But how is mamma not to know of my meet- 
 ing with 30U ?" 
 
 '• She cannot unless you tell her ; and surely 
 that is not necessary ; it would only occasion re- 
 marks, and for once there can be no objection to 
 its not being known. But do as you judge best," 
 added D'Arcy. 
 
 " But," said Violet, " there is Hummings, who 
 will think it so odd ; and there is something so 
 disgraceful in having anything to conceal from 
 papa or mamma — I cannot bear it ! " 
 
 " Then tell Mrs. Woodville of our meeting. I 
 advised you not, because I know what mammas 
 are, and that yours is not aware that I am not 
 like Goring, or any of those men whom it would 
 not be so well for you to be on the same terms 
 with. I myself should be wretched if you were. 
 But your parents will not make the distinction ; 
 and I flatter myself that you, at least, think I 
 deserve that you shoidd have perfect confidence 
 in me." 
 
 " And I have, Mr. d'Arcy. But there is still
 
 166 VIOLET. 
 
 Hummings ; she may speak of our walking to- 
 gether ? " -^ 
 
 " No, I think not — no, I am sure she will not. 
 The truth is," continued D'Arcy, smiling, " I so 
 wish to call upon you ; and I fear, if, in addition 
 to our walk to-day, I venture to appear in your 
 house to-morrow, I shall be forbidden to do so 
 
 ever again Shall I not?" asked D'Arcy. 
 
 as he took and pressed the little hand of poor 
 Violet, while he regarded her beseechingly to 
 acquiesce. 
 
 Violet sighed : she felt there was something 
 wrong in her conduct ; but D'Arcy's arguments 
 prevailed, and she agreed to conceal their having 
 walked together. 
 
 No sooner had they parted, and she was slowly 
 returning homewards^ than she repented her 
 agreement; but her mind was in a tumult of 
 emotion, and hardly any idea was defined enough 
 to become the one uppermost. 
 
 At one moment she was seized with the most 
 poignant regret at having asked D'Arcy not to 
 leave England ; and felt she could do, or endure, 
 anything to have the jjower of recalling her words. 
 
 " And what must it have made him think of 
 me?" inwardly exclaimed Violet; and her deli-
 
 VIOLET. 1G7 
 
 cacy slirunk witli dismay from this avowal of her 
 feelings towards D'Arcy. Then, again, the idea 
 rose in her mind, that had it been otherwise, she 
 might have bade him an eternal adieu ; and that, 
 to a heart such as hers, was a thought too over- 
 whelming in its misery. Sooner than that — 
 sooner than part from D'Arcy, Violet would have 
 given up her life, her happiness, her honour — no ; 
 that last sacrifice did not occur to her ; or, if it 
 did, it was so vaguely and so seemingly impos- 
 sible, that it passed through her mind quicker 
 than the bird of the ocean flies over its waves. 
 She did not question the force of D' Arcy's love ; 
 she did not fathom the depth of her own ; still 
 she was aware that all this could have no 2"ood 
 end, and felt a consciousness of future sorrow, 
 and a dread of the day's coming when he must 
 be taken from her. Then, again, Violet remem- 
 bered that she w^as beloved by D'Arcy, and 
 brooded over that conviction in silent happiness. 
 Suddenly she began to wonder what construc- 
 tion Mrs. Humraings had put upon her meeting 
 him, or whether she put any at all. She ad- 
 dressed her, and Mrs. Hummings, who was full 
 of internal perplexity and uneasiness, answered 
 submissively, and as if she were the culprit on
 
 168 VIOLET. 
 
 this occasion, as in fact, though unknown to her 
 mistress, she was. 
 
 " I think," said Mrs. Hummings, " it is of no 
 use of our saying to your mamma or pa' of our 
 a-meeting with Mr. d'Arcy ; they may not desire 
 as you should see him ; and if you don't say 
 nothing on it, I am sure I sha'n't think on it. 
 Miss." 
 
 " Very well, Hummings," answered Violet, with 
 an averted face, for her conscience would allow 
 her to say no more ; and she reached her home 
 without again speaking to her attendant.
 
 ( 1<39 ) 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " Beauty hires the full-grown child : 
 
 # Si* * # * 
 
 A chace of idle hopes and fears. 
 Begun in folly, closed in tears. 
 The lovely toy, so fiercely sought, 
 Hath lost its charm in being caught ; 
 For every touch that wooed its stay 
 Has brushed its brightest hues awaj', 
 Till, charm, and hue, and beauty goue, 
 'Tis left to fly or fall alone.' 
 
 Byron. 
 
 " She is the finest creature I ever saw !" cried 
 
 Lord Z , as he svirve3-ed Violet Woodville 
 
 through his opera- glass. 
 
 The ballet had commenced, and Violet was 
 
 dancing. " Astonishing ! So much grace ! — 
 
 Ton my soul, she is lovely, Goring ! " 
 
 •' Oh, yes ; but it's no use — she wants the ring." 
 
 " Is it true that Stanmore marries her?" 
 
 " No — I asked him ; he turned sulky upon it ; 
 
 but swore it was not true. They say D'Arcy 
 
 is the favourite." 
 
 " Oh, oh !— so he finds time for that, too, docs 
 
 he ! How she has filled the house this season ; 
 VOL. I, . I
 
 1 70 VIOLET. 
 
 and it is mere grace, excessive grace, and exces- 
 sive beauty ; for she docs no fours de force, and 
 her dancing is nothing compared with that of 
 Heherl*^ and Montessu. She is really divine to- 
 night. I should not wonder if Stanmore was fool 
 enough to marry her — except that, in general, he 
 is a clever fellow. I think." 
 
 It was true that Violet never performed her part 
 with more spirit, and never looked more beautiful. 
 Her mind was yet joyful, and full of the impres- 
 sions of the morning. At night, particularly, 
 and in a scene of excitement, wc remember with 
 tenfold pleasure that which has pleased us, and 
 we do so then without dwelling on the possibly 
 attendant evils, however they may occur to us at 
 another lime. Violet was not without some of 
 the natural pride belonging to her sex, and she 
 was, in fact, more gratified on this night by tlio 
 homage paid to her, than she had ever felt before. 
 She knew she was handsome ; but she was only 
 vain when she thought of D'Arcy's intense admi- 
 ration ; and his praise had made an impression 
 upon her self-love, which the unceasing compli- 
 ments of every man who addressed her had 
 hitherto failed to effect. 
 
 One of the best boxes on the second tier was 
 occupied by a single person, a young man ; the
 
 VIOLET. 171 
 
 curtain occasionally concealed his face, but gene- 
 rally there was something interesting in his close 
 attention to the stage. His eyes wandered not 
 from it, and the white-gloved hand, that rested 
 on the edge of the box, was never moved except 
 to convey the opera-glass to his eyes. Not once 
 did he glance round the house, and the some- 
 wdiat melancholy expression of his finely- cut 
 profile remained undisturbed throughout the 
 evening. Lord Stanmore, — for he it was, — ap- 
 peared conspicuous from the house not being 
 full. The season had drawn to its close. 
 
 Tliere he sat, while to an observer his counte- 
 nance betrayed a mind preyed upon by unplea- 
 sant reflections. It was not that he was moraliz- 
 ing; but it did strike him, as he gazed steadfastly 
 at the beautiful opera-dancer, that it would be 
 sad if a spoiler should come to blight the innate 
 excellence of one so fair. And himself? Was it 
 not his aim ? had it not become his sole desire ? 
 But then rose up the melancholy conviction that 
 the heart he had thus guiltily souglit to win was 
 not for him ; either it never had been, or it had 
 proved incredibly fickle. 
 
 '' If she did but love me/' said Lord Stanmore 
 to himself, " I should be happy. She may be 
 virtuous, and I know she is ; but so sweet a dis- 
 
 i2
 
 172 VIOLET. 
 
 position must err tlirough its own tendernesS; — • 
 and was it another who would be her seducer ? " 
 Lord Stanmore would not think it possible ; he 
 quailed under the supposition, and found himself 
 muttering " The success of such black villainy 
 would be incredible. It is a sacrilege to think 
 she could be so debased ;" he involuntarily ex- 
 claimed, as the loud plaudits of the pit woke him 
 from the deep reverie in which the nature of his 
 ideas had absorbed him. 
 
 It is of no use to say that the profession of an 
 opera-dancer is a modest one ; but it is fair to 
 remember that to those who fidfill it it does not 
 appear so immodest as to the spectator. From 
 childhood they have been taught to look upon it 
 professionally, and they grow up, seeing it in no 
 other lio^ht. And thus it was with Violet : she 
 disliked her profession, but it was D'Arcy who 
 had led her to despise it. 
 
 She was quoted for the dignified modesty of 
 lun- demeanour upon the stage ; and it was re- 
 markable how strongly her native character de- 
 veloped itself even there : tlie propriety of her 
 demeanour had not failed to call forth merited 
 surprise from manj- ; in Lord Stanmore's eyes it 
 was one of Violet's greatest charms. 
 
 On the night in cpiestion, probably because it
 
 VIOLET. 173 
 
 was the last of her appearance, she was certainly 
 more applauded than usual. 
 
 Violet felt, during some moments, a thrill of 
 happiness almost too great to endure : it Vvas 
 when her eye fell upon D'Ai'cy, as he entered a 
 box upon the same side as that of Lord Stan- 
 more. He was in evident haste as he advanced 
 to the front, and remained almost bending over 
 the box, as if he never could sufficiently behold 
 the goddess of the night. He was just in time ; 
 three minutes more, and the curtain dropped, and 
 Violet's last vision was the admiring eyes of 
 D'Arcy, as they sought her to the latest instant. 
 
 Violet never dressed at the Opera. She was 
 on that night solely under the care of M. Dupas, 
 and when the ballet was over, had nothing to do 
 but to throw on her cloak and get into the hired 
 carriao^e which was waitino^ for her. She reached 
 home before she had recovered from the unhoped- 
 for pleasure of seeing D'Arcy. He must have 
 made such haste to have been in time ! It was 
 twenty miles off where he dined. 
 
 M. Dupas descended from the carriage to 
 assist his young charge in getting out, but the 
 trouble was saved him, for another person lent 
 her his aid. 
 
 " At least I have seen you," said a beloved
 
 174 VIOLET. 
 
 voice ; and Violet's hand was wrung by the pres- 
 sure of D'Arcy's, and before she had recovered 
 from her surprise, her lover had rapidly moved 
 away. She flew to her room, it looked upon the 
 street ; to throw up her window, and to look out for 
 D'Arcy Avas the work of an instant, but the light 
 of the moon only discovered a solitary policeman, 
 and the white reins of a cabriolet, as it turned 
 the corner. Violet waited for the last sound of 
 the wheels before she closed the window. She 
 wondered whether M. Dupas had recognized 
 D'Arcy. It was not a very clear night, and he 
 was hidden by his cloak and a hat slouched aver 
 liis features. 
 
 It was late when Violet came down to break- 
 fast next morning, but this was a privileged ad- 
 journment. 
 
 Mr. Wcodville was gone out, and Mrs. Wood- 
 ville was engaged ; still the apartment was not 
 untenanted: M. Dupas was sitting there, with his 
 legs crossed, and his eyes turned thoughtfully 
 upwards, as if watching the summer flies gather- 
 ing upon the ceiling : and he looked graver than 
 he did in general. 
 
 M. Dupas had been handsome, at least his 
 features indicated that he must have been so; 
 and when excited his countenance became very
 
 VIOLET. 175 
 
 animated, like that of most Frencli people ; but 
 when this was not the case, his face was placid, 
 and rendered pleasing by an expression of ex- 
 treme benevolence. He was in fact a remarkable 
 man for his age, which was rarely guessed, because 
 his activity and neatness of dress made him pass 
 for a much younger man. 
 
 His known worth, and their long acquaintance 
 with him, caused him to be respected and looked 
 up to by the Woodvilles ; besides, independence 
 of fortune always renders a man dearer to his 
 friends, and it has before been said, that Dupas 
 was well off. By Violet he was loved : as a child 
 he used to give her sugar- plums and story-books, 
 and once had brought her from France a pair of 
 blue shoes, which made a great impression on 
 her. Then, as she grew up, she was often amused 
 by him, for his conversation was entertaining, 
 and through him Violet often heard of people 
 and events of which she would otherwise have 
 known nothing. 
 
 This morning Violet was not as glad as usual 
 to behold M. Dupas. She would have preferred 
 being alone, — so many ideas were crowding upon 
 her, and she was seeking to indulge them. 
 
 Love, when it gains possession of the mind, is 
 like a bee in a garden ; it is ever at work ; and its
 
 11(5 VIOLET. 
 
 restlessness, like tliat of the insect, never leaves 
 an unbusy moment. 
 
 Violet sat down to her breakfast, and then M. 
 Dupas inquired if she was not much fatigued ; 
 she answered languidly in the affirmative. The 
 old man remained silent. Violet walked pre- 
 sently to the window and made some remark on 
 the weather, but received no answer. 
 
 M. Dupas appeared absent ; he tapped the lid 
 of his gold snuff-box, and Violet said something 
 else ; instead of replying, her companion cast a 
 look at the breakfast-table, at the broken bread 
 on Miss Woodville's plate, and her half-finished 
 cup of tea, and sighed, but at the same time he 
 turned to address her. 
 
 " Will you let me give you advice, un vieillard 
 cnmme moi, while it can be of use to you, mon en- 
 fant?'" he said mildly. Violet took the chair he 
 advanced to her, but she ahnost trembled. 
 
 " Do not let me vex you, Violette, you will have 
 trouble enough in the world without my adding 
 to it; but advice is of use, sometimes. I wish you 
 were my own child, and there would be no occa- 
 sion for it ; but it is pride in this country turns 
 the heads of the women and the men too. Your 
 father and madame, they wish you to be the wife 
 of a gentleman, and they do not think anybody
 
 VIOLET. 177 
 
 else good enough for you ; who is not some one,« 
 it is no use to think of. C'cst un mauvais sys- 
 t^me, bien mauvais. But it is very true; and 
 there is Mrs. Norris and your friend Emily, are 
 they not trying all in the power of two silly 
 women to make a young gentleman do that which 
 it is not right he should ? Ce Monsieur Harcourt, 
 that he should marry Mdlle. is INIadame Norris's 
 Paradis en perspective, and for that she would 
 sell herself to the devil ! Je vous demande pardon, 
 mais tovjours cest vrai; and does not she know 
 that if he does marry Miss Emily, some of these 
 days he will find out he has been un imbecile, and 
 hate her and her daughter too when it will be too 
 late? Les mesalliances ne reussissent jamais. 
 
 " Now I will tell you why I say all this to you ; 
 it is because that Madame voire mere does not 
 know what I do, nor Monsieur votre pere neither, 
 and you do not see your own danger, and that, 
 my child, is what I wish to warn you of Is it 
 not so, that your parents think that Lord Stan- 
 more Avill marry you, that you do not care in the 
 least for him, and that you do care very much for 
 Mr. d'Arcy ? Ef lui — Et-ce que vous pensez qu'il 
 vous epouscra?" 
 
 " No, " answered Violet as steadily as she 
 
 1 3
 
 178 VIOLET. 
 
 could ; " no, he is above me, and I should not 
 If- 
 'desire it." 
 
 " Ah ! then why is Mr. d'Arcy always calling 
 here ? why is Mr. d'Arcy always at the Opera ? 
 why is he always talking to you? wliy does he 
 follow you everywhere ? why is he the devoue of 
 madame, your mamma? why is he, at two in the 
 morning, to be standing with his white gloves, 
 and his whispering words at your father's door, 
 to hand you into your father's house? No, no, it 
 is all bad. But the difference is, you are not in 
 love with Milord, and with Mr. d'Arcy you are. 
 And has he not found that out, or will he not do 
 so ? and then — Oh, mats cela me fail, horreur — 
 N'imj.orte, I will say out to you what is the truth. 
 When he asks you to be his mistress, what will 
 you feel ?' 
 
 Violet hid her face in her hands, while she 
 almost screamed out, "Never, oh, never, never; 
 Mr. d'Arcy never would; you do not know him. 
 he is incapable, indeed he is." 
 
 '•Eh, y pensez-voiis man enfant?'"' answered M. 
 Dxipas drily. 
 
 " But he is a man of honour !" 
 
 " Ah ! cest seloii,'' replied her com])anion, 
 shrugging his shoulders. " // Ic croit, je ne nten
 
 VIOLET. 179 
 
 doule pas. But he has fallen in love with you ; 
 he knows you are not of an equal rank with him- 
 self — he will not marry you, he cannot ; but that, 
 he says, c'est votre affaire, et voila pourqnoi mot, 
 moiyje mc mcle de tout cela. Vuus ne nien vuulcz 
 pas, ma douce enfant ?[' 
 
 " Oh, no," answered Violet, overcoming her 
 emotion; " you have meant it well; but can yon 
 conceive it possible I could ever forget everything 
 so as to become so degraded a creature ? Oh, it 
 is too horrible !" 
 
 " Voiis me meprenrz,^" said M. Dupas ; "• if you 
 think I can doubt the purity of my little Violet's 
 heart — no, not in the least ; but the world is full 
 of temptation. Yet that is not what I fear ; no, 
 I shall never live to see the little child— you, my 
 little darling, that I have seen grov\'ing up, and 
 that I have taught myself — I never shall see you 
 disgraced, I am sure of it. But there it is ; Mr. 
 d'Arcy will find he can make you love him, but 
 that he cannot make you wicked — et alors il sen 
 ira — and then will his heart or yours be the one 
 to break ; — his that is full of pride, though he 
 does not think we see it : — with his manieres a 
 Feau siicree to Madame, et les honcpiels quU ap- 
 porte. Bah! /'/;', il ne consolera with his fine 
 ladies and his fine friends. Et a vous, — reste Ic
 
 180 VIOLET. 
 
 souvenir de ses belles paroles I You will be un- 
 happy, he will not — ce nest pas a savoir cela^ 
 And M. Dupas had again recourse to his snuif- 
 box and to his shrug, while Violet sighed deeply. 
 At length she summoned courage to ask if he 
 had any positive reason for thinking ill of D'Arcy. 
 He shook his head, and replied ambiguously ; — 
 that he had lived long enough in the world to be 
 Aviser than she was ; and that he had seen enough 
 of Mr. d'Arcy to feel certain he was not a good 
 acquaintance for Violet. He went on to say, that 
 evil, in some way, was sure to result from her in- 
 timacy with him, — that the refinement of D'Arcy's 
 manners, and the ovitward polish of his affection, 
 would prevent her ever being able to return that 
 of a poorer, and more suitable admirer. Violet 
 replied that the same objection might be made 
 to so many other gentlemen who had made her 
 acquaintance. " Yes ; but it is not the same 
 thing : as long as you do not care about them, it 
 does not matter, — you don't feel their advantages, 
 and you do not value them. But Mr. D'Arcy's? 
 en perdez-vous un seulT^ 
 
 In her heart, Violet covdd not deny the force of 
 the argument, but it was one the least likely to 
 make an useful impression. She could only 
 promise to remember all M. Dupas had said, —
 
 VIOLET. 181 
 
 she thanked hhn, and ventured to beg he would 
 not alarm her parents on this point. 
 
 " Soyez tranquille/'' said the old man. " But 
 you I warn, — that your mother hopes Lord Stan- 
 more will marry you, and that if he does not, Mr. 
 d'Arcy will; and your father sees as Madame 
 does, or, at least, acts as she desires he should, in 
 every thing; ce iiest pas etre clairvoyant, '' he 
 added; " mals cest le defaut cVun coeur genereux."^ 
 It may be supposed that D'Arcy did not fail 
 to call as he had told Violet, in their morning 
 Avalk, he meant to do; and he chose the time 
 when he felt certain of finding Mrs. Wood- 
 ville at home, and less sure of finding Mr. Wood- 
 ville. D^Arcy had ingratiated himself with the 
 former ; he had the art of pleasing where he 
 desired to do so. He flattered her by his air of 
 deference, and by his knowledge of the world, 
 which had likewise enabled him to discover the 
 vulnerable parts of her character. She was more 
 anxious about, and desirous of Lord Stanmore's 
 society, but there were no personal feelings 
 blended with this solicitude. Lord Stanmore 
 paid attention solely to her daughter ; his civility 
 was always reserved towards Mrs. Woodville, 
 and nothing more, whereas D'Arcy had in some 
 way enlisted her private sympathy in his favour.
 
 182 - VIOLET. 
 
 To be sure, tlie Woodvilles never were in want 
 of marks of attention from their friends. The day 
 seldom passed without some such arrival as pine- 
 apples from Lord X ; salmon from Mrs. 
 
 C ; American apples, or a haunch of venison 
 
 from B , or A ; and endless tin boxes of 
 
 violets, and bouquets of moss-roses for Mrs. and 
 Miss W. ; and, in the game season, their supplies 
 of partridges, &c. were incessant: besides other 
 sorts of birds with rare names, odd plumage, and 
 lean bodies, which cooks think it felony not to 
 send to table half raw. In short, none of the 
 gallantries of this nature, which it was permitted 
 to remember and to fidfill, were ever forgotten 
 by the numerous admirers of the lovely Miss 
 Woodville. 
 
 But to return to D'Arcy. He did not pay his 
 visit alone this time ; he requested permission to 
 introduce an acquaintance who was passing that 
 way with him. Violet remarked nothing more 
 peculiar in D'Arcy's companion, than that he had 
 not the usual tone of the men she was accustomed 
 to, and that he never took his eyes from off her 
 countenance ; while she could not help fancy- 
 ing that ^he had before encountered his observa- 
 tion. 
 
 D'Arcy, meanwhile, was asking the Woodvilles
 
 VIOLET. 183 
 
 to join a party to Richmond, for the following 
 Sunday week. Mrs. Woodville was nothing loth ; 
 the rest of the party were not as yet fixed upon ; 
 D'Arcy said it was to be very select ; and he 
 had come in the first instance to ascertain if the 
 day he had named would suit them. 
 
 While D'Arcy was in the house, another ca- 
 briolet drew up at the door, and Lord Stanmore 
 entered the room. On seeing D'Arcy, he started 
 slightly, and changed colour. If D'Arcy did the 
 same, he was seated with his back to the light, 
 and it was not observable. 
 
 Violet remained almost immovable from em- 
 barrassment, for she did not possess one grain of 
 coquetry : if she had, the circumstance of two 
 lovers paying their visits at the same time 
 would have been to her only an agreeable dis- 
 turbance. 
 
 There was a silence, which D'Arcy was the 
 first to break. Lord Stanmore looked gravely at 
 him while he spoke, and did not once address 
 himself to him. A constrained sort of general 
 conversation ensued. Lord Stanmore's counte- 
 nance indicated an irritation which, by his 
 manner, he made a poor attempt to conceal ; 
 and now Mrs. Woodville began to feel uneasy- 
 She would not, for the whole world, offend Lord
 
 184 VIOLET. 
 
 Stanmore; and she feared lest he should be jea^-'' 
 lous of D'Arcy, — that he had much cause to be 
 so was a fact she was herself m ignorance of. 
 Lord Stanmore rose suddenly to bid them good 
 morning, and in the next minute his cabriolet 
 was heard driving furiously from the door. 
 D'Arcy and his acquaintance shortly after took 
 their leave. 
 
 " Your objections are plausible^ but surely 
 they are not reasonable. The laws of society are 
 strict in themselves, but there may be many in- 
 stances in which, if the spirit of them is kept, it is 
 more than sufficient. The world requires this sort 
 of social government, which, individually, might 
 often be dispensed with. I am hurt at the rigorous 
 discipline 3^ou would impose, since it discovers 
 your mistrust of me. The doctrines of a prude 
 can never become yours, and you are too in- 
 artificial ever to feign to like them, while your 
 understanding convinces you that they are un- 
 necessary." 
 
 So spoke D'Arcy, in answer to the refusal of 
 Violet Woodville to meet him again in Kensing- 
 ton Gardens. She urged that, as she was con- 
 cealing her meetings with him, that alone ren-
 
 violet; 185 
 
 dered them objectionable ; and that, in future, 
 therefore, she trusted he would not join her. But 
 D'Arcy replied with other arguments, and com- 
 bated hers mth all the sophistry he knew how to 
 employ. 
 
 Violet felt it difficult to persevere in a resolu- 
 tion he treated as originating in a mistaken zeal 
 of over-correctness, and she thought that, as he 
 spoke, she detected a sneer on D'Arcy's lips, and 
 that cold smile hovering there which she now so 
 rarely beheld. 
 
 There was once, too, something like contempt 
 in the tones of his voice, and the fear of offending 
 him induced her, at length, to acquiesce in his 
 reasoning. Violet began to think that he, at 
 least, was sincere in the view he professed to take 
 of the condvict she desired to pursue, and, if so, 
 to adopt it would be unappreciated as well as 
 displeasing. 
 
 " II n'est pas de plus fort prejuge que celui 
 qui est form6 par Tamour."* 
 
 And then again she was lulled by the flatter- 
 ing words of her adorer, and in listening to 
 
 " a voice where Passion shed 
 All the deep sadness of her power," 
 
 while he detailed the progress of his love, and 
 
 * Memoires du Marquis de Langallery.
 
 186 VIOLET. 
 
 descanted on the earnestness of his feehngs., she 
 alike forgot her danger and mistook her duty. 
 
 D'Arcy was an eloquent and a passionate 
 lover, but it cannot be doubted that the force of 
 his words gained additional strength by the in- 
 ward acceptance they met with. An unaccept- 
 able lover might pour out his soul in the lan- 
 guage Moore puts into the mouths of his angels, 
 but it would fall unheeded on the ear of the in- 
 different listener. 
 
 " And so/' said Emily one day to Violet, " it 
 is clear enough you are in love with D'Arcy ;" 
 and Emily remained musing, apparently on the 
 sense of her own words. 
 
 The habits of intimacy continued to prevail 
 between Miss Woodville and her friend, and the 
 faults of the latter were not so glaring as to have 
 much deteriorated their mutual friendship : be- 
 sides, there was a certain talent about Emily, 
 which had its charm with men and with women 
 too. She was quick, and she was too young and 
 prosperous to be under the guidance of very bad 
 feelings. 
 
 It was a relief to the conscience of Violet 
 when she had told Emily of her walks with 
 D'Arcy, and had expressed her own sense of 
 error.
 
 VIOLET. 187 
 
 " I am not so sure that you ^are wrong," re- 
 plied Emily. " If you like him better than Lord 
 Stanmore, I should certainly show him that I 
 did. There is not time to be thinking' always of 
 what is so exactly right or so exactly wrong. 
 There is no harm, that I can see, in your meet- 
 ing D'Arcy when you are out walking; after all, 
 you are chaperoned, there is that ugly old Hum- 
 mings with you. It is very natural, I am sure. 
 If he loves you, he must have a thousand things 
 to say to you which he can seldom have so good 
 an opportunity of speaking otherwise ; and there 
 is something, — do you know, Violet? — there is 
 something I rather like about Mr. d'Arcy." 
 
 " There can be no doubt of my having done 
 wrong, Emily," said Violet, with a sigh, and not 
 alluding to Emily's last sentence; "my father 
 would say so." 
 
 "I dare say he would; but, poor man, you 
 must not mind that. As your father, you know 
 he is, in some sort, bound to see you don't have 
 lovers, and that sort of thing, too much; but 
 there would be no pleasure in life if you were 
 only to do what other people choose instead of 
 what you choose yourself, — and parents don't 
 understand. You are a nice girl, Violet, and 1
 
 188 
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 will answer for your alwa3^s knowing what you 
 are about." 
 
 "Ah, Emily, that's the way you always reason; 
 and my father and mamma, too, are so kind, — 
 and I have actually begun to have a concealment 
 from them !" 
 
 At night, when Violet was going to bed, Mrs. 
 Hummings entered her room and placed a letter 
 in her hands. She said it had been brought by 
 a person, Avho desired her to give it to Miss 
 Woodville when she was alone. Mrs. Hummings 
 did not add that she was also paid for under- 
 taking to do so. She suspected the letter came 
 from D'Arcy, and her conscience was not much 
 disturbed at being the channel of such a com- 
 munication, as she argued that if her young mis- 
 tress could take a walk with that grentleman in 
 the morning, it could not do much harm if she 
 read a letter from him in the evening. Mrs. 
 Hummings, however, was mistaken : the letter 
 was not from D'Arcy, but from Lord Stanmore. 
 
 It contained a passionate declaration of love to 
 Violet, and ended by making her the most splen- 
 did offers of a disgraceful kind; but the letter 
 was worded with the greatest delicacy, and with 
 all the endeavour not to wound which such a
 
 VIOLET. 189 
 
 proposition would admit of. It concluded thus : 
 " If what I have written avails me not, and if the 
 pleadings of a very devoted heart are spurned 
 by you, — while you censure me, consider that I 
 am not more to blame than a thousand others ; 
 nay less, inasmuch as, having a consciousness 
 how greatly I should appreciate the sacrifice you 
 would make for me, I should feel bound to treat 
 with a lasting tenderness the object of an affec- 
 tion so rewarded." 
 
 With indescribable anguish Violet threw down 
 the letter. " And this, then," she exclaimed, " is 
 all they think me worthy of. They profess to 
 love, but hesitate not to insult me ! " 
 
 She at first determined to make no answer, but, 
 on reading over the epistle a second time, some- 
 thing in the spirit of it moved her to think dif- 
 ferently. " He could not marry me^ and in what 
 he offers he is generous, most generous," thought 
 Violet, humbly and despondingly ; and a melan- 
 choly sense of humiliation stole over her. " It is 
 not his fault. He does but think I may be one 
 of the many, and he treats me accordingly. And 
 D'Arcy, — if he should possibly think the same 
 of me ? Oh, I should go mad with horror. But 
 he knows mc. He respects me ; he will not insult 
 me — never — I am sure of that."
 
 190 VIOLET. 
 
 Violet seized a pen, and answered Lord Stan- 
 more : — 
 
 " My Lord, — I cannot accept your ofl'er. If 
 you knew the cruel humiliation I have suifercd 
 in receiving a letter like yours, you would, I 
 trust, have spared me. 
 
 " I am, my Lord, 
 " Yours sincerely and humbly, 
 
 "V. \\r 
 
 Such was the reply of our heroine to Lord 
 Stanmore, while she continued to meet D'Arcy 
 nearly every morning in the Gardens. 
 
 She received another letter from Lord Stan- 
 more : it was laconic : — 
 
 " Forgive me." 
 
 " Go with me to the rehearsal to-morrow, will 
 you .'' " said Emily Norris to her friend one morn- 
 ing. "We are going to try over Le faux Cu- 
 pidon ; I have nearly forgotten it." Violet agreed 
 to go, and told D'Arcy of her intention; he, of 
 cour.se, did not fail to join her on the stage at 
 the time she went there. Violet was with Mrs. 
 Norris, and it so happened that neither her 
 father nor mother accompanied her. 
 
 " I had some difficidty in getting here," said
 
 VIOLET. 191 
 
 D'Arcy, laughing, and apparently in higher spirits 
 than usual, as he took his post next Violet, who 
 was leaning against one of the side boxes. 
 
 " How do you do, Mr. d'Arcy ? " said a young 
 lady, in a free and easy tone, in flesh-coloured 
 silk stockings, a pair of corsets, and wearing 
 about one petticoat and a half, — and holding 
 out her hand familiarly to D'Arcy. 
 
 "Vous avez chaud, apparemment, ma chere ;" 
 said a gentleman, interrupting her, whose costume 
 consisted of yellow slippers and white-cotton 
 trowsers, with a pink silk handkerchief knotted 
 round his throat. 
 
 " Get away, — you are jealous," cried D'Arcy's 
 young lady. 
 
 " Pray let me give no cause for anxiety," said 
 D'Arcy, moving away from the fair one and her 
 friend. 
 
 " Come, — come, — so you won't speak to me to- 
 day ? ' said the nymph, following our hero round 
 the stage very closely. " I see you like that new 
 Miss, there. Why she is not half so good as I, 
 and she is proud, and you know I am not. Have 
 done, Nicolas ! why do you follow me so ? You 
 never let me speak to any one." 
 
 •' Vous e(es line pcrfide,'' whispered Nicolas,
 
 192 VIOLET. 
 
 the gentleman in white cotton ; " et je vous en 
 payerai,'' he added, malting a most ferocious pair 
 of eyes. 
 
 The lady replied by a laugh ; and, following 
 D'Arcy to the back of the stage, tried to take his 
 arm. " Get away," cried D'Arcy, impatiently. 
 
 " Bless me," said the nymph, in svirprise, real 
 or apparent. — " Well, I see you don't want me ; 
 you ungrateful — you — " 
 
 '' AUons, commenqons," called a voice from the 
 other end, and D'Arcy was liberated. 
 
 Violet could not help seeing what had passed ; 
 she knew the girl to be one of the figurantes, and 
 one not of good character. She saw her, and 
 others of her sort, often enough addressed by 
 gentlemen, but this creature's familiar tone of 
 speaking to D'Arcy shocked her particularly. 
 
 Mrs. Norris had taken a chair apart from all 
 the other mammas and chaperones, and Violet 
 screened herself behind her, to avoid associating, 
 as much as possible, with her present set of ac- 
 quaintance. 
 
 " N^'e.st-ce pas que ma Julie a des jambes su- 
 pcrhes?''' said a respectable-looking old ladj-, 
 with an air of modesty, to Mrs. Norris, who was 
 forced to put up her glass to survey the said
 
 VIOLET. 193 
 
 "jambes'' of Mdlle. Julie, while D'Arcy once 
 more approached, to resume his station by Violet ; 
 but this time he was attacked by the same old 
 lady who spoke to Mrs. Norris. " N'est-ce pas," 
 said she, looking up benevolently in his face, 
 •' N'est-ce pas, Monsieur, que ma Julie est une 
 brave fiUe ? " 
 
 " Is it not dreadfiil the sort of people one is 
 obliged to be civil to, Mr. d'Arcy?" Mrs. Norris 
 pathetically asked; "for my part, I have a per- 
 fect horror of these sort of persons ; I never speak 
 to them unless I am absolutely forced." 
 
 " You seem bored," said D'Arcy, addressing 
 Violet. 
 
 " I never like this place." 
 '" And why, loveliest ? " 
 
 Violet shrank from D'Arcy, almost for the first 
 time in her life, for there was a levity in his tone 
 she had never before detected. 
 
 " Dois je commencer avec le commpncement?'' 
 called the fiddler. " Oid,'' said Miss Norris, im- 
 periously, while she began an arduous pirouette. 
 About five bars were played over once again, 
 while Nicolas, in the back ground, seemed exert- 
 ing himself to perfect an elaborate battcment 
 with one ill-humoured leg. 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 VIOLET. 
 
 "Listen to mc, my soul's idol/' said D'Arcy; 
 " why are you so unkind to me tins morning ? " 
 '• I am not unkind, Mr. d'Arcy." 
 " Yes, you are ; — what have I done ? tell me." 
 " Believe me when I say, — nothing." 
 At this moment D'Arcy's eye fell upon one of 
 the side boxes: it was Lord Stanmore's, and in it, 
 even by the imperfect lights of a rehearsal, D'Arcy 
 saw Lord Stanmore himself He was looking 
 gloomily at Violet, and at his friend; Violet's 
 attention was at the same moment drawn to hjm, 
 and Lord Stanmore, seeing he was observed, 
 quitted the box. Violet shuddered. " How great 
 must be his contempt for me!" thought she; 
 " and I merit it." 
 
 D'Arcy saw that her spirit was not at case. 
 "Her self-love is hurt," thought he, and he ap- 
 plied himself to dissipate the cloud, and he suc- 
 ceeded. He had some difficulty, however, in 
 getting her to promise to meet him the next 
 morning ; this was not the first time she had 
 
 resisted. 
 
 " Well," at length said D'Arcy, " for this once 
 more you must meet me, — I have a reason for it. 
 I have a picture I want you to see, and you must 
 meet me to morrow, that I may show it to you. "
 
 VIOLET. 195 
 
 The next morning, when Violet walked out to 
 meet her lover, she was oppressed with a sense of 
 doing wrong, and fully determined that it should 
 afflict her for the last time ; this, she resolved, 
 should be efFectualiy done by giving up her 
 morning walks. She thought of what the future 
 would then be, and it seemed a blank before 
 her. 
 
 As it was only exposing herself to additional 
 temptation, Violet wisely determined to say no- 
 thing about her resolve to D'Arcy, but her heart 
 w'as sadder than she had ever felt it in her whole 
 life. 
 
 " Look here," said D'Arcy, on joining her, " do 
 you recognise this face ?' showing her a small 
 and beautifully painted miniature of a young girl 
 in a morning ovit-of-doors dress. Violet started ; 
 it was herself in the attire she usually wore when 
 she went out. 
 
 - ■^'^How could you get this?" she inquired with 
 surprise. 
 
 " I have had so great a desire to possess a 
 good likeness of you, and I have so often re- 
 gretted," continued D'Arcy, " that I could not 
 ask you to sit for one. But, I believe, I have at 
 last succeeded wonderfully in obtaining this. I 
 
 K 2
 
 196 VIOLET. 
 
 met with a clever artist, to whom I gave every 
 opportunity of seeing you that I could think of. 
 You must have passed him constantly of a morn- 
 insr when you have been coming here ; he has 
 been hoA^ering on your steps for the last two 
 months, and 1 seldom allowed a day to pass with- 
 out paying a visit to the atelier of my artist 
 friend, for such he has been to me. You may 
 suppose that my corrections have done some- 
 thing towards the likeness. I brought him to 
 your house the other day, too, and introduced 
 him as an acquaintance who was walking with 
 me." ' 
 
 " Good heavens !" said Violet, " so then that 
 was the man who never took his eyes off me, 
 and I really wondered what he could be looking 
 at." 
 
 " His admiration of you was profound," said 
 D'Arcy, " and to that I chiefly attribute the 
 great success of my miniature. While I live I 
 shall never part with it. You see I have had it 
 made small on purpose, and the little gold case 
 is the neatest in the world. I shall hang it 
 round my neck, — here is the chain I shall put to 
 it, and a ribbon also, for fear the chain should 
 break."
 
 VIOLET. 197 
 
 r^' I hardly knew you cared so much for me as 
 all that/' said Violet, touched. 
 ^n^'Alas!'' cried D'Arcy, with sudden emotion, 
 "I wish that I had it more in my power to prove 
 the excess of my affection." 
 
 " Allow me to say," said Violet, with agitation, 
 " that I am quite aware I never can receive any 
 further proofs of your affection for me. I am so 
 aware of this," she continued, " that it would hurt 
 me if you could imagine 1 should expect it : our 
 situations in life are perfectly different, and to 
 break through the restraints they impose would 
 be a lasting error which I feel, were I in your 
 place, I could not commit. I believe I am speak- 
 ing with a frankness Avhich is uncalled for, but 
 you will not think it boldness." 
 
 " I understand you," answered D'Arcy, " and I 
 admire you the more for what you have said. I 
 will be sincere with you, — I once promised that I 
 always would be. I cannot think of marrying, — 
 my position in life is one that will not admit of it. 
 Had I the largest fortune to-morrow, however, I 
 should not marry, or if I did " 
 
 D'Arcy paused and sighed. " I cannot say 
 that I should not marry in that case, — but there 
 is but one person I would ask to be my wife."
 
 198 VIOLET. 
 
 " And who would be that person, Mr. d'Arcy?" 
 
 " Yourself." 
 
 "Never," cried Violet, " never! — how can you 
 so try to deceive me ? nothing would induce you 
 to marry an opera-dancer !" 
 
 " What can make you think so?" asked D'Arcy 
 with surprise. 
 
 Violet related the conversation she had so 
 lonir aa:o overheard between him and Mr. Har- 
 
 COVU't. 
 
 " But still you underrate my great love for 
 you," said D'Arcy : " it could lead me to overcome 
 every prejudice.'' 
 
 " It could, but it would not,'' repeated Violet, 
 steadily. 
 
 " You may be right," answered D'Arcy, after 
 a moment's reflection. " But yet it is true that I 
 have rev^er once exaggerated the strength of my 
 affection in all I have told you ; more than that 
 (believe me or not, as you choose), but there have 
 been moments when I have endured the most 
 poignant regret — regret? — yes, I have upbraided 
 myself; but I do love you, may God bear wit- 
 ness, better than all things that are, — and I 
 would give worlds — what am I saying ? — oh, my 
 very soul, — I wordd give it away, if "
 
 VIOLET. 199 
 
 ** You hesitate ; I do not know what you are 
 going to say, but leave it unsaid. I am unhappy 
 enough as it is — so unhappy, — I see that I 
 can never know happiness again," — and Violet 
 Woo Iville clasped her hands in deep sorrow; 
 D'Arcy seized., and covered them with kisses, — 
 while he almost knelt at her feet. 
 
 Hummings was a great way behind, but she 
 hastened her pace now, and her approaching 
 steps induced both Miss Woodville and D'Arcy 
 to try to recover their composure. 
 
 Violet's determination of not meeting D'Arcy 
 again was preying upon her mind, and she had 
 the tenderness of her heart, as well as the deep- 
 ness of its affection, to struggle with. 
 
 They came to the end of her usual walk in 
 silence, and when Violet gave D'Arcy her hand 
 to bid him farewell, her heart was too full to 
 
 speak. 
 
 -' I shall meet you at the Opera to-morrow ; 
 Mrs. Woodville told me she was going with you, 
 but to-morrow morning we will talk of that : you 
 will come here to-morrow morning ?" whispered 
 D'Arcy in an imploring voice: "ah, dearest, you 
 will believe my very life is in your hands."
 
 200 VIOLET. 
 
 Violet could make no reply. When she was 
 alone, her tears flowed long, and how sadly ! 
 
 " Nos actions ne peiivent etre appreciees par 
 lenr valeur intrinseque non connue. La position 
 qui les met au jour en decide le prix."* 
 
 * Madame de Staal de Laumiy.
 
 ( 201 ) 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A savage jealousy that sometimes savours nobly. 
 
 Twelfth Night. 
 
 Oh, what a host of killiii}; doubts and fears, 
 Of melanc-holy musings, deep perplexities, 
 Must the fond heart that yields itself to love 
 Struggle with, and endure ! 
 
 Lord Staismore went to Brighton, but, linding 
 his mother really better than he had expected, 
 he returned to town. It was, in some measure, 
 curiosity that prompted him to do this, mingled 
 with more unpleasant feelings. He was certain 
 that the impression he once hoped to have made 
 on Violet Woodville was at an end ; at the same 
 time he gave full credit to her upright mind ; 
 but he found he had a rival, and the observations 
 of a week were sufficient to enable him to dis- 
 cover who that rival was. In his jealous anger. 
 Lord Stanmore vowed never again to see D'Arcy. 
 He avoided him therefore, for he felt he hated 
 him. It was a chance thing his seeing him and 
 
 K 3
 
 202 VIOLET. 
 
 Violet at the rehearsal: he somethnes went to 
 the rehearsal of an Opera, and a mistake as to 
 the nature of this one was the reason of his 
 coming- to his box on the morning in question ; 
 and it was a moment of great pain when he there 
 beheld Violet and his former friend. 
 
 He could have declared to all the world liis 
 conviction of Violet's hypocritical conduct, al- 
 though, in fact, he refused to give it his own 
 credence. 
 
 " Les amans portent quelquefois leur avcugle- 
 ment juscpi'a ne pas connaitre dans leurs mai- 
 tresses les defauts cju'ils savent bien en faire 
 connaitre aux autres.*" 
 
 On the last night of the Opera the Woodvilles 
 took a box, or rather the manager very civilly 
 gave them one; and Mrs. Woodville, without 
 saying a word to Mr. Woodville or Violet, wrote 
 a note to Lord Stanmore to inform him where 
 they were going. Her excuse was, that he had 
 once said something of her letting him know if 
 thcv went to the Opera ; and without this little 
 arrangement on her part, Mrs. Woodville would 
 have looked on the opera-box as a most vain 
 acquirement. 
 
 * St, Evremond.
 
 VIOLET. 203 
 
 A sudden resolution prompted Lord Stanmore 
 to avail himself of this information, or rather in- 
 vitation. The overture was only just ended when, 
 to the great surprise of Violet Woodville, he 
 entered the box and seated himself by her. She- 
 was in the back, where her mother had placed 
 her, because she thought, in case Lord Stanniore 
 chose it, it would be giving him such a good 
 opportunity of proposing to her. Poor Violet 
 was thinking only of D'Arcy, and cared little 
 where she sat. 
 
 The words of civility were no sooner passed 
 and the Opera begun, than Lord Stanmore (his 
 jealousy overcoming his embarrassment at seeing 
 Violet after the letter he had lately written to 
 her, and her reply) began to upbraid her for 
 her preference of D'Arcy, which, he said, was 
 undisguised. 
 
 This language was not well received ; and, with 
 woman's pique at being scolded by a lover she 
 did not love. Miss Woodville answered, that 
 there were others, and not himself, who were the 
 best judges of her conduct, and had the best 
 right to interfere in it. Thrown off his guard by 
 this rebuke. Lord Stanmore exclaimed, •' And is 
 it possible you can think of being the slave of
 
 204 VIOLET. 
 
 D"Arcy, vrLo, at the very moment lie is professing 
 love to vou. is thorousflilv involved with another 
 woman ? I care not if you tell liim I told you 
 this — nothinsr siornifies now to me. But of him 
 I warn you. He has no heart to give., and of you 
 he is utterly unworthy." 
 
 Violet felt sick at heart when Lord Stanmore 
 pronounced these words. •• Of whom are you 
 speaking ?" she asked with a tremulous voice : 
 •■ with whom is he, Mr. d'Arcy, involved ?'" 
 
 ••Names cannot matter to vou. vou will not 
 suspect me of an untruth : what I have said I 
 would have said in D'Arcys presence — he could 
 not have denied it." 
 
 ••'But whv, then, is he your friend — a person 
 you tliink so ill of ?"" 
 
 . ■• The person who is perfectly fit to be my 
 friend, may be most unfit to become yours." 
 
 •• I have nothing further to reply to your re- 
 marks, my Lord." said Violet WoodA'ille, almost 
 passionately. For a moment her usual gentle- 
 ness was overset by the ansrer as well as the 
 bitterness of her feelings. 
 
 ■■ I am prepared to meet your coldness," con- 
 tinued Lord Stanmore ; " but it shall not hinder 
 me from tellinsr you that I see you ready to sacri-
 
 VIOLET. 205 
 
 fice everything — yes, everything, in time.. I have 
 no doubt — and to D'Arc}'. I may be led away 
 by the jealousy wliich you liave so fearlessly 
 caused me, and it may be true that I have no 
 right to interfere : but I think the very force of 
 my attachment to you gives me that right, as it 
 does the power, certainly. If you knew how 
 much I have thought of you I God forgive me ! 
 if, even while I watched over the sick bed of my 
 mother. I remembered you as a consoling angel I 
 With you to have fled from the world, to have 
 seen vou as mv vrife. to have owned it, and to 
 have been proud of it I Tliese have been my 
 visions at moments when I thought vour heart 
 might be truly mine. And then D'Arcy came, 
 and he has worked the ruin of every hope I ever 
 formed I Villain I" 
 
 "' Sav not that," cried Violet ; • Mr. dArcy has 
 done you no harm ; he has never spoken to me 
 asrainst vou. as vou have done against him this 
 night." 
 
 •' Ah I I see you cannot forgive me for the 
 truths I have told you. How you must love that 
 man ! I wish he was dead ! " said Lord Stan- 
 more, bitterly : " I abhor liim ! '" 
 
 **' You are horribly unjvist, and you terrify me. '
 
 206 VIOLET. 
 
 " Do I ? I beg your pardon — but you forget 
 that he icas my friend ; and I did not tliink this 
 ^^Tetchedness would have been occasioned me by 
 him." 
 
 " If Mr. dArcy knew it, he would be sorry, 1 
 am sure."' 
 
 •' Sorrv I — oh. no, that's not likely. I, his friend!" 
 continued Lord Stanmore, incoherently : •• the 
 
 baseness — to dare again I beg your pardon : 
 
 I cannot help my o^^ti \-iolence : you have no con- 
 ception of what I am enduring : you would for- 
 give me, if you knew how I loved you — how I 
 have cursed myself for that odious letter I sent 
 you : what I would have given, if it had never 
 been written — and you hate me for that more 
 than ever, do you not ? '' 
 
 •• I never hated you. Lord Stanmore.'' 
 
 " Now you are lost," he continued, without 
 heeding her reply. " You could not, if you 
 would, give me back the heart which is DArcys; 
 but,"' he added, in a voice of deeper feeling. 
 *' do not destroy every illusion — do not become a 
 o^uiltv thinoj — let not even D'Arcv teach vou 
 that; love him, if you will — make him your god, 
 and lavish upon him the whole treasure of vour 
 first affection — die for him — let vour heart be the
 
 VIOLET. 207 
 
 bruised token of his power : clierisli him while you 
 live — pray for him when you are dpng — but. 
 oh ! allow him not to bring you to dishonour ! '' 
 
 Lord Stanmore's words became hardly audible, 
 while he went on speaking with great emotion. 
 
 " From this degradation, let my prayers pre- 
 serve you ! Spare me that — not for the sake of 
 the good will you bear me, but for your own. 
 You do not know what vice is. It is your very 
 igfnorance which has made vou so beautiful in mv 
 eyes; and I do tliink that, were I to see you 
 debased, I could never believe in woman's purity 
 again. AVould that you had never known 
 D'Arcv ! — and shall I live to see you his victim .'' 
 Surely Heaven never made you to become the 
 child of sin : or, if it did, it woidd blast a portion 
 of its verv self I coidd immolate to shame every 
 created thing — I could believe in an angel's fall. 
 but not in yours ! " 
 
 Lord Stanmore ceased. Pale and tremulous. 
 Violet had listened to each word ; terrified at his 
 vehemence, and filled A^th nervous cbead, she 
 yet, more than all, remembered the assurance 
 that D'Arcy was devoted to another. Overcome, 
 at length, with the extremity of agitation, she 
 suddenly leaned towards her mother, and drooped
 
 208 VIOLET. 
 
 her head upon her shoulder. Lord Stanmore 
 had not seemed to observe her ; and, as if he 
 hardly knew what he was about, he rose, without 
 looking towards her, and left the box. 
 
 The two senior Woodvilles had been sitting as 
 much to the front as possible, during this conver- 
 sation ; and, besides listening to the music, Mrs. 
 Woodville had contrived to carry on a constant 
 dialogue with her sposo. Once only she ventured 
 to look round at her daughter with the mere tail 
 of one eye ; but, seeing how much Violet was 
 apparently engaged, she determined nothing 
 should induce her to commit the like imprudence 
 again, and in that direction she took special care 
 that poor Woodville should neither see nor hear 
 at all. 
 
 It was a loud opera ; and, as Lord Stanmore 
 spoke very low, it may easily be imagined that 
 his conversation passed unheard. 
 
 Mrs. Woodville's reflections, in the meantime, 
 were very similar to those of the maid with the 
 milk-pail, in the fable ; and its overthrow could 
 not have dashed that damsel's projects more com- 
 pletely than were Mrs. Woodville's, when she 
 beheld her child's pale face reclining on her 
 shoulder, and, at the same moment, saw Lord
 
 VIOLET, 209 
 
 Stanmore retrcatins: from the box. Consterna- 
 tion seized the parents : and, in their alarm for 
 their only child, they thought but of restoring her. 
 
 Violet had not fainted : but she earnestly ex- 
 pressed her desire to return home. 
 
 '•' Oh, perhaps Lord Stanmore is gone to see 
 for our coach ? " said !Mr. Wood\-ille, looking 
 round. •• Did you tell him, my darling, that you 
 ■wished to go ? " 
 
 " No, father ; but do you see for it." 
 "At this instant the box again opened, and it 
 was to admit Mr. d'Arcy and Mr. Brown. 
 
 ^fr. Brown was a vocalist, smitten vaxh. Miss 
 Woodville, and. having met D'Arcy on the grand 
 staircase, it occurred to him that if that gentle- 
 man were sroino: to visit the Wood\-illes, he. Mr. 
 Brown, had as good a right to go likewise : and 
 he determined to take the opportunity as well, 
 deeming it expedient also to scrape acquaint- 
 ance with Mr. d"Arcy, so as occasionally to seem 
 to belong to him. 
 
 D'Arcy was much astonished when he beheld 
 the drooping Violet, leaning on her mother's 
 shoulder; but he was still more so when, on 
 speaking to her, he received no answer, and she 
 closed her eyes.
 
 210 VIOLET. 
 
 " A little air, — more salts, — eau de Cologne ! " 
 cried Mr. Brown ; " if Miss Woodville would take 
 a little more salts to smell?" and he appealed to 
 D'Arcy, who surveyed him for the first time with 
 something between contempt and curiosity. 
 
 " Violet 's quite ill, Mr. d' Arcy," said Wood- 
 ville, " so I am going to see for our coach, and 
 perhaps you and Mr. Brown will have the 
 goodness to take care of them while I am 
 gone." 
 
 " Could you take an arm, Violet, and go down 
 stairs ?" inquired her mother ; "and then we shall 
 be read3^" Violet answered in the affirmative, 
 and D'Arcy proffered her his aid, but it was re- 
 jected in silence ; and Mr. Brown stepped forward 
 to offer his. 
 
 "I shall only lean upon mamma," said Violet, 
 and she did as she said, while Mrs. Woodville 
 availed herself of D'Arcy's assistance. As they 
 moved on, he inquired the cause of her daughter's 
 indisposition. 
 
 " Indeed I do not know," answered Mrs. 
 Woodville ; " she was talking too much, and over- 
 exerting herself, I think. But you are much 
 better now, Violet, an't you ? ' 
 
 Violet answered, "Yes," in a more restored
 
 VIOLET. 211 
 
 voice, and added, " I could even go back to the 
 Opera, if you wished it, mamma." 
 
 D' Arcy looked at Violet, and tried to penetrate 
 the cause of her changed manner. In vain he 
 sought to meet her eye, or to induce her to speak 
 to him. The carriage was now ready : her father 
 now hastened to inform them ; and, as an 
 excuse for helping Violet into it, D'Arcy seized 
 her haiid, but it Avas eagerly withdrawn ; and he 
 saw the Woodville equipage disappear, — while 
 he remained standing on the pavement, in asto- 
 nishment at this novel conduct on the part of 
 Violet. 
 
 "The heat of the house overcame her, I am 
 inclined to imagine," said Mr. Brown, with a 
 facetious air, and addressing himself to D'Arcy. 
 
 " Sir ! " said D'Arcy, staring at him, — "Yes ; " 
 and he walked away, leaving Mr. Brown to com- 
 fort his amour propre, by muttering, "Vulgar 
 manners, I think, upon my word !" 
 
 As for Violet, she remained in an agony of 
 mind. Much as there was to annoy her, she 
 would not have suffered so deeply, if our feelings 
 could ever be disturbed in proportion to their 
 real cause, rather than to the way in which we 
 view that cause.
 
 212 
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 She was stung to the quick by every word 
 Lord Stanmore had uttered. She could not bear 
 his foreseeing her degradation as a thing possible, 
 —and might not the supposition (she asked her- 
 self, as she had done before) occur to D'Arcy ? 
 This was worse still; what woman would not 
 rather be thought ill of by all the world, than 
 that a lover should dream she could live to err ? 
 
 Then she remembered Lord Stanmore's assu- 
 rances, that D'Arcy's heart was already engaged; 
 and when she gave way to this reflection, her 
 misery was inconceivable. Not only was she 
 wounded by the fact, but the deceit of her lover 
 affected her still more powerfull3^ 
 
 We are so unwilling to confess the faults of 
 any one we love; and this night, for the first 
 time in her life, Violet learnt, that " la disgrazia 
 di non piangere e una delle piu crudeli ne' sommi 
 dolori*." Her grief too partook of a violence 
 that hardly accorded w ith her character. 
 
 " II est de fait que les amants se montrent 
 plus impitoyables les uns envers les autres que 
 les ennemis les plus irr6conciliables." 
 
 And upon this true observation her sensations 
 may be best understood. 
 
 * Silvio Pellico.
 
 VIOLET. 213 
 
 Violet, of course, resolved never to speak to 
 D'Arcy again. At one moment she determined 
 to write to him, to inform him of everythin*'- 
 Lord Stanmore had said, and to express the 
 height of her contempt. Sometimes she thought 
 she would supplicate him herself to tell her the 
 truth ; for, despite of all her anger, Violet invo- 
 luntarily felt that if D'Arcy were to deny every 
 word, she should believe him. She took up her 
 pen and composed her letter ; but when she read 
 it over the next morning, her good sense pointed 
 out to her the imprudence, or perhaps the indeli- 
 cacy, of sending it to him. 
 
 She was in hopes all day long that D'Arcy 
 would call, that she might show him she never 
 meant to speak to him again, by leaving the 
 room the moment he entered it ; but D'Arcy did 
 not call. 
 
 To her parents, Violet assigned no reason for 
 lier illness at the Opera, and professed herself 
 unable to account for Lord Stanmore's sudden 
 departure from their box. 
 
 " Some lover's quarrel, I am sure," said Mrs. 
 Woodville to her husband, " that will all come 
 right again, but we must have patience. I own 
 I am disappointed, for I declare I thought the
 
 214 VIOLET. 
 
 young man was going to propose ; did not you, 
 Charles ?" 
 
 " Indeed I do not know why you thought any 
 such thing," replied Mr. Woodville ; "all I know- 
 is, I wish something or other was settled. Dupas 
 was talking to me about it yesterday. He says, 
 what's very true, these young men don't think 
 of marrying, — all they think of is amusement. 
 There's young Brown, — only you won't be civil 
 to him, — why should not Violet marry him ? he 
 is a very proper sort of person ; and I know his 
 uncle has made money. With him one might 
 k^w where one is ; but as for all these dandies, 
 they drive me out of my wits. Don't I see that 
 D'Arcy flying about the girl, and making a fool 
 of you besides, for it's the truth ; and whisper- 
 ing, and following us wherever we go, — and hum- 
 bugging me, I am ashamed to say, almost as 
 bad as he does you, for I never know what lie 
 would be at, he is so cunning about it all; and 
 to us he is as if butter would not melt in his 
 mouth, notwithstanding he looks as if he were 
 the Grand Turk." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Woodville, yoa know you have 
 always had a prejudice against Mr. d'Arcy; I 
 am sure he is a very good-looking "
 
 VIOLET. 215 
 
 " Good-looking! — yes, I dare say; that's 
 always the way with a woman. What do his 
 looks signify to me? Good-looking! — that 
 makes a great deal of difference, I suppose ! and 
 are Ave all to act like fools, because a man is 
 good-looking? " 
 
 '• Bless me ! Mr. Woodville, don't be so cross." 
 
 " I am not cross, Mrs. Woodville : you should 
 not provoke me by saying a man's good-looking: 
 what's that to me ? It is not that I have any 
 malice against Mr. d'Arcy — I will be hanged if 
 I ever know exactly what I think of him ; and it 
 is certain, so far, he is like a thorough gentleman 
 to me. But he is always here, and that other one 
 is just as bad — just: he does not ask my consent 
 to marry my daughter ; and if he ever meant it, 
 why does not he ? What's to hinder him — he is 
 of age, and his own master." 
 
 " I never knew anything like your unreason- 
 ableness : you speak as if you hadn't two grains 
 of sense, sometimes ; you would spoil everything 
 by your impatience ; and as for Brown — I would 
 not, upon any account, that anybody thought that 
 Violet was dreaming of condescending to him !" 
 
 " She may come to worse condescensions than 
 that, Mrs. Woodville."
 
 216 VIOLET. 
 
 " I don't know what you are meaning to insinu- 
 ate against your own child," replied the lady, 
 indignantly. 
 
 " I am not insinuating anytliing : as for Lord 
 Stanmore, that I don't say so much about ; there 
 might have been a chance of getting him — he had 
 only to do as he chose ; and when a young man 
 gets his head full of love, he will do a good deal." 
 
 " Well, and pray why shouldn't Mr. d'Arcy 
 want to marry Violet, supposing Lord Stanmore 
 does not? " 
 
 " That's just your unconnnon folly ! — I cannot 
 help calling it so ; you put me out of patience 
 with so much nonsense. Now, I should like to 
 know what you see in Mr. d'Arcy's face to make 
 you think he will marry my daughter ?" 
 
 " Wliy sliouldn't he as soon as his friend Lord 
 Stanmore, pray ?" 
 
 •' In the first place, he has no money ; and, in 
 the second place, he is not a man that would 
 lower himself so far, if Violet was as beautiful as 
 a saint — or I am much mistaken." 
 
 /' No money ! — how are you sure he has no 
 money ?" 
 
 " Because I have heard it of those that are 
 likely to know."
 
 VIOLET. 217 
 
 " It does not matter," continued Mrs. Wood- 
 villc ; " lie belongs to great jjeople ; and who 
 knows what he may not be some of these days ? — 
 besides, he is always a gentleman." 
 
 " Yes, there you are again ! I know who fills 
 you up with this nonsense ; but I am not a man 
 that finds fault when there is no occasion. Mrs. 
 Norris may do as she likes; but the end of Miss 
 Emily is not seen yet. I won"t have the respect- 
 ability of my family endangered — other people 
 may do as they please ; but I will have a little bet- 
 ter order kept in my house ; gentlemen shall not 
 be coming in at all hours of the day : and I beg, 
 in future, Violet may be taught to think of those, 
 in a becoming manner, who properly ought to 
 think of her. — Violet is ill. Do you think I 
 don t see that, between them, these lovers of hers 
 have been worrying her to death ? They are all 
 of them an unprincipled set of young rascals ; 
 and I have opened my eyes to see the mischief of 
 what they are doing to me and mine." 
 , " You are in a bad humour, Charles," said 
 Mrs. Woodville, in a mitigated tone ; " and L 
 shan't say any more to you now ; it is of no 
 use." " 
 
 " No, it is not ; so don't say any more — only 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 VIOLET. 
 
 please to remember what I have told you, and 
 to mind it, that's all.' .,!.:;;' 
 
 Violet continually expected that D'Arcy woald* 
 call ; he could do so very easily, slie thought, as 
 there was the excuse of inquiring after her ; but 
 the day passed, and D'Arcy had never been. 
 
 " Hummings," said Violet, when she went to 
 bed, " has no one called ?" .i 
 
 " No gentleman, Miss ; but Mr. d'Arcy's ser- 
 vant was here, to leave his master s card, and to 
 inquire how you was." 
 
 " But then, Hummings, Mr. d'Arcy was in his 
 cabriolet, and his servant came to the door ?" 
 
 " No, Miss, he warn't, for there wasn't no cab. 
 I looked, to see if Mr. d'Arcy himself was a-nigh 
 the house, but his young man walked on of him^ 
 self, till he turned the corner." 
 
 Violet wondered why D'Arcy had not called ;? 
 there could be no doubt he would yet do it, how- 
 ever, she argued — and another day dawned, and. 
 with it her expectation of seeing him. She 
 longed so to show him her displeasure — to conTj 
 vince him that she never would forgive his per^ 
 fidy — ^for perfidious she considered him ever since" 
 Lord Stanmore talked of his heart being ano- 
 ther's. Alas ! and tlie remembrance of those
 
 VIOLET. 219 
 
 wor^s occasioned her the tears — they were such 
 heart-felt ones; but another day passed, and 
 D'Arcy came not. 
 
 Violet paid a visit to Emily Norris, pour se 
 desennuyer. 
 
 " Well, I do wonder you have not seen Mrv' 
 d'Arcy," said Emily, when Violet had told all'of 
 her present grief that she had to tell. 
 
 " But, good heavens ! it quite shocks me to 
 
 think how sillily you have been behaving ; why 
 
 you might have married Lord Stanmore, Violet ! " 
 
 5" Oh, never mind that, Emily, it is only Mr. 
 
 d'Arcy that I care about." 
 
 '" Yes ; how much you are in love with him ! 
 I will tell you what, Violet ; — I will ask Harcourt 
 about him, — not so as to betray you, leave ^that 
 to me; I shall see him to-morrow, — we are great 
 friends just now ; so don't fret any more. Mr. 
 d'Arcy is ill, or engaged, or gone to the country 
 for a few days, — you will see ; or, perhaps, he is 
 only playing stilky, for you know, though you had 
 cause to be angry, D'Arcy could not guess that 
 anything so unlikely should have happened as 
 Lord Stanmore telling you what he did ; and 
 he must have thought your conduct very odd, and 
 very unaccountable." 
 
 L 2
 
 220 ViOLKT. 
 
 Emily was as good as her word in making 
 some inquiries of her admirer. In consequence, 
 on the first occasion that he met with, Mr. Har- 
 court addressed D'Arcy, by saying— "'■""^' '^''''^''' 
 
 " D'Arcy, may I ask if you are still in love 
 with that Miss Woodville ? " 
 
 " To be sure I am." ic-jijoat 
 
 ('."That's being very constant, for you; but I 
 want to know why you have not been near her 
 lately?" 
 
 -f.^' So, Miss Norris has desired you to ask these 
 questions, eh, Harcourt ? " '«i>y 
 
 " Why, yes — she has. She said (You know 
 
 the Woodvilles and Mrs. Norris are great friends,) 
 and Emily said she was sure that pretty little 
 sylph,, the girl, was worried to death about some- 
 thing, and that she knew you had not been about 
 the Woodvilles lately, and she asked me M'hat 
 Avas the reason, or if you were in town. Now 
 Avhat have yovi been at? " .jd oa. 
 
 - "On my word, nothing; but," added D'Arcy, 
 with his frequent sneer, " I am not a marrying 
 man, — you are, I believe ; — and the poor Wood- 
 villes are too good for me." , .-rTf '.rf-rf^ 
 
 "Ah, then I understand you. You have been 
 an unsuccessful suitor, and the little creature will 
 not be your mistress ? "
 
 VIOLET. 221 
 
 " I own to you, I never ventured to ask her." 
 , "jWhy, D'Arcy," said Harcourt, opening liis 
 eyepi and rousing himself from his usual non- 
 chalant manner, — " Why, D'Arcy, you don't say 
 so ? You will never make me believe that." 
 
 " I don't see why, — after all, I am such a very 
 modest fellow." 
 
 " I did not know it, and neither do other 
 people." . . if 
 
 " I assure you it is true, Harcoiu't ; and it is 
 very often the greatest disadvantage to my ad- 
 vancement in life. I have the humblest opinion 
 of myself; I would give anything for the assur- 
 ance of Goring, of D , or of C ," conti- 
 nued D'Arcy. 
 
 " And so you have given up the poor girl ? " 
 Mr. Harcourt continued. 
 
 " Rather say, she has giveii me up." 
 
 " You know Stanmore is gone back to Brighton, 
 so he will not stand in your way." 
 
 D'Arcy's countenance looked somewhat bitter, 
 and his lip curled into an icy sneer, — his sneer, 
 as he haughtily replied, although addressing his 
 friend Harcourt, — 
 ii/J As she is neither his wife nor his mistress.
 
 222 VIOLET. 
 
 Stanmore's presence or his absence, I presume, 
 •must be a matter of incIifFerence to me." 
 
 " And how, all this time, are you going on 
 with your other lady ? " 
 
 " Much as I have always done ; and my 
 humble disposition has stood in my Avay there 
 likewise." 
 
 " Ah, I don't understand you," said Harcourt, 
 at length. '• I wanted to consult you about 
 Emily, but I don't like your mystifications to- 
 day; however, if you like, you shall go shares 
 with me in a thing I am. to be let into in Cassel- 
 ford's stable. I am going to-night to the One 
 Tun, in Jermyn-street,- — if you choose to accom- 
 pany me, we will talk it over ; and I will own to 
 you I am not sorry you have not made a prey of 
 that AVoodville girl, for she is Emily's great 
 friend, and it would have shocked her so. Have 
 you seen Mrs. SkifFney ? " 
 " No." 
 
 " Then go to the Haymarket to-morrow ; — we 
 will all go. I should like to hear your opinion ; 
 'pon my soul I think her head and shoulders the 
 finest thing I ever beheld." 
 " Is she good?"
 
 yiOLET.- 223 
 
 "Very; just the tiling for you. So you liave 
 not seen Mrs. SkifFney ! " 
 
 fv.-'';! liave liad so much to do lately, and am so 
 bored about my place under g-overnmcnt. But 
 we will certainly go to the Haymarket to-moiTow, 
 and see this new launch you tell me of." 
 
 " Ah, it will do you good, D'Arcy," said Mr. 
 Harcovu't, affectionately; " for you are looking 
 horribly bilious." 
 
 Emily Norris, as has already been said, partly 
 from friendship, and partly from curiosity, tried 
 to discover, through Mr. Harcourt, to whom 
 ]l<ord Stanmore could have alluded when he spoke 
 of D'Arcy's di\ddcd heart. Ent her efforts were 
 unsuccessful, Harcourt either did not know, or 
 would not tell; perhaps he had no idea of be- 
 traying D'Arcy. 
 
 . " I wonder how you can like Mr. d' Arcy ? " 
 said Emily, inquiringly ; " he is half inclined 
 to be disagreeable." 
 
 " My beloved, he is the cleverest fellow in the 
 world." 
 
 " But I believe you are all afraid of him." 
 
 " I vow I think Ave are, sometimes, now you 
 have put it into my head."
 
 224 
 
 VIOLET, 
 
 fej " What does he do ? Is he rich ? " 
 
 jlj" They saj^he lost upon the Derby last year ?'^ 
 
 " I saw him once, myself, talking to a lady in 
 Grosvenor- square. She looked handsome, and 
 wore a hat made of blonde, and I remembered 
 the shape of it at the time ; I and mamma were 
 passing at that moment. Is Mr. d'Arcy in love 
 with some lady in Grosvenor-square ? " f; \i 
 
 " If he is, he does not tell me ; but he is 
 always in love Avith a hundred women at a time ; 
 he never cares for any of them, he throws them 
 over, and then he affects that they ill-use him. 
 Your little friend had better keep out of his way/^ 
 Besides which, I do not think he cares for her; 
 and he is going abroad shortly. Where's Mrs. 
 Norris ? " 
 
 " Mamma is writing a letter she says must go 
 by the post," said Emily, laughing ; and in five 
 minutes more Mrs. Norris entered the room, la- 
 menting she had not been able to come sooner ; 
 for she said, " though I am not a foolish prude, 
 Mr. Harcourt, I never like to brave prejudices f 
 and as young ladies arc in the habit of having a 
 chaperone, I always try to be with Emily when 
 she sees gentlemen ; however, I left the door
 
 VIOLET. 225 
 
 wide open, and that's much the same thin<j, is 
 not it?" continued the excellent Mrs. Norris, with 
 g, complacent smile. f - : . ''f * ' '' 
 
 5, Emily Norris faithfully reported to Violet the 
 substance of all she ever could extract from Mr. 
 Harcourt about D'Arcy. j ..».; w- ^, -; j,'.,i "* 
 5, " He allowed to me," said Emily, " he met 
 D'Arcy, and had asked him why he had not seen 
 you lately, but that he got no answer from him ; 
 and I have tried since then to find out what sort 
 of person Mr. d'Arcy was, and I asked if he was 
 a roue, but Harcourt only answered in his usual 
 way — you know his way — he is so indolent some- 
 times." 
 
 " No, I never heard him called a roue ; in 
 short, Harcourt seemed stupid about it, or else 
 it was his indolence. I wish you would forget 
 D'Arcy." 
 
 " Impossible ! my dear Emily, all I wish is, to 
 see him once more, only once. I only want to 
 tell him all I now think of him, and that I for- 
 give him, and that I never wish to see him 
 again !" answered Violet, sighing profoundly. 
 
 " He would tell you you were very foolish, and 
 begin making love all over again." 
 
 l3
 
 226 VIOLET. 
 
 " He could not ; I should convince him that I 
 knew every word he said was false, and that I was 
 acquainted with his affection for another person." 
 
 " Which, of course, he would deny." 
 . " No ; he could not tell an untruth." 
 
 " Nonsense ! as if he would think that an un- 
 truth." 
 
 " D'Arcy would not tell a falsehood," persisted 
 Violet Woodvillc, while the tears rose to her 
 eyes. 
 
 Poor Violet ! The days passed heavily now, 
 and everything seemed changed. As long as we 
 are in love, or rather, I should say, during the 
 intervals that our love runs smoothly — fev/ they 
 are, few and far between — but during these in- 
 tervals, the presence of the adored one is as the 
 sun of our day ; and its influence is still felt, and 
 its beneficence shed upon every other object with 
 which we come in contact. 
 
 Those who are in love, and who go on for 
 awhile happily, live entirely in a world of their 
 own ; much that was of importance becomes a 
 matter of indifference to them ; they rejoice in 
 a fine day without knowing it, and when a rainy 
 one comes, they do not perceive it; everything
 
 VIOLKT. 227 
 
 with tliem is coideur de rose, and they never guess 
 that the hour of trouble is but deferred, and that 
 they are drinking then 
 
 *'Tlie corflial drop Heav'n in our cup has throwa 
 To make the nauseous cup of life go down, 
 On which one blessing God might raise, 
 i In hands of atheist, subsidies of praise." 
 
 Lord Rochester. 
 
 But when some evil change occurs, and they are 
 awakened from their dream, then indeed they 
 think it has been one, and there is no saying- 
 how mournful a heart they bring to the gayest 
 scenes, how broken a spirit reposes in that which 
 should be the happiest home. 
 
 Violet Woodville was now undergoing all this, 
 for two Aveeks had passed away and she had not 
 seen or heard of D'Arcy. Emily Norris could 
 tell her nothing more than that she believed him 
 to be still in London, which Violet had begun id 
 doubt. It was the month of August, and he 
 mioht be gone into the country. 
 
 Over and over again she questioned herself as 
 to the reasons for D'Arcy's total neglect of her* 
 Sometimes she conceived that he had cither 
 guessed or ascertained all that Lord Stanmore 
 had told her, and that he guiltily felt ashamed 
 of meeting her. It was a naive supposition, and
 
 228 
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 if it recurred often it was as often discarded.' 
 Violet felt that this was not in accordance \vith 
 Avhat she knew of D'Arcy's character. He was 
 not ill, since it was clear Mr. Harcovu't would 
 have said so to Emily. Then, all other supposi- 
 titious excuses woidd be as nothing in the case 
 of a true lover. Had he ceased to love? No, 
 for that would happen gradually ; and by means 
 of that freemasonry which exists between lovers; 
 notwithstanding her disdain towards him, Violet 
 felt that very night at the Opera D'Arcy was a^ 
 much engrossed "by her as ever. Was it then 
 possible that mere anger had induced him to 
 stay away ? But, thought Violet suddenly, but 
 suppose I am Avronging him altogether? but 
 no; Lord Stanmore would never have stooped 
 to deceit ! no ; yet he might pos.sibly be mis- 
 taken : and then, if poor D'Arcy should be 
 blameless ! 
 
 Imagining that D'Arcy considered himself un- 
 fairly treated by her, Violet thought it was pos- 
 sible that indignation might make him refrain 
 from seeing her. She did not know what the 
 experienced could have told her, that it becomes 
 more urgent with us to tell a once beloved object 
 that we hate them, avc trample upon them, we
 
 VIOLET. 229 
 
 despise tliem, than it ever was before to declare 
 how passionately we adored them. 
 
 The Woodvilles noticed the grief of their 
 child, and could not divine its direct cause, whe- 
 ther it was owing to having quarrelled with Lord 
 Stanmorc, which she let them suppose was the 
 case, or whether it was owing entirely to Mr. 
 d'Arcy's absence. They often spoke of him, at 
 least Mrs. Woodville did, and wondered why he 
 never came ; and Mrs. AVoodville asked Violet 
 if she had quarrelled with him likewise, for her 
 behaviour to D'Arcy at the Opera had passed 
 unnoticed by both her parents, on account of her 
 illness. Only once, when she was alone, and M. 
 Dupas asked, in his kindest voice, why she was 
 unhappy, for he was sure she was so ? and why 
 had she given up all her admirers so suddenly? 
 Violet replied that she did not know whether 
 Mr. d" Arcy was in town ; — " Do you think he is, 
 M. Dupas ?" The old man fixed upon Violet 
 a glance of inquiry, but her pale cheeks and 
 sunken eye denoted too plainly that she was un- 
 happy, and that was an answer. 
 ' " You may trust me, mon enfant,'' he said, 
 compassionately, '' I am sorry for you. What is 
 it you want to know about Mr. d'Arcy? Is it not
 
 230 .VIOLET, 
 
 at your desire he has left off coining to see you ? 
 I had hoped it was." 
 - -No." 
 
 " How then f 
 
 "I don't know/' said Violet, listlessly ; and, 
 too unhappy even to discourse on the cause of 
 her grief, she left the room. 
 
 Still the Woodvilles, pere et mere, were very 
 gay, and continually making Vauxhall parties, or 
 going to Greenwich, or dining at Richmond, 
 chiefly to procure diversion for Violet, at least so 
 said Mrs. Woodville. Very often, on pretence of 
 illness, Violet would excuse herself from joining 
 these "pleasure parties," to use the phraseology 
 of Mr. Brown, who continued to be most assi- 
 duous in making love, — no, I mean paying 
 his addresses to Miss Woodville, — who, poor 
 girl I now absolutely sickened at the sight of 
 him. 
 
 And here, as M. Dupas had predicted, was one 
 evidence of her misfortune. Having once asso- 
 ciated, and intimately, Avith a person of real re- 
 finement, she could not like those who possessed 
 not the same advantages, and towards Brown, 
 especially, there is no expressing the dislike 
 Violet felt; and nothing but her sweetness, of
 
 VIOLET. i231 
 
 temper enabled her to disguise her contempt 
 under the garb of cold civility. 
 
 Mr. Brown was not repulsed, as he might have 
 .been, by Violet Woodville's dislike to him, be- 
 cause he did not conceive it possible. He looked 
 in the glass and saw his own face, and the coat, 
 etcetera, which clothed his person, and said to 
 -himself, — it is out of the question for any lady 
 not to think me extremely handsome, — and then 
 I am certainly an elegant man, and, I am sure, 
 that on particular days, when I take pains, I 
 look as much the gentleman as any one that 
 I know. 
 
 Love might draw his bow-string and take aim 
 at an armadillo, and, for what I know, his aim 
 might be successful. But let him try to make a 
 woman fall in love with a man (no matter wdie- 
 ther really vulgar or not), but whom tliat woman 
 thinks vulgar, and Cupid's arrow would fall 
 blunted to the ground. There is something re- 
 pugnant to feminine nature in the detection of 
 vulgarity. A woman may be devotedly in love 
 with every description of villain you may please 
 to name, but, if she has any delicacy of mind 
 whatsoever, she cannot even put up with one 
 whom she esteems vulgar.
 
 232 VIOLET. 
 
 No wonder, then, that Violet Woodville, with 
 her head and her heart full of D'Arcy, could not 
 endure the attentions of Mr. Brown. 
 - "What do you think of her, D'Ai'cy?"" cried 
 Mr. Goring, who was one of a party of young 
 men occupying the front scats of a public box at 
 the Hay market. p .(I 
 
 " Why, I don't fancy her, — nevertheless, she is 
 a spirited little devil." 
 
 J " Take my glass," said Mr. Harcourt to i; 
 D'Arcy, "yours is not a good one — mine is ex- 
 cellent." i' 
 
 D'Arcy accepted the lonjneite, better to con- 
 template the lovely Mrs. SkifFncy, for she was 
 the lady he and his friends were discussing. At 
 this moment his eyes fell upon some persons in a 
 box opposite, and D'Arcy lowered his glass sud- 
 denly as he distinguished Violet Woodville ; 
 returning it into the liands of Harcourt, he 
 abruptly excused himself on the plea of sud- 
 denly remembering an engagement, and left the 
 theatre. 
 
 " What was that for?" inquired Goring. 
 
 " Heaven knows, — D'Arcy is insufferable with 
 his caprices. Goi'ing, sit closer, or some cheese- 
 monger will take his place, — and pray desire that
 
 VIOLET. 233 
 
 old woman on your side not to stifle ns with her 
 confounded musk, and to stop that young rascal 
 her son from spittmg his orange peel into my 
 
 When had Violet Woodville's heart beat so 
 keenly as it did this night when she distinguished 
 D'Arcy ? and how great was the pleasure it gave 
 her? how great! She never remembered then 
 all the anxious hours she had passed, or that he 
 had caused them. She saw him once more, — was 
 not that a foundation for a few moments, nay, for 
 hours of real dehglit ? 
 
 Violet was all alive to the fact that she did 
 behold D'Arcy, for love is so dreamy a state of 
 existence, that it happens when, by untoward cir- 
 cumstances, we are parted from the loved object, 
 that we actually grow to doubt even the reality 
 of their existence, and fancy that tlie words and 
 the scenes which are indelibly impressed on our 
 own bosoms are either forgotten by them, or are 
 as if they had never been. 
 
 There is a great deal of nervousness in com- 
 bination with all very highly -wrought feelings ; 
 and there is no limit to the imaginativeness of a 
 mind of great tenderness, alarmed and grieving.
 
 234 yiOLET; 
 
 I never thought there was any exaggeration ot 
 sentiment in Werter's sending the little boy to 
 •Charlotte, that he might have something to be- 
 hold^ on which her eyes had rested. Our reason 
 laughs to scorn this species of hypochondria of 
 a love-despairing mind ; but what, except some 
 latent feeling of this nature, stirs up those inex- 
 plicable sensations in a lover's bosom, when only 
 the name of his mistress is casually pronounced ? 
 or, if he sees, at a distance, her equipage, her 
 servant, or anything belonging to her ; what is it 
 but the means thus afforded him, of confirming 
 his conviction of her existence, and that he may 
 behold her again and again, hear her speak, and 
 to him ? But, like the brilliant metal which must 
 be wrought upon ere we can have an idea of its 
 ductile power, Love must undergo a similar pro- 
 cess before we can learn all the variety of feel- 
 ings which are attendant upon it. 
 
 D'Arcy was no sooner beheld than he was 
 gone : in vain ^^iolct Woodville hoped to see 
 -him return to his place in the box, and then, when 
 she despaired of that, she yet felt pleasure in the 
 presence of his late companions, for to them she 
 had seen him speak ; they were his friends — they
 
 VIOLET. 235 
 
 had something to do with him ; so she watched 
 them, one by one, as they left the theatre ; and, 
 when all were gone, a sense of desolation crept 
 over her that was hard to bear.
 
 ( 236 ) 
 
 iitii oi .>fwoa 3??-nif[t lBfi'roi:.iD 
 
 oa BSin 
 CHAPTER IX. '^^^^ 
 
 " How cruel seems this long estrangement !" >^ -o rrfff t 
 
 "In difTerence from those we love 
 Is the worst pang the heart can prove." 
 
 The day passed, and nothing more was heard of 
 D'Arcy; but Violet continued to retain an ex- 
 pectation of meeting liim once again. The party^ 
 to Richmond, which our reader may remember- 
 some time before, he himself had proposed to her- 
 family that they should join. The arrangements 
 were all made for it ; and Violet, in the company 
 of her parents and the Norrises, met the gay set 
 of ladies, and the gallant gentlemen, who were 
 the originators of the scheme. It was a beau- 
 tiful day, and nature was dressed in its fiiirest 
 splendour. 
 
 The company went upon the water, and the 
 sound of mirth and music was ringing its melody 
 up the banks of the Thames, as the boat glided 
 on : there were jokes and laughter, and much
 
 VIOLET. 237 
 
 civility and much <^ood humour — everything, in 
 short, to gladden the heart for one half hour, if 
 external things could ever do that; but they can- 
 not, alas ! always do so ; and Violet Woodville 
 was now one of the victims who are forced to 
 wear a gay face, to conceal a most wretched 
 heart. D'Arcy was not there. To Violet, every- 
 thing about him now was so enveloped in mys- 
 tery, that she became a prey to secret worry as 
 well as sorrow. 
 
 •-. But she was looking beautiful, and she was 
 not left to herself She was urged to talk, and 
 at last, with that recklessness that sometimes 
 seizes an impetuous mind, her spirit caught the 
 tone from others, and gave way Ok 
 
 " To all that frantic mirth — that rush rr - 
 
 Of desperate gaiety, which they, '^"^ "^ ^"^^ 
 Who never felt how pain's excess mi .; ,t' ;,f ".h 
 Can break out thus, think happiness." 
 ■^l-j -'--^ ■ 
 
 Many of her admirers were charmed at this 
 transition : her parents were delighted and asto- 
 nished to hear her laugh out so roundly ; and 
 one or two of her former pretenders approached 
 lier, with hope revived of finding some signal of 
 encouragement. 
 . Mr. Goring especially remarked the change.
 
 23S' VIOLET. 
 
 but he Avas sharp in his observation, and mali-^ 
 cious, when it so suited him, "' 
 
 .^'*' Pray, what excuse did D'Arcy make for not 
 coming- ? " he called out to the gentleman whom 
 Violet was talking to, while he mercilessly fixed 
 his eyes upon her face. 
 
 " I don't know; I thought he was to be one 
 of us originally.*" 
 
 -" Why is D'Arcy not here ?" 
 
 " As if I knew ! — he is in town; I saAv him' 
 this morning." 
 
 " Have you any idea why Mr. d' Arcy is not' 
 here ?" cried Goring to the victim of his inquiries.'^ 
 
 " No," replied Miss Woodville, as steadily as 
 she could. ^' 
 
 " I only asked t/ou," pursued Mr. Goring, 
 " because he is so devoted an admirer of yours, 
 that I thought you must know something of 
 him. Really, as you are of this party, his ab- 
 sence is unaccountable." And Mr. Goring burst 
 Into a loud laugh, as if he had said something 
 witty. :f^ 
 
 But it was not echoed by one other person j>l 
 most of the ladies hated him, and with rcasoii|<5 
 and the men knew his brutality whenever he was 
 inclined to be spiteful, — though, in this instance,
 
 VIOLET.' 239 
 
 they guessed his intention without comprehends ■ 
 ing its nature. 
 
 The day of pleasure was over at last, and at 
 one in the morning the unhappy Violet was al- 
 lowed the repose of solitude, — that great blessing 
 to the very unhappy. " Ah ! la pitie n'est pas 
 due a celui qui pleure dans la solitude I" may 
 well be said, in the words of a Frencli writer. 
 
 Violet's feelino's were not of that acute kind 
 which denies us the power of sleep, — hers were 
 more the jaded feelings of continual anxiety; and, 
 ■worn out, with a harassed mind, doubly fatigued 
 with the exertion of false spirits, she slept, to 
 wake almost unrefreshed, perhaps, and to endure 
 more keenly than ever the grief of the time be- 
 fore. " La mente appena risentita ricorre alle 
 ide'e abituali della vita tranquilla antecedente ; 
 ma il pensiero del nuovo stato di cose le si 
 affaccia tosto sgarbartamente e il cUsjnacere ne e 
 piu vivo in quel paragone istante*.'' But the 
 observation has been so often made, it is a hack- 
 neyed one now, only that it being so hackneyed 
 proves how similarly we all pay alike the tribute 
 of earthly anguish, and it is always a consolatory 
 assurance that our amount of unhappiness is not 
 
 . (.;;... . .: * " I Promessi Sposi."
 
 240 VIOLET* 
 
 greater than that of most other people, and that 
 that which we feel, others have felt, and others 
 are to feel. 
 
 " Write to D'Arcy," cried Emily Norris one 
 day to her friend : the advice, if injudicious, was 
 not ill meant. Emily was really sorry to see the 
 impression D'Arcy's strange absence had made 
 upon Violet Woodville, but she was not asto- 
 nished at it. 
 
 " Impossible, Emily." 
 
 " I don't see that. His not coming near you 
 for so long is very extraordinary, and you have a 
 right to inquire the reason of it." 
 
 " How can you argue thus ? I have no right 
 of the sort. I feel deeply the singularity of his 
 conduct, and D'Arcy must know that, — but that 
 gives me no authority to write to him, and there 
 would be something in the act that I could not 
 bear." 
 
 " That ought to depend upon what you wrote ; 
 I am not counselling you to send a love-letter; 
 but, if you did, I am quite sure D'Arcy would be 
 at your feet in the next hour." 
 
 " Oh ! Emily." 
 
 "But just write him," continued Emily, "two 
 lines that might be published at Charing Cross,
 
 VIOLET. 241 
 
 — merely, that you are hurt at never seeing him, 
 and that you wish to explain why you behaved so 
 ill to him that night at the Opera/' 
 
 "Never ! — I never could. What would D'Arcy 
 think of me?" 
 
 "No harm, I tell you ag*ain, — I will answer for 
 it. It is not so much the things we do that sig- 
 nify, but the manner in which we do them. If 
 you wrote in the sort of way I advise you, D'Arcy 
 may think the better, but he cannot think the 
 worse of you for it.'' 
 
 " It never can be my place to write to him, 
 and the idea is shocking." 
 
 " Nonsense, you see things in a light of false 
 refinement. I am quite persuaded there's a 
 great deal of good about DArcy. I declare I 
 like him now, though I never used to do it. Do 
 you know there is something very picjuant about 
 D'Arcy?" pursued Emily Norris, in a half re- 
 verie. " He is very handsome ; liis eyes are 
 quite peculiar. I am not surprised you arc in 
 love with him, but I believe I have told you that 
 before, — I dare say I should, if he had made love 
 to me, but he never did. — I don't think he was 
 ever inclined to admire me, Avas he, Violet, eh .''" 
 
 " No," replied Violet, u ith naivete and absence, 
 "no, he never told me that he admired you." 
 
 VOL, I. M
 
 242 VIOLET. 
 
 " All ! I am not his style. Harcourt and 
 D'Arcy arc so different ; the same sort of person 
 never could please both those men. Oh, but 
 about your writing, — now do it J)ray, Violet, I 
 am sure you will not repent it; well, 3'ou will 
 think of it, will you ?" Emily went on for some 
 time, endeavouring to persuade Violet Wood- 
 ville to take the step she recommended, but un- 
 successfully ; however, in a day or two she 
 returned to the charge, and by doing so very 
 often she succeeded in making Violet less impe- 
 riously bent against it. 
 
 She was becoming quite miserable, and her 
 father and mother were sadly distressed, by wit- 
 nessing the change that took place in her spirits. 
 Mrs. Woodville grew cross under it. She could 
 not bear the want of her daughter's lovers, and 
 she seemed lo think she had a right to grumble, 
 as if the misfortune Avas more hers than her 
 daughter's. Poor Mr. Woodville felt far diffe- 
 rently, but he was more truly unhappy than his 
 wife. 
 
 The one who looked on with cooler judgment, 
 but with equal feeling, Avas the old dancing-master. 
 Each year, as he had grown older, so had he 
 become more attached to the Woodvilles ; and he 
 would have rejoiced in seeing Violet splendidly
 
 VIOLET. 243 
 
 married, — or honestly so, in her own class, and 
 pursuing her profession with an acknowledged 
 character. But now nothing of the sort seemed 
 likely to come to pass, and at the present moment 
 there was a mystery about her that he could not 
 fathom. One day when he was calling at the 
 Woodvilles he found that they were out, but 
 that Violet was not. He entered the sittina:- 
 room, and drew out of his pocket a Morning Post, 
 which he began to read. 
 
 Violet soon made her appearance. " My father," 
 she said, " is engaged at the Hanover Rooms, 
 and mamma is gone to Madame Centi's." 
 
 " Well but, Violet, it is always enough if I find 
 I can sec you ; only I wish you looked as happy 
 as you used to do once. Stay, what is this ?" and 
 M. Dupas was silent for a few minutes, while he 
 read something that had caught his eye in the 
 paper. 
 
 " What is it ?" Violet inquired. 
 
 " I am not sure," said M. Dupas, hesitatingly ; 
 "do you know what has become of Mr. d'Arcy, 
 lately, mon enfant ? ' 
 
 " No, I don't ; but do you know ? What is 
 it you are reading !" asked Violet, with intuitive 
 quickness, and her eye glanced at the Morning 
 Post. 
 
 m2
 
 244 VIOLET. 
 
 The newspapers slie sometimes obtained at her 
 father's house had of late become of imj)ortance 
 to her, not for the political intelligence they con- 
 tained, — no, but in the account of dinners : valu- 
 able and rare occurrences in the month of 
 September : in the list of names, she had now 
 and then espied D'Arcy's, and was not that 
 quite enough to invest every newspaper v/ith a 
 solid interest in her eyes ? 
 
 The eagerness of her countenance at once 
 induced her old friend to adopt the wise plan of 
 showing to what he was alluding, by simply 
 pointing to a paragraph, which ran as follows : — 
 
 "The Corsair sails on Tuesday, with Lord 
 Rockemorc and suite on board. Lady Eocke- 
 more and her eldest daughter, we understand, do 
 not accompany his lordship. We have reason to 
 believe George D'Arcy, Esq. intends forming 
 part of his lordship's suite for the present ; Mr. 
 d'Arcy leaves town to-morrow." 
 
 At this moment Miss Norris, on a visit to 
 Violet, bounded into the room, and this saved 
 the necessity of commenting upon the intelli- 
 gence of the Morning Post, both to M. Dupas 
 and herself. 
 
 The instant she was alone Avitli her friend, 
 Violet showed the paragraph, and burst into 
 tears.
 
 VIOLET. 245 
 
 "Write noAv, at once," exclaimed Emily, "there 
 is no time to be lost : his going may not be true ; 
 but for heaven s salce endeavour to learn v.hat it 
 is that is at the bottom of all this. It will lead 
 to nothing, only you will see him once again, 
 which you say is all you want." 
 
 "It is very true, I must see him again; but 
 what must I say ? Emily, do not comisel me to 
 do what is very foolish, — I would rather break 
 my heart than that he should think ill of me !" 
 
 "Nonsense: it all depends on what you write.'' 
 Emily snatched a pen : Violet felt so unhappy 
 that she hardly knew how to reason with herself. 
 The thought of having parted on such terms with 
 D'Arcy, and that she should perhaps never see 
 him more, was an irresistible idea Avhich over- 
 powered every other. Of late, too, she had been 
 accustoming herself to think that she had be- 
 haved ill to him, and that Lord Stanmore was 
 somehow mistaken in what he had said of him. 
 Be it as it might, D'Arcy 's influence, as the 
 D'Arcy she had found him, had been gradually 
 resuming its power. 
 
 It was so natural that a mind like hers should 
 return speedily to a state of love and confidence ; 
 opposite sentiments were so uncongenial to a na- 
 ture such as Violet's. She wrote then to D'Arcy,
 
 246 VIOLET. 
 
 There is no doubt that, under the same cir- 
 cumstances, another person, as sincerely upright, 
 but with education, even merely a worldly one, 
 would not have done as Violet Woodville now 
 did. She would have argued, that however 
 great D'Arcy's affection, still, as it was not an 
 honourable one, it must be left to the unpleasing 
 alternative he had appeared to adopt, (I am not 
 sure, though, that this reasoning would have 
 come from the very warmest heart in the world.) 
 
 " May I see you once again ? I am conscious 
 of being wrong in making the request, but I own 
 I am very unhappy at thinking when we last met 
 we were not friends. Believe only this, and then 
 you will excuse my addressing you." Such was 
 the letter Violet consented to write to D' Arc3^ It 
 was sealed, directed, and, under Emily's auspices, 
 sent to its destination by means of that most con- 
 venient of all Mercuries, the Twopenny-post. 
 
 That Violet instantly regretted what she had 
 done, Avhen it was too late to be undone, is so 
 exactly what everybody else feels Avhen they think 
 they have themselves been venturing to interfere 
 with the course of their own destiny, that there is 
 no use in enlarging upon the fact. 
 
 How poor Violet's heart beat the whole of that 
 clay and the next morning ! She did not know
 
 VIOLET. 247 
 
 whether D'Arcy would reply to her by commg or 
 by writing. She did not know whether he would 
 do either ; she could not be certain he was yet in 
 town, so as to get her letter. No wonder, then, 
 that during twenty-four hours she nearly died 
 under a palpitation of the heart, svich as most of 
 us haA'c suffered from during hours of anxious 
 expectation. 
 
 About three o'clock in the afternoon Mrs. 
 Hummings entered the usual sitting-room, but 
 it was not clear why she showed herself jNIrs. 
 Woodville was Avriting, and Violet was picking 
 the irold off the skirt of a Sultana s robe, her 
 mamma having the intention of turning it into a 
 lining for some other garment she was in ima- 
 gination contemplating. 
 
 " Only come to see about the fire, Mam. You 
 have not told me which gown I am to prepare," 
 said Hummings, then addressing Violet. 
 
 " Oh, directly I will show you, Huminings." 
 
 " No, no ; pray go on with that now," cried 
 Mrs. Woodville ; " that will do about your gown 
 another time. Brush up the hcartli, Hummings, 
 and then go, and don't interrupt me again." 
 Hummings was obliged to obey, and Violet was 
 obliged to sit still. 
 
 '' Bless me, what do I see ! " cried Mrs. Wood-
 
 248 VIOLET. 
 
 villc, suddenly taldng the work out of her daugh- 
 ter's hands ; " j'ou have sewn the skh't up a 
 second time, a,fter undoing it once ! " 
 
 " Heavens ! " responded Violet, astounded at 
 her own performance, 
 
 " And that wrong-side out, too ! ! What are 
 you thinking of? " Mrs. AVoodville said nothing 
 more than this home question ; she did not like to 
 be very angry, and Violet presently foimd means 
 to escape from the room. 
 
 " Hinumings ! " Hummings heard. " My 
 gown," Violet began, by way of excuse, but she 
 could not finish her sentence; she could only 
 grasp an enclosed note, in a hand writing Avhich 
 as yet remained unknown! to her, and which Mrs. 
 Hvunmings held out. She read, 
 
 " Will you meet me to-morrows at the usual 
 hour, in the Gardeiis? Have no fear, I never 
 can think ill of you. — Yours, G. D." 
 
 AVhat happiness ! Poor Violet was so intensely 
 happy on receiving this note, that in her joy she 
 threw herself on her knees and thanked heaven. 
 Then she read it over and over again, and gazed 
 at the hand-writing, and kissed it. But it is true, 
 in many cases besides this, that not all tlie manu- 
 scripts in the British Museum can ever have been 
 half so prized as only one little line, written by a
 
 VIOLET. 249 
 
 being that wc love. The paper and the writing 
 are almost sacred, and they bear with them a 
 prestige, which time may add to, bvit which it 
 cannot destroy, — and few, indeed, are the objects, 
 even material or substantial, over which time has 
 no power. For what feelings does it not annihi- 
 late, and wdiat affections does it not impair ? 
 What events can it not obliterate, or at least 
 deaden the remembrance of? But the hand- 
 ■\vriting of one we have sincerely loved acts as a 
 talisman while we live, conjuring up so many 
 feelings that it bewilders us ; and with the con- 
 viction that the indulgence of such reminiscences 
 too strongly disturb the even current of every-day 
 life, we re- deposit the writing Avhose spell is so 
 potent, and dread alike the pleasure and the pain 
 of falling again under its influence. 
 
 M 3
 
 ( 250 ) 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Dim not the starry diamond's lustrous blaze ; 
 
 Eob not the floweret of its balmy odour, 
 
 Nor clip the wing that would have soared to heaven. 
 
 Oh, let my heart's deep anguish plead to thee, 
 
 With more than mortal eloquence, appealing 
 
 To all the better feelings of the soul, 
 
 The nobler attributes which God has given, 
 
 To raise us from the devils we resemble. 
 
 Old Pl\y. 
 
 It is necessary, for the reader's comprehension of 
 our story in its present stage, to return to that 
 night at the Opera when Lord Stanmore joined 
 the Woodvillcs there, and, on that occasion, al- 
 lowed his violence to get the better of his judg- 
 ment. 
 
 Lord Stanmore was one of those characters 
 Avhose goodness is developed by prosperity, and 
 on which the frowns of fortune have a contrary 
 effect. There can be no doubt of his extreme 
 love for Aaolct Woodville ; and when he talked of 
 having thought of her as his wife, he did not ex- 
 aggerate. It is fair to him to say, that perhaps
 
 VIOLET. 251 
 
 no other person in her situation would have in- 
 spired him with the same feelings. He had a 
 high sense of worldly morality, and a keen one 
 of the nicest honour. He had been spoiled 
 hitherto, and he might have said, with Madame 
 Montpensier, that his good qualities were all his 
 own. He had not been less dissipated than most 
 of his class are in this country, but his heart re- 
 mained uncoiTupted. There was a certain me- 
 lancholy interwoven with his disposition, which 
 had softened his mind without making it more 
 impressionable ; it only tended to give to his 
 affections a greater degree of refinement, and to 
 render him more alive to the wounds to which 
 our feelings are ever subject. 
 
 I am always inclined to think, that the senti- 
 ments of men may be deeper than those of women. 
 I know the ladies dispute this, and claim all the 
 griefs of the heart as exclusively their own. 
 I do not know why they are so eager for this 
 monopoly ; but any reasoning with them upon 
 the point is, I have remarked, generally treated 
 with contempt ; and, almost invariably, they stea- 
 dily adhere to the notion that the hearts of the 
 male sex are more flinty than theirs, and that 
 they do not suffer mentally as keenly as the fair 
 Eves of the creation. But is it not reasonable
 
 252 VIOLET. 
 
 to conceive, that as the strength of men is greater, 
 and then- power of action more enlarged, their 
 feelings should be likewise in proportion ? It 
 should seem, that if this were not the case, the 
 lever would be wanting to complete the nature of 
 their being, and when a man has the power to 
 face the danger that a woman turns from, the 
 same force that supports him then, it is reason- 
 able to suppose, will be applied to all the circum- 
 stances of his life. Be assured, my lady reader, 
 the sentiments of men arc, to the full, as deep as 
 woman's, but then, as their moral energy is greater, 
 their hearts will withstand that which would break 
 a woman's. 
 
 A girl under the load of misery Avhich oppres- 
 sed Lord Stanmore, as he left the Opera on the 
 night we have recurred to, would, in many cases, 
 have committed suicide ; the idea never occurred 
 to the young peer, — but still he felt wretched. 
 Undoubtedly it is a great agony to love entirely, 
 and to find another possesses the heart you would 
 have rendered up life to have been blessed with, 
 even for a moment. For the time, a blighting 
 anguish ruled the spirit of the unhappy lover. 
 
 He pursued his way along the streets alone, as 
 ■sve can be in the midst of people, and felt the 
 dreary hopelessness of a heart bursting and irri-
 
 VIOLET. 253 
 
 tated; and, as the vision of Violet Woodville rose 
 ever before him, he ahnost cursed the Providence 
 which had given him all things except that, which, 
 to his passion, seemed the one thing needful. 
 Originally, Lord Stanmore felt certain of having 
 obtained Violet Woodville's preference, at least 
 he was not prepared to find that this was to be 
 the beginning and the end ; neither, till now, did 
 he know the force of his own love. It was only 
 of late, when he looked round him, and compared 
 this young girl with the rest of those who aimed 
 at winning his fortune and his affection, that he 
 felt aware that to him she was the phoenix ; — all 
 were so worldly, or so cold; so vain, or so unin- 
 teresting. There was not one of the Almack's 
 beauties, married or single, that could rival 
 Violet. He thought of every virtue she posses- 
 sed, and of every charm that appeared to be one 
 in his eyes, and, when he had done, his heart 
 was breaking still, — for it loved ; and reason, 
 and the fullness of despair, were alike in vain 
 against that earthly spell. 
 
 A hopeless passion, and the consciousness of a 
 rival being preferred, are heavy to bear ; and, in 
 exulting youth, when prosperity is the glass be- 
 hind and before us, then, indeed, it is a lesson 
 learnt that lasts.
 
 254 VIOLET. 
 
 " Aimer 1 parole triste, insultante ironie, 
 Pour qui vit un matin, 
 Mot fatal, et qui n'a d'echo dans cette vie 
 D'amertume et dedain. 
 
 " Ah ! choisir une femme, et creer autour d'elle 
 Tuut un monde enchante, 
 Et vouloir seulement, pour la faire immortelle, 
 Une immortalite. 
 
 " A ses moindres discours suspendre tout son etre. 
 Emu d'un doux espoir, 
 Et mourir tout le jour, helas ! a se promettre 
 Un sourire le soir. 
 
 '■■ Et lorsque ce regard que le regard mendie 
 On n'a pu Tobtenir, 
 Sentir avec terreur a I'ame aneantie 
 Echapper I'avenir I 
 
 '•' A la vie, ou bonheur, dans sa douleur farouche 
 Jeter un morne adieu, 
 Tomber a deux genoux, le front centre sa couche, 
 Et s'ecrier ' Mon Dieu ! 
 
 '•' Au lieu de les laisser I'un sur I'autre descendre 
 Si pesans a mon ccEur, 
 Mon Dieu ! ne pouvez-vous ensemble les reprendre 
 Tons ces jours de malheurs ! ' 
 
 " Epuiser ces tourmens qu'en ce monde ou nous sommes 
 On ne pent exprimer, 
 Lentement en mourir. . . . dans la langue des hommes 
 Cela s'appelle aimer." 
 
 La vie Intime, Poesies de A. Latour. 
 
 The French poet must have loved, or he could 
 never have Avritten these touching lines. 
 
 Other reflections started up to harass the mind 
 of Lord Stanmore. How had he acted with 
 respect to D'Arcy ? Was it purely for Violet's 
 sake that he had this night betrayed his friend.
 
 VIOLET. 255 
 
 and had not jealousy urged him to treachery? 
 But was it deserving siich a name ? Was it not 
 fair that merely as her friend he should warn her 
 against the love of one like D'Arcy ! indifferent, 
 as he considered him, alike to her ruin and his 
 wretchedness. "It was most base of him, and 
 I have done right," exclaimed Lord Stanmore, 
 and as he spoke, his mind's truth denied the 
 inference. 
 
 He had reached his own home, and the grey 
 light of the morning was coming in at the 
 window. Lord Stanmore had opened it, that he 
 might breathe, for he felt almost as if he had not 
 the power. 
 
 The clock struck four. The sound of the strik- 
 ing appeared to give him a resolution, which he 
 hastened to execute. He left his house and went 
 to D'Arcy"s lodgings. He knocked two or three 
 times without receiving admittance. At length 
 tlic landlady's head, in a night-cap, and a bonnet, 
 by way of shading the delicate nature of her 
 coiffure, appeared through tlie half-opened door. 
 
 "Is Mr. tVArcy at home?" inquired Lord 
 Stanmore. 
 
 The landlady stated that she did not know, 
 but she believed not ; ^Ir. dArcy had a key to 
 let himself in at Avhatcver time he liked. Wild,
 
 256 VIOLET. 
 
 for he was almost so. Lord Stanmorc flew past 
 the mistress of tlie house, and threw open the 
 door of D'Arcy's apartments. He passed the first 
 room into that in which he slept, and convinced 
 himself that D'Arcy was indeed not at home. 
 
 The landlady followed him, and looked very 
 cross : however, she knew Lord Stanmore by 
 sight, and she condescended to hand him a lamp 
 which stood in the passage, and pointed to the 
 candies, which were on a buhl table ; and told 
 Lord Stanmore to replace the lamp when he had 
 lighted the candles, that Mr. d'Arcy might not 
 break his neck when he did come in. She then 
 retired. 
 
 Lord Stanmore threw himself upon a couch. 
 With one foot he kicked on the floor a knife- 
 cutter, and a volume of ' Paul de Koch,' and with 
 the other, one of ' Sand ;' the reader's place being 
 retained by the insertion of some small and 
 tumbled notes, written on coloured paper. 
 Alike lost in his reflections, and agitated by 
 them. Lord Stanmore was only disturbed, at last, 
 by a tired cabriolet driving up to the house door, 
 which was presently unlocked ; and D'Arcy's 
 voice was heard giving directions to his servant 
 for the following afternoon. D'Arcy mounted 
 the stairs with a fatigued step, and threw open
 
 VIOLET. 257 
 
 the door of his sitting room. He looked pale 
 and out of temper, as he cast his cloak, his hat, 
 and his gloves on the floor, and he started 
 with evident annoyance at the sight of Lord 
 Stan more. 
 
 *' Stanmore !"' he exclaimed. 
 
 "Yes," said the other, making an effort with 
 himself; " doubtless you are surprised to see me 
 here. I suppose, I ought to apologise, but I 
 must speak to you, — till I have done so, I cannot 
 rest." 
 
 D'Arcy bovv^ed in acquiescence, but his coun- 
 tenance expressed any thing but pleasure. He 
 looked ill, besides, and worn out. However he 
 pushed a chair into its place, and seated himself; 
 then leaning his head, with his arms upon the 
 table, he placed himself in a listening attitude for 
 Lord Stanmore's communication. 
 
 An observer of human nature, a minute ob- 
 server, would have made a study of the character 
 of these two young men from their countenances 
 and demeanour at this moment. The light was 
 so placed as to fall exactly upon the faces of both, 
 while the greater part of the room itself was 
 almost obscured. 
 
 Lord Stanmore v/as at all times handsome, but 
 for a man who until now had known no care, he
 
 258 VIOLET. 
 
 had an habitually melancholy expression. We 
 have said before that his character was tinged 
 with it ; now, however, it clouded his face, while 
 the swollen lip and gloomy eye gave a sure 
 index of strong mental irritation, and in his 
 manner of speaking there was something indi- 
 cative of the nervousness of a delicate mind, 
 wrought upon by the violence of passion. He 
 flushed as he spoke, and the gloom at intervals 
 gave way to flashes of fever lighting up his eye. 
 He leaned against the back of the sofa, as if 
 he tried to obtain self-possession by his bodily 
 repose. 
 
 D'Arcy exhibited a different character : his 
 countenance scarcely betrayed his mind; his 
 features had much play, but they were strictly 
 under command. There was not the same 
 candour evinced by them, or, perhaps, D'Arcy's 
 was a more worn countenance, — one as if it had 
 lived to be the index of so many feelings, that 
 it disdained to disclose them now. There was 
 something very fine nevertheless in his brow, and 
 altogether if you were inclined to distrust the 
 man, it would not be for a small stake ; and if 
 there was any thing villanous about him, 
 Schiller's description might be given of it: ''Die 
 Schande nimmt ab mit dem wachsenden Siinde."
 
 VIOLET. 259 
 
 But D'Arcy was harassed, and out of humour ; we 
 have no right to quote Schiller because a man 
 looks ill, and finds his house disas^reeably invaded 
 at five in the morning. D'Arcy was always hand- 
 some, but yet he did not always look so. The 
 more he was known, the handsomer he was con- 
 sidered, but he did not universally please, never- 
 theless, because his cold and somewhat sardonic 
 expression was apt to offend, before he felt a 
 wish to please. When he aimed at doing so, he 
 never failed. 
 
 "I have seen the Woodvilles to-night," said 
 Lord Stanmore, abruptly. 
 
 " So have I," replied D'Arcy. 
 
 Lord Stanmore continued, without heeding the 
 interruption, " and I have done all I can to 
 prevent that young girl falling a prey to you. 
 I know you well, D'Arcy, and for once in my life 
 I choose to tell you, that I consider that you are 
 behaving ill, — shamefully ill !" 
 
 "What do you mean?" cried D'Arcy, looking 
 up in displeased astonishment. 
 
 " What I say ! — that I have warned Violet 
 Woodville against you, — that I have told her 
 your heart is professedly another woman's, and I 
 have supplicated her not to become the mistress 
 of George D'Arcy !"
 
 2G0 VIOLET. 
 
 D'Arcy coloured, and started from his cliair; 
 while he exclaimed in a tone of passion : " I 
 should like to know what has given you the right 
 to interfere thus in my concerns ? Not our friend- 
 ship, certainly." 
 
 "I will tell you why; Lccause I loved her, — 
 because I loved Violet Woodville, and, therefore, 
 I did not choose to see her crushed by you ; and, 
 let me tell you, if you had had the small- 
 est portion of generosity in your soul, — you 
 would have hesitated in your determination to 
 seduce so sweet a creature. You know her, and, 
 therefore, you have not to learn that she is one so 
 faultless that no one hut a villain could success- 
 fvdly act the part you seek to play !" 
 
 "And yourself?" cried D'Arcy, sternly and in- 
 terrogatively. 
 
 "Ko," answered Lord Stanmore v.ith firmness ;' 
 " no, I have tried — I may have wished it once ; 
 hut as I have learnt to know her infinite purity, 
 I have shrunk from a pursuit become, I tliink, 
 dishonourable, when the object is one so much 
 too worthy. However, I am convinced I had no 
 chance of succeeding. She does not love ine, 
 but you have power over her, for you she does 
 love. Use this power as you may, D'Arcy, and 
 I say you are a villain !"
 
 VIOLET. 261 
 
 " Are you come here at five in the morning to 
 pick a quarrel with me. Lord Stanmore ?" 
 
 " I am not; but that is as you choose." 
 
 " You well know," said D'Arcy, " that one man 
 has no pretext for addressing another as you 
 have addressed me. I was not aware," he con- 
 tinued, his countenance assuming the withering 
 coldness which made it at times almost hateful, 
 " I was not aware that you were so very warm 
 an admirer of Miss Woodville. Am I to under- 
 stand by this tirade that your views are simply 
 Platonic, or that I have interfered most unfortu- 
 nately with a matrimonial speculation of your 
 lordship's ?" 
 
 Lord Stanmorc's colour rose as he rephed, '• I 
 neither regard your rage nor your cold-blooded 
 sneers. What I do consider is that poor girl 
 who believes in vour attachment, and who may 
 be ruined by the excessive art of one who ac- 
 tually does not care for her!"' 
 
 " And you have cared." said D'Arcy, tauntingly. 
 
 *■ I have — there you are right ; and I think it 
 was not the office of a friend to supplant me 
 where he knew I should most feel it." 
 
 •■ Neither was it the office of a friend to go 
 and basely betray my errors, out of jealousy.
 
 262 VIOLET. 
 
 to one whom you yourself allow to have pre- 
 ferred me." 
 
 " You are not my friend," said Lord Stanmore, 
 hastily ; " that is past. All I aim at now is, if 
 possible, to preserve a being whom I have adored, 
 and whose guileless character has made an im- 
 pression on me which her beauty could not have 
 done. Yes, D'Arcy, I love her ; and if yovi had 
 not come like a devil between me and my hap- 
 piness, she would have been happy too ; for if it 
 had not been for you, Violet Woodville would 
 have loved me ; — and proclaim it to the world if 
 you choose. I would have made her my wife ; 
 and do you think that now I will sit tamely by, 
 and witness your false professions of affection, 
 in return for Avhich that innocent one will barter 
 her Avhole existence ? and, instead of my wife, 
 see her be, some day, your neglected mistress ? 
 The blessed alternative you will have brought 
 her to ! Do you think, I say, I would stand by 
 and know all this, and not warn her of the fate 
 that hangs over her ?" 
 
 While Lord Stanmore spoke, D'Arcy's coun- 
 tenance changed; he appeared to reflect, and at 
 length he slowly exclaimed in a softened tone, 
 " And you have loved her even unto this !"
 
 VIOLET. 263 
 
 " And you have brought me even unto this 1" 
 rejomed Lord Stanmore. 
 
 " Allow me to observe one thmg," said D'Arcy 
 quickly. " Admitting your right to interfere to 
 save" — and D'Arcy resumed the tone of irony — 
 '•'admitting your right to do that if you could, 
 most decidedly you had none to inform her of 
 what you could not know to be true. Why did 
 you tell her that I made false love to her?" 
 
 " Your attachment to another woman is a fact 
 so glaringly known to all London, that I am only 
 glad to be the first, and not the second, or third, 
 or twentieth person who will tell her as much, 
 perhaps when it is too late. Be assured, D'Arcy, 
 that had your infidelity taken any other direction, 
 I am the last man to trouble myself with any- 
 thing that so little concerned me." 
 
 " My private aiFairs seem better known to you 
 than it can be said that I ever made them — I 
 have permitted no confidant." 
 
 '- There arc some liaisons too glaring to be a 
 secret to any one." 
 
 " At all events, you could not tell the measure 
 of my affection for that person or any other ; and 
 could not, with justice, stigmatise my declarations 
 as false, be they made to whom it so pleased me." 
 
 "The lady is too young and too handsome.
 
 264 TIOLET. 
 
 otherwise the Avorld might have surmised you 
 were indifferent Avhile she was devoted/' an- 
 swered Lord Stanmore coldly. 
 
 " This comes of her folly in letting it be seen," 
 said D'Arcy, passionately, and as if thinking 
 aloud. 
 
 " I am surprised, D'Arcy," observed Lord Stan- 
 more, " that, lax as you are, and even with your 
 principles, your heart does not fail at the thought 
 of seducing that poor girl. Most men have some 
 compunction when they fall in with so artless and 
 so perfect a creature ; for I conckide," continued 
 Lord Stanmore, with a piercing look of inquiry, 
 '• that your opinion of her is as good as my 
 own." 
 
 " On my word it is ; and I am astonished that 
 you think I should be able to seduce her." 
 
 " God forbid it !" said Lord Stanmore, burying 
 his face in his hands, as if the reflection was too 
 much to bear ; and such, in fact, he felt it. It is 
 probable that D'Arcy saw the emotion of Lord 
 Stanmore, for his bearing ceased to be harsh, and 
 when he spoke again it was deliberately. 
 
 " 1 wished," said Lord Stanmore, " to tell you 
 that, in future, I shall do all I can to save her 
 from you, as I would from any other man whom I 
 thought she was in danger from. I would not
 
 VIOLET. 265 
 
 now, as I before said, seduce Violet Woodville, 
 if I could, and I would have married her, I 
 repeat." 
 
 " And why not still ?" 
 
 " Still ! No, she loves another, and half lier 
 charm is gone, in my eyes, as a wife." 
 
 "Your behaviour is highly chivalrous, Stan- 
 more,'' replied D'Arcy, indulging in a slight 
 sneer ; " doubtless it would have its due effect 
 upon Violet ; but," added he, more gravely, " if 
 all you say is true, I regret the past. I had no 
 idea you thought of marrying, and, I must tell 
 you, when I first fell in love I did not discover 
 any reason for supposing I was supplanting you, 
 in her affection, at least I never thouijht she 
 cared seriously for you; and, if you remember, I 
 told you, the first day we met after you had been 
 to Brighton, that I had fallen in love with Violet 
 Woodville. With regard to you, I positively feel 
 that I have nothing to reproach myself with : I 
 wish I could say as much with respect to her. 
 But, if I have deprived Miss Woodville of an 
 affection Avhich was to prove of such advantage, I 
 must endure regret all my life." 
 
 D'Arcy paused, he looked paler, and when he 
 resumed speaking, it was with rather a nervous 
 voice. 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 VIOLET. 
 
 " I will retire," he said. " and I Avill leave you 
 master of the field, to which I feel you have a 
 better claim.'' 
 
 " If this conviction is your only motive for so 
 doing, spare yourself the trouble of naming- it," 
 said Lord Stanmore. " for I am no longer think- 
 ing of proposing to Miss Woodville, if you allude 
 to that ; I merely wish by common means to pre- 
 vent her future disgrace." 
 
 " Your words arc wonderfully contradictory," 
 replied D'Arcy, with asperity ; " in one breath 
 you talk of Violet Woodville's high-flown cha- 
 racter, and in the next as if her salvation only 
 depended on your most arduous efforts. How- 
 ever, my resolution is equally taken. On the 
 whole, all that has passed is, perhaps, for the 
 best. She is, indeed, too good to become the 
 mistress of any man, and, what is more, I do not 
 think I could ever have made her mine, even if 
 she liked me as much as you say she does, but 
 which I doubt. Now, listen : — I am going to 
 leave town, and shortly England, and I will have 
 nothing further to say to the Woodvilles, unless, 
 indeed, Violet herself should be the person to 
 recall me : that is a temptation I could not stand. 
 We both know enough of her to be certain it 
 is a most improbable one. You are now satis-
 
 VIOLET. 2G7 
 
 fiecl, T presume, — and I am tired," said D'Arcy, 
 putting his hand to his forehead. 
 
 Lord Stanmore rose, and muttered something, 
 Avhich was not distinct, as he took his hat and 
 quitted the apartment. 
 
 Wlien he was gone, D'Arcy sat with his folded 
 arms upon the table. He seemed lost in his own 
 thoughts, and it was a deep sense of bodily 
 fatigue that roused him at last, and then the 
 single lamp was going out. He threw himself 
 on his bed, but it was long before he slept, and, 
 in the meantime, the morning was growing old. 
 
 It does not always answer to analyze the mo- 
 tives of action, — they are among the mysteries 
 of our being, and are not seldom incomprehen- 
 sible. Certain it is that there are times when a 
 noble mind has the lowest level, and a hardened 
 heart its moments of glorious aspirations. Is it 
 for us to say that heart is irreclaimable ? The 
 inconsistencies which dignify or debase our na- 
 ture have become a barrier into which the 
 searchings of reasoning cannot penetrate. The 
 bad and the good get so commingled, that we 
 lose the one when we would separate it from the 
 other. In some one individual act, perhaps, the 
 good predominates unalloyed, but, even then, it 
 may have been the impulse of a moment, and the 
 
 n2
 
 2»!38 VIOLET. 
 
 solely estimable point in an ill-regulated and un- 
 principled disposition ; whereas a well-ordered 
 character is never carried out of its equipoise. 
 Such an one has not the struggles of beino- ex- 
 tremely virtuous. These fall to the lot of the 
 feeble or the vicious, when the better principle 
 conquers ; we should, therefore, admire, without 
 striving to penetrate all the unknown springs 
 which have influenced the action. Wc will only 
 remember that, while the good may play the hy- 
 pocrite unto themselves Mhen they are greatly 
 righteous, he who greatly sins will yet despise 
 self-deceit when he aims at duty. The good ac- 
 tions of a bad man are sometimes performed with 
 more humility than those of the saints of this 
 earth : there is often a simplicity in the vir- 
 tuous deeds of a sinner, and, strange to say, as 
 if their worth was only unappreciated by them- 
 selves. I am not talking of the Publicans and 
 the Pharisees of the world. I mean to refer only 
 to the upright amongst us, and the purer in 
 deeds, and to those whose vice is the deeper be- 
 cause they have not cared to find it vice, and 
 who sin and like it, and see not Avhy they should 
 not. I mean no sneer at goodness, — I mean no 
 base allusion to the possible hypocrisy of virtue. 
 The heart must be bad that would love to detract
 
 VIOLET. 269 
 
 from goodness ; but a lesson may be learnt, if it is 
 true that the pride of the good is developed 
 when the humility of the wicked is so likewise. 
 
 I do not know what has suy-ji^ested these re- 
 flections : if the reader thinks D'Arcy has given 
 rise to them, he is at liberty to think so ; but I do 
 not say so. 
 
 D'Arcy kept his promise, such as he gave it, 
 to Lord Stanmore, and, whatever feelings or mo- 
 tives induced him to give it, — if they were good, 
 or if the effort cost him dearly, — he told no one, 
 for that was not his way ; and, besides, D'Arcy 
 knew better than most men the infinite compas- 
 sion we have for our own bosom's woes, and the 
 infinite contempt and the slender pity we feel 
 for those of all other people.
 
 ( 270 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 " A something all-sufficient for the heart 
 
 Is that for which the sex are always seeking; 
 But how to fill up that same vacant part? 
 
 There lies the rub — and this they are but weak in. 
 Frail mariners afloat, without a chart, 
 They run before the wind, through high seas breaking ; 
 And when they have made the shore through every shock, 
 'Tis odd, or odds, it may turn out a rock." 
 
 Byron. 
 
 D'Arcy could not go out of toAvn, as he told 
 Lord Stanmorc he should, and as he had in- 
 tended : business obliged him to remain. 
 
 Lord Stanmore, meamvhile, returned to his 
 mother, and D'Arcy, as he himself thought, was 
 within a fortnight of going abroad, at the very 
 time Avhen Violet Woodville wrote to him, and 
 that the ' Morning Post,' -svith the usual accuracy 
 of a newspaper, announced his departure for the 
 next day. 
 
 D'Arcy was too acute a judge of human nature 
 to be misled by Violet's letter. He only saw in 
 it a proof of her soft and sweet character. But 
 she did not know this, and when she wrote to
 
 VIOLET. 271 
 
 D'Arcy she Avas oppressed with shame. He re- 
 assured her when they met, and then it was she 
 wept with joy. 
 
 D'Arcy was touched. "You love me, then?" 
 said he. 
 
 " Yes," answered a low voice that tears were 
 stifling. 
 
 D'Arcy sighed. Strange, perhaps, to say, but 
 not to feel, Violet had not asked as yet for any 
 explanation ; neither had D'Arcy volunteered it : 
 she seemed too happy ; for hers was love indeed 
 — the love that cannot remember a fault, when 
 the object is in its presence. 
 
 " Love is not Love, 
 Which alters when it alteration finds, 
 Or bends with the remover to remove: 
 Oh, no ! it is an ever fixed mark, 
 That looks on tempests, and yet is not shaken; 
 It is the star of every wandering bark, 
 Whose worth's unknown altho' his height he taken."' 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 At length, however, D'Arcy told Violet of the 
 promise of not seeing her again, which Lord 
 Stanmore had obtained from him. 
 
 " He also told me of the information he had 
 given against me. I kept my word with Stan- 
 more ; and, after all he had been so good as to 
 say, I concluded you would soon forget, and, pro- 
 bably, despise me. If I ever was generous, or
 
 272 VIOLET. 
 
 better tlian I knew myself to be, it has been 
 lately, while I have undergone this ordeal, and 
 attempted nothing in my own favour." 
 
 " But was it not true ? — Is it false ?" 
 
 "What, Violet?" 
 
 " That you love some one I do not know ?" 
 
 " False ! Oh, yes, but not that the world be- 
 lieves I do." 
 
 " Oh, Heavens !" exclaimed Violet, turning 
 very pale ; " I understand your evasion, Mr. 
 d'Arcy — leave me ! " and she resolutely stood 
 still. 
 
 " My sincerity has then lost me your esteem ?" 
 
 " Esteem ! I did not think you could have 
 deceived me thus." 
 
 " Listen to me — nay, do you must ! You 
 
 have not heard me ; in fairness you must listen 
 to mc. What, then, have I done ? I have de- 
 clared I loved you as I loved no other: and I 
 declare it still." 
 
 •' Then you are highly treacherous to another 
 person." 
 
 " No, I am not ; nothing should induce me to 
 take so much pains to deceive any one : had I 
 the inclination, believe me, I have not the time," 
 said D'Arcy, half snecringly, half earnestly. 
 
 " The time ! — are you now laughing at me.
 
 VIOLET. 273 
 
 Mr. d'Arcy ?" exclaimed his companion, Avhile the 
 tears rose to her eyes. 
 
 " At you ? Oh, never ! — but what I say is the 
 fact." 
 
 " Then some one must have been as much mis- 
 led as to your affection for her as I have been. 
 I concluded that it was an error of Lord Stan- 
 more's — a mistake ; I was foolish to think so. 
 Lord Stanmore could not have been wTong." 
 
 " You can then so easily believe me to be all 
 that is contemptible ?" replied D'Arcy. 
 
 " I do," answered Miss Woodville, as she again 
 signified her wish that D'Arcy should leave her. 
 Her cheek was deeply coloured, and her lip 
 trembled. D'Arcy looked anxiously to seek 
 compassion in her e^-es — 
 
 " Eyes so pure, that from their ray- 
 Dark vice would turu abashed away." 
 
 " Violet!" he exclaimed, with emotion, " what 
 i have said is the truth ; I have not deceived you 
 or any one else : can you not conceive that it is 
 impossible for me to compromise a lady Avhosc 
 name the busy tongue of scandal has already 
 connected too much with mine? Even to you 
 there are things I ought not to betray.. But if 
 you are willing to put faith in me, do it not by 
 
 n3
 
 274 VIOLET. 
 
 halves. 1 have declared I never will be insm- 
 ccre with you. I have been so with others — with 
 many ; but you are worthy of my better feelings ; 
 you have inspired them, I should rather say : I 
 pledge you my Avord — and that I have never 
 broken (even to a woman) — that I have not 
 deceived you or any one else ; and that I loved 
 and love you better than all I have met Avith in 
 this created Avorld. Ah, Violet! if you knew me, 
 you Avould believe me. If you knew me as I 
 knoAV myself, you might esteem me less, but still 
 you AA'ould belicA^e me." 
 
 " But you give no explanation, and Avhat am I 
 to think ? A lady Avould not place herself — her 
 character, at the mercy of every one, if at least 
 she Avas not led on by the strongest belief in 
 your affection ?" 
 
 " The ungoA'crned mind of an ill-educated 
 woman, under no personal control, may lead to 
 anything. It is a character I have a horror of! 
 — but not later than to-morroAV I Avill put an end 
 to a connexion AA'hich gives me no pleasure, and 
 Avhich may bring disgrace upon one unfortunate 
 person, and misery upon another. Are you satis- 
 fied, Violet? Then look at this." D'Arcy drew 
 
 a letter from his Avaistcoat pocket. It Avas di- 
 rected to him, and in a woman's hand. " There ;
 
 VIOLET. 275 
 
 read tlie first lines of this, and sa}" if they do not 
 confirm what I have told you." 
 
 Violet read while D'Arcy held the letter. 
 
 " I knew I never had your love — you never 
 flattered me with pretending- that I had; but 
 your compassion and forbearance " 
 
 This was all that D'Arcy thovight it necessary 
 that Violet should read. 
 
 " There exist strange people," she exclaimed, 
 Avhile D'Arcy folded up the letter; " but this 
 lady must be lost to everything. Oh, Mr. d'Arcy, 
 she must be out of her senses ; have pity upon 
 her, whoever she is, and point out to her the 
 sadness of her conduct. Is she a young lady or 
 a Avidow ?" 
 
 " Neither," answered D'Arcy, laughing ; " she 
 is married, and to the very best of stupid men, I 
 believe." 
 
 " Her husband alive ?" 
 
 " Dearest ! I assure you, husbands don't die so 
 easily;" and D'Arcy laughed on in spite of him- 
 self, even while he breathed the influence of 
 Violet Woodville's innocent character. 
 
 " Oh, if you knew how I love you !" said 
 D'Arcy, fondly ; " there is such a charm in every 
 word you utter. What 1 would give to be able 
 .0 live my life over again, and in the early part
 
 27G VIOLET. 
 
 of it to have met with you ! I am sure I should 
 have been better than I am now ; I am convinced 
 my destiny is linked with yours ; I do not know 
 how, but I have a strange presentiment of un- 
 happiness comes over me ; without you I cannot 
 live, and united to you, misery would attend both 
 of us. I am not good enough for the difficult 
 position a marriage Avith you would place me in ; 
 I have no fortune, but while I exist my spirit 
 will cling to yours : and the other day, as I sat 
 alone and thought of you, I half dreamt — it must 
 have been a dream — tliat my death and yours 
 would be at the same time. I felt a strange 
 pleasure in the idea. If I could not live with 
 you, it would be an exquisite thing to die with 
 you. Violet, would you die with me ?" 
 " Yes !" 
 
 "She tuins and speaks; her voice is far, 
 Far above singing I" 
 
 "Dearest!" said D'Arcy, softl}^ lost in the 
 emotion of his own happiness at the conviction 
 he felt of being so completely loved, — and they 
 continued for some minutes in silence. 
 
 " Joy like his, like hers, 
 Deals not in words." 
 
 For it was joy, the pure and rapturous joy, of
 
 VIOLET. 277 
 
 affection in its best, its tenderest, and, above all, 
 its purest moments. Everything is more ecstatic 
 when it approaches Heaven, and love has its divi- 
 nity, but it is only during one short moment, 
 when itself can be forgotten, — 
 
 "Ami even the spirit of man is divine.*' 
 
 " And now I must again say this, Violet," re- 
 sumed D'Arcy, " that when I promised Stanmore 
 to give you up, it was the most virtuous act of 
 my whole life. Had I loved you one atom less, 
 or had you been less perfect in my eyes, I could 
 have abjured the idea, and while I had the power 
 I would have pursued you till I acted differently, 
 far differently, from the way I have done," con- 
 tinued he, faintly smiling ; " but I loved so much 
 that for once I was not selfish ; and yet now you 
 shall not have to reproach me for everything. I 
 fancy you could marry Stanmore, Violet ; do so, 
 and forget me !" 
 
 *' Never, Mr. d'Arcy," replied Violet Wood- 
 ville, eagerly. 
 
 " And why not ? Attend to me while I have 
 the courage to utter the words. You do wrong, 
 my darling one : he is excellent, and you are 
 worthy of sharing his destiny. You could not 
 marry in the class you belong to; you w^ere
 
 278 VIOLET. 
 
 meant for something better, and Stanmore offers 
 you the bright career that should be yours. 
 What would you have^ Violet ? He is not old, nor 
 ugly, and is he not intellectual ? I am not asking 
 you to sacrifice yourself to rank and riches ; but if 
 you had been born to the fairest happiness, I 
 know nothing that could insure it more than to 
 marry such a man as Stanmore. Had he no 
 other advantages, his very heart, with its gene- 
 rous feelings, is a treasure on which a woman 
 might repose for ever in security." 
 
 "But I do not love Lord Stanmore." 
 
 " But you would, in time." 
 
 "No!" 
 - "Yes, you would, Violet," said D'Arcy, mourn- 
 fully; "trust to my experience." 
 
 " I shall not change ; I know I never can be 
 happy ; besides, this is useless — Lord Stanmore 
 would not now think of me." 
 
 "At this moment he would not; he is too 
 proud, and he thinks you love me ; — but I am — 
 am going; and his affection will not be so easily 
 overcome as he may now suppose. When once I 
 am out of the way, he will be at your feet again ; 
 I am sure of it : so marry him, then, Violet. 
 I will answer for your happiness, though you 
 cannot!"
 
 VIOLET. 279 
 
 " Doubtless you are sure of your own, Mr. 
 d'Arcy," answered Violet, with some pique. 
 
 Her lover looked reproachfully at her, and 
 there was a sorrowful sadness in his expression. 
 
 " Oh, Violet," exclaimed D'Arcy, " if you can 
 give me an unkind word now, my reward is in- 
 deed denied, and I am punished when I least 
 deserved it T' 
 
 ''Do not say so, Mr. d'Arcy." 
 
 "I must, for it is as I feel; it is hard to be 
 reproached at this moment." 
 
 " Forgive me, then !" cried Violet, hastily ; " was 
 I unjust ? I care so much for your affection, and 
 it is that I thought of" 
 
 " I never before proved it so thoroughly," con- 
 tinued D'Arcy ; " I have spoken against myself, 
 and it has cost me an effort that Heaven may 
 remember !" 
 
 At this moment the lovers were interrupted by 
 Mrs. Hummings. She had remained at her usual 
 respectful distance while D'Arcy and Violet 
 walked on together. She now approached to 
 remind them that they had turned up the walk 
 a second time, and that her young lady would be 
 expected at home. 
 
 D'Arcy and Violet parted without referring to
 
 280 VIOLET. 
 
 when they should meet agam; both had a mo- 
 tive for this forbearance, probably. 
 
 " So, Violet, what do you think is the news ? " 
 Avere Mrs. Woodville's first words on seeing 
 Violet after her mornings Avalk. "Wonders 
 never cease." 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Woodvillc, " it has all gone 
 right for them ; but it might have all gone wrong. 
 It is only some folks have luck, and some have 
 not, — that's all ; nothing else." 
 
 " And some young ladies play their cards 
 better, and some will not condescend to play 
 them at all." 
 
 " And I think none the worse of those that 
 don't," said ^I. Dupas, emphatically. 
 
 " What's the news .'' " Violet demanded. 
 
 " Oh, only that your friend, Emily Norris, is 
 to marry Mr, Harcourt, forsooth ! Much good 
 may it do him," said Mrs. Woodville, with the 
 most evident maternal jealousy. 
 
 "' I am delighted ! " exclaimed Violet, with a 
 countenance that corroborated her words. " Dear 
 Mamma, she will be so happy ! Father, do walk 
 with me to the Norriscs. It is just what Emily 
 wishes ; and she is quite fit for it," continued 
 Violet, speaking her thoughts aloud; "she will
 
 VIOLET. 281 
 
 make a very good wife ; though she is not born a 
 lady, she was intended for one." 
 
 " Is it joy at Emily's marriage makes you look 
 so happy this morning, Violet ? " asked M. Dupas, 
 after he had watched her some minutes. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I am so glad of it," she answered, 
 without meaning to tell an nntruth. She did 
 not know that seeing D'Arcy had made her look 
 so radiant. 
 
 " I do feel much better this morning. Father, 
 I will put on my bonnet, and you will walk with 
 me to the Norrises." 
 
 " Very well, Violet, dear ; but make haste." 
 
 Violet did not require the last injunction. The 
 step of the happy is always quick — so Violet 
 flew. 
 
 The Norrises were at this moment the most 
 prosperous people, certainly, in the world ; that 
 is to say, they thought themselves so, — and, of 
 course, the true measure of any one's prosperity 
 must be to judge of it according to one's own 
 view. Mrs. Norris had achieved the object of 
 her secret ambition; and Miss Norris had so 
 many reasons for being pleased, it would be im- 
 possible to enumerate them. 
 
 " Of course, Mr. Woodville," said Mrs. Norris, 
 in answer to his congratulations, " of course I
 
 282 VIOLET. 
 
 feel flattered that my Emily should make so good 
 a connexion ; and I must say I think she de- 
 serves it. It has always been my aim to bring 
 her up with the best principles, and an idea of 
 conducting herself with propriety ; it is conduct, 
 Mr. Woodville, which I have endeavoured to 
 teach her ; I have a horror of anything that gives 
 rise to talking, — there never was a word against 
 Emily, thank heaven ! and Mr. Harcourt de- 
 clares himself to be the happiest of men. His 
 affectionate behaviour towards me is quite de- 
 lightful; it has touched me to the heart, I assure 
 you." 
 
 " I am glad you like your son-in-law, Mrs. 
 Norris," said Mr. Woodville, somewhat bluntly. 
 
 " He is a most gentlemanlike young man," 
 continued Mrs. Norris. " It would all have been 
 arranged much sooner, according to Mr. Har- 
 court's own wishes, but I, as Emily's mother, had 
 feelings of delicacy; Emily having no fortune, 
 and having been on the stage, I knew were 
 reasons that Harcourt's relations mio-ht allejrc 
 against the marriage. It is always necessary to 
 respect people's prejudices, and I am the last 
 person to wish to force my daughter upon any 
 one ; and Emily herself would have died at the 
 thoughts of such a thing."
 
 VIOLET. 283 
 
 " And so, now Mr. Harcourt's friends wish him 
 to marry Miss Norris ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Norris, boldly, but colouring 
 a little ; " yes, indeed, — yes, I may say they ap- 
 prove. He has no near relations, which is a good 
 thing ;— no father, you know, or anything of that 
 sort. Well, Mr. Woodville, and how soon are 
 we to hear of Miss Violet making a great mar- 
 riage ? She is so admired, I am sure, by the 
 gentlemen." 
 
 " Why, yes, any one that looks at her must 
 admire her," said Woodville, recovering his good 
 humour, which, without his knowing it, had been 
 a little ruffled by the exceedingly full-blown sa- 
 tisfaction of Mrs. Norris. 
 
 " There's a knock at the door," exclaimed that 
 lady, who was not keeping her dignity in its usual 
 quiescence. 
 
 " It is Mr. Harcourt, — yes, it is ;" and Mrs. 
 Norris, with a rush of ready-made maternal ten- 
 derness, flew Irom the chair to meet her future 
 son-in-law at the door. 
 
 Harcourt looked gay and happy enough, but 
 when he advanced without seeing Emily, his face 
 betrayed his innate spoiltness, and he passed his 
 hand through his hair, and indolently, if not
 
 S-i YiOLET. 
 
 coldly, allowed Mrs. Norris to take his other 
 hand between both of hers. 
 
 " Dear Mr. Harcourt, so good of j'ou to come 
 so early : Emily will be enchanted ! " 
 
 " Why, of course, it's Emily I want to see, Mrs. 
 Norris ; and pray where is she ? " 
 
 I\lrs. Norris thought fit to look over Harcourt's 
 miplied rudeness, and told Emily's betrothed 
 that she was in the Httle boudoir, — "'Sly little 
 boudoir; she has a friend with her." 
 
 " A friend ! what friend,— what friend ? " said 
 the lover, sulkily. " Who ever heard of anybody 
 having friends at this hour of the morning ? AMiy 
 ifs not, — oh, by my Breguet, I see it is a quarter 
 to one." 
 
 Emily Norris herself, and Violet, now entered, 
 and when Harcourt saw Avho her friend Avas, lie 
 was appeased ; for he could not help thinking 
 what a much worse one liis Emily might have 
 chosen than the sweet and beautiful Violet Wood- 
 ville. 
 
 She and her father rose to take leave, after 
 making (he most proper apologies for Mrs. Wood- 
 ville's not having come with them ; the real fact 
 having been, that she could not undergo the 
 sight of Mrs. Norris's self gratulatiou.
 
 VIOLET. 285 
 
 " Well, Violet, what do you think of them all ? " 
 inquired Mr. Woodville, as he walked home with 
 his daughter. 
 
 " I like Mr. Harcourt well enough, as far as I 
 have seen him, and Emily, of course, likes him ; 
 and she is quite pleased, — and that is everything ; 
 and she is so kind to me, and almost wants me to 
 comxC and live with her." 
 
 "Well, that shows a good heart, at any rate, 
 for the present ; but she will soon get her head 
 filled with vanity, I dare say." 
 
 " Oh dear, no, — I do not think that. Emily is 
 such a diiferent character from Mrs. Norris. She 
 told me it was, after all, a surprise, v/hen Mr. 
 Harcourt proposed; for that she did not know 
 Avhat he meant to do, or which way it would end ; 
 and that she had been so worried lately, she sa3's 
 she is so glad to feel certain about it at last." 
 
 " And now, Violet," asked Mr. Woodville, in 
 surprise at his daughter's unusual gaiety, " I 
 would fain know what it is makes you look so 
 much better ? and why you are not breaking 
 your heart as much to-day as yesterday, and 
 every day for the last month past ?" 
 
 " I do not know, — it is such a fine day !" 
 
 Violet's father was not a suspicious man.
 
 28G VIOLET. 
 
 Violet mot D'Arcy again next morning in the 
 gardens, and she went on doing so nearly every 
 day. 
 
 Her happiness at having his society once more 
 was quite enough to colour every hour of her 
 present life ; and, in the intoxication in which she 
 lived, reason, without being less acute, had not 
 the same power. So now she only knew she was 
 wrong, without any longer staying to consider 
 how wrong. 
 
 Love, with lovers, is such an inexhaustible 
 theme, — and nothing by them is said so often but 
 that it is not new when said a^ain. There was 
 not then any want of conversation between Violet 
 and D'Arcy ; we may remember, too, how very 
 eloquent becomes even Cupid's silence. 
 
 D'Arcy was not always the same ; sometimes 
 he was restless and angry, without a defined 
 cause, and would upbraid Violet, and not explain 
 himself; and the very distress that this occasioned 
 her, rivetted her affections more firmly to him. So 
 true it is,' that even the faults of those we love, 
 when not carried too far, do but add to the pres- 
 tige of affection. Diderot has somewhere said, 
 " Cclui qui ne connoit pas la peine n'est pas a 
 compter parmi les enfans des hommes ; " and
 
 VIOLET. 287 
 
 perhaps it is in some connexion with this prin- 
 ciple, that we are fonder of a faulty being than of 
 one of more perfection. With the former, is it 
 that they are rendered dearer to us by their 
 similitude to ourselves? — is it that, because of 
 their faults, we feel more particularly that they 
 are " a compter parmi les enfans des horames ?" 
 
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