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 1
 
 LSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 vT LOS ANGELES
 
 ANNE GREY.
 
 B. BENSLEV, IRINTEK.
 
 A X X E G R E V 
 
 A VO\'EL. 
 
 EDITED BY THE A r '1 Jf OR OF '^GRANBY," 
 
 IN THREE \OLUMES. 
 VOL. II. 
 
 LONDON 
 
 SAUNDERS AND OTLEY, CONDUIT STREET. 
 
 1834.
 
 • • « 
 
 
 fc c c • « 
 
 * ••• •• • '•• •••.•• • . 
 
 • • «. •••
 
 
 ANNE GREY. 
 
 CHAPTER T. 
 
 There had been a small party at Westhorpe 
 (the Dowton's), during Charlotte Daventry's 
 stay there, and it had been, what she probably 
 might call an agreeable visit. She had liked 
 the Foleys, Mho, as we already know, were there, 
 and had been liked by them, for liking, of 
 course, is mutual. She had liked Mr. Craw- 
 
 VOL. II. B 
 
 465187
 
 ANNE GREY. 
 
 ford, Mr. Foley's nephew, who was also of 
 the party. 
 
 " Oh ! yes," said she to Sophy, " he is 
 very agreeable indeed ! He would be just 
 suited to you. He is very clever, and satirical, 
 and tells such droll stories of people." 
 
 Frank Crawford was eldest son and heir 
 to Lord Gleddon. He was, as Charlotte Daven- 
 try said, very clever, but he would have been 
 more generally .thought agreeable, had not his 
 sarcasms, and his ill-natured stories of his best 
 friends, given a feeling of alarm and insecurity 
 to those who listened to him. He was not an 
 amiable character. Vanity, selfishness, and ill- 
 nature were the prevailing qualities of his 
 mind. It was vanity which made him love his 
 cousin, Isabella Foley. She was a pretty, ac- 
 complished, and pleasing girl. She would have 
 a good fortune, and it had always been thought 
 natural by his father that he should marry her.
 
 ANNE GREY. 3 
 
 Frank Crawford did not particularly agree in 
 the propriety of this arrangement ; but vanity 
 told him that Isabella must wish for the 
 alliance : and though he was not in love with 
 her, vanity would not allow him to believe that 
 she could love any but him, or that any should 
 dare to seek to marry her without his per- 
 mission. 
 
 Isabella Foley, a quiet, amiable girl, did 
 love Frank Crawford ; but it was as a cousin. 
 She never thought of him in the light of a 
 lover. Frank Crawford was not sufficiently at- 
 tached to his cousin to perceive the nature of her 
 feelings towards him, and he was satisfied so 
 long as she preferred no other ; but he would 
 have hated the man whom she could love better 
 than himself. 
 
 This, then, is Frank Crawford, whom Char- 
 lotte Daventry, good, simple girl, thought so 
 agreeable — to whom she talked a great deal 
 
 B 2
 
 4 ANNE GREY. 
 
 at Westhorpe, and who talked a great deal 
 to her. 
 
 Mrs. and Miss Dashwoods were also there, 
 and one or two others. But the Foleys were 
 the suhjects of Charlotte's eulogiums. She 
 loved them all. Mrs. Foley had heen so good- 
 natured, and called her ' dear Charlotte,' and 
 had had the tears in her eyes — had actually 
 cried for her, when she said how unhappy she 
 felt the morning they all went to Hilton, and 
 left her. Mr. Foley was so handsome, so 
 polite, so clever, so agreeahle ! — but as to 
 Isabella ! — " she lets me call her Isabella, do 
 you know, already — as to her! no words 
 can express how very charming and delightful 
 she is ! She is almost — and indeed I often 
 thought of it when I was there — she is almost 
 like you, Sophy — and Anne." 
 
 Anne almost started as this was said so 
 naively and innocently. She thought of the
 
 ANNE GREY. 5 
 
 words that had fallen from her lips on the 
 preceding day. "Yes," thought she, "she 
 is thoughtless, and changing in feeling, and 
 swayed by the childish impulse of the mo- 
 ment," 
 
 The Foleys had all liked Charlotte Daven- 
 try. Mr. Foley had been flattered by her evi- 
 dent admiration, for she was a handsome girl : 
 but Mrs, and Miss Foley had been actuated by 
 a better motive. Mrs. Foley knew that she 
 was an orphan, and felt she must be unhappy, 
 because all orphans were ; and that she must 
 be amiable, because all people in affliction were, 
 and especially orphans. So she loved her, and 
 her eyes were often filled with tears for her, 
 and she told Isabella to make a friend of 
 her. 
 
 Isabella was very ready to follow her mo- 
 ther's advice. She pitied Charlotte Daventi'y, 
 for who would not pity the child who has lost
 
 b ANKE GREY. 
 
 the care and affection ■v^hich none but a parent 
 can give? Moreover, every now and then, 
 in the midst of her gaiety — there was a touch 
 of sadness — a trace of deep emotion — a tone — 
 a look, that went to the heart ; — that bespoke 
 that simple, childish, as her manner was, she 
 felt, and felt deeply. 
 
 Isabella sought her friendship, and thought 
 herself more than rewarded by the warmth, 
 the gratitude, and the emotion with which 
 it was received. She found with surprise 
 that Charlotte Daventry had known the want 
 of a friend. She found with surprise that her 
 cousins, too gay and happy themselves, had 
 failed in this office — that they were not the 
 thoughtful, kind, and pitying friends, whom 
 Charlotte had hoped to find in cousins of her 
 own age and sex. 
 
 Charlotte Daventry did not complain — she 
 seemed afraid of utterinjj a word that would
 
 ANNE GRl-.Y. 
 
 give any one the impression of their want of 
 consideration and affectionate care for her. 
 She seemed grieved if she let fall any thing 
 that could be construed into such an idea ; but 
 it was very easy, in spite of her caution, witli 
 an artless, unreserved character such as hers, 
 to discover the truth. 
 
 It grieved Isabella Foley to think it was so. 
 She had expected to find pleasant companions, 
 and desirable friends in the Miss Greys. She 
 had liked what she had seen of them, especially 
 what she had seen of Anne. She could more 
 easily believe that Sophy might be heartless — 
 too gay, and devoted to society, to feel or think 
 for others : but of Anne it was less easy to 
 believe such a thing — to believe that she was 
 not good-tempered, that she was envious and 
 jealous. Yet it was impossible not to see that 
 this was the case, from those little things which 
 dropped from Charlotte, and for which she
 
 b ANNE GREY. 
 
 immediately checked herself, as though aware 
 that what she had said might be interpreted 
 by Miss Foley to her cousin's disadvantage. 
 
 For example — Miss Foley remembered per- 
 fectly that both Sophy and Anne had said that 
 Charlotte could not play well, and that she 
 disliked music. She perfectly remembered on 
 one occasion, that Anne had. prevented her 
 being asked to play, and she had thought at 
 the time her motive was kind ; for Charlotte 
 had sat almost within hearing, blushing, and 
 looking distressed, and she had then supposed 
 she was alarmed at the idea of beino- made to 
 perform ; but she could now guess that her 
 embarrassment arose from a different feeling, 
 for it appeared that Charlotte not only loved 
 music, but could play beautifully. 
 
 Once or twice when Miss Foley and her 
 cousin were alone in the room with her at 
 AVesthorpe, she had sat down to the instrument.
 
 ANNE GREY 
 
 9 
 
 and played with so much expression, brilliancy, 
 and taste, that both Isabella and Frank Craw- 
 ford were surprized and enraptured. 
 
 Charlotte had often exclaimed, after she 
 had been playing, " How I love music ! How 
 I love playing — when I am not afraid of being 
 heard," she added with a sigh. " Do you 
 mind my playing. Miss Foley ? " 
 
 " Indeed, I am delighted with it," said 
 Isabella. 
 
 "Oh! but then T had better stop perhaps," 
 looking alarmed and distressed, " unless you 
 will promise not to mention it. Will you pro- 
 mise not to mention it at Weston ?" she said 
 very eagerly. 
 
 " Certainly, if it is your wish," said Miss 
 Foley. 
 
 *' Oh ! thank you, thank you," with de- 
 light, and then seeming to recollect hei'self, 
 she added, " You know I have no particular 
 
 b5
 
 10 ANNE GREY. * 
 
 reason — I do not know that thev would mind" — 
 and o-ettiiis: confused, " You know there is no 
 reason to be jealous — that is — " — getting more 
 and more confused, " I only think, you know, 
 that it is better you should not praise my play- 
 ing before them — they are so good-natured — 
 so very kind — " 
 
 Isabella saw her confusion — her amiable 
 desire to conceal the truth — to unsay or soften 
 it when it had dropped unintentionally. She 
 understood perfectly what Charlotte had ti'ied 
 she should not. She saw that at Weston she 
 was not allowed to play well ; and she deter- 
 mined to do as Charlotte wished, for peace 
 at home was better than the reputation for 
 accomplishments abroad. 
 
 "Go on, dear Miss Daventry," said she. 
 " You need not be afraid either of Frank or 
 me. We will be very discreet." 
 
 " How very kind you are," said Charlotte,
 
 ANNE GREY. H 
 
 as though she felt it from her heart, and the 
 tear that glistened in her eye shewed that 
 she did. 
 
 Isabella was touched, and with all her 
 gentleness she was indignant — " How one may 
 be deceived !" thought she, " so simple and 
 quiet in apjjearance !" 
 
 Of the excellent Mr. Gi-ey, also, there was 
 much to be learnt. Charlotte Daventry spoke 
 of her gratitude to him — of his goodness in 
 allowing her to live in his family, and seemed 
 to think it so astonishing an act of kindness : 
 yet Isabella saw that the astonishment arose, 
 not from his kindness being so great, but from 
 tliere being any kindness from him. She saw 
 that she wished to feel all the gratitude she 
 expressed, and to make others think it due, 
 but she perceived that she could not. 
 
 In short, from the various things which fel 
 from her in the unguardedness and simplicity
 
 12 ANNE GREY. 
 
 of her nature, Isabella found that there was 
 but little cause for gi-atitude. She leai-nt that 
 Mr. Grey had actually refused to take the 
 guardianship — had i-efused the dying father's 
 last request, till a larger sum of money had 
 been named — till it had been written down and 
 "witnessed. She heard also of his indifference — 
 his want of affection and attention to Charlotte ; 
 liis hurrying her away from her home — her 
 father's resting-place — because he wanted to 
 attend the sale of some cattle at Weston ! All 
 this had been o;athered from what Charlotte 
 had accidentally disclosed. It was distresshig 
 to think of so much worldliness, yet she had 
 before heard the Greys slightly taxed with 
 that failing. 
 
 William was the only one of the family 
 of whom she heard only praise. He who pro- 
 fessed so little — who at times was almost too 
 blunt in his manner — of him Charlotte spoke
 
 ANNE GREY. 13 
 
 with tlie warmest gratitude. It seemed as 
 though her heart, longing to have something 
 to love and to be grateful to, having hoped and 
 been disappointed, relieved itself in showering 
 all its affection and gratitude where alone it 
 was possible to bestow it. 
 
 Isabella Foley's heart fluttered as she heard 
 Charlotte IXaventry's expressions of grateful 
 fondness to William, and she thought her still 
 more amiable, and more to be pitied and loved. 
 Isabella Folev was s,"ifted witli a warm heart — 
 a little romance — a little of the softness and 
 tenderness of her mother's character. William 
 Grey had already touched that heart, and had 
 awakened a sentiment in her romantic and 
 tender imagination. 
 
 Young ladies should certainly never surren- 
 der their affections, never be in love till the 
 time when the good, honest, wealthy suitor, 
 has made the offer of his house, hand, and
 
 14 
 
 ANNE GREY. 
 
 heart! — when ' papas' have said "yes;" and 
 ' mamas' agreed : — when the settlements are 
 drawn up — the wedding-ring procured — the 
 wedding-cake prepared and the favours ready 
 made. Then — sensible, discreet, prudent young 
 lady, at that moment surrender your heart — 
 then try to fall in love — and in the attempt find 
 out whether you do or do not like the man who, 
 in a short time, you will swear to love, honour, 
 and obey. Then too, you — good, honest, 
 wealthy suitor, look to find the devoted, affec- 
 tionate, confiding wife — Yes, look ; and if, per- 
 chance, in her, the dread, the fear, the know- 
 ledge of other men's deceit, has made you fail 
 to find all this, then do not blame her, the 
 prudent, rational young lady, now your wife ; 
 but if you will blame any, blame alone those of 
 your own sex who have taught her these cold 
 lessons of wisdom ! 
 
 Isabella Foley certainly should not have
 
 ANNE GREY. 15 
 
 fallen in love, and yet, poor foolish girl, so very 
 nearly had she done so, that she loved lo hear 
 the praises of William Grey, and pitied Charlotte 
 Daventry ten times as much, because she praised, 
 and was grateful to him. Perhaps Charlotte 
 Daventry perceived that, as his name was men- 
 tioned, Isabella became more intent, and lis- 
 tened more eagerly. Perhaps, too, she per- 
 ceived, that when Isabella had blushed at the 
 name of William Grey, Frank Crawford 
 had looked proud and indignant, and said an 
 angry word to his cousin. Perhaps she did 
 perceive this ; but it matters not to know.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " So, then, at last, Maria Peniberton is to be 
 married to Frederic Barton !" said Lady Dow- 
 ton, one morning- during Charlotte Daventry's 
 stay at Westliorpe, " Poor thing! Miss Bar- 
 ker says it is supposed it will take place in 
 about two months' time. No one knows why 
 they wait so long. 1 suppose, my dear," said 
 she, addressing herself to Charlotte Daventry, 
 " the marriage of another young friend of mine 
 will soon take place. Mr. Barton's and his friend
 
 ANNE GREY. 17 
 
 Lord Stoketon's marriage will probably not be 
 far distant? Yes, my dear girl! You need not 
 look so unconscious, for we all know that Lord 
 Stoketon is violently in love with our dear 
 Sophy ! Do not attempt to deny it." 
 
 " Ah ! but, Lady Dowton," said Charlotte, 
 looking very innocent and childish, " that can- 
 not be true, for I heard Sophy laughing at him 
 the other day. She said — oh yes ! how she did 
 laugh at him ! she was so droll ! " and Charlotte 
 laughed at the recollection. *'To be sure it is 
 true about his being in love with her. Oh 
 yes ! I remember that !" and she laughed again 
 as if with an irrepressible merriment at the 
 
 idea of the ludicrous picture Sophy had drawn 
 of him. 
 
 " My charming girl," said Lady Dowton, 
 quite excited, " do tell us all about it ? Here 
 are only the Miss Dashwoods and Mr. Craw- 
 ford, so you need not miiKL"
 
 Is AXNE GREY. 
 
 '* Oil ! clear, I have nothing to tell !" said 
 Charlotte. " But she said he was such a blun- 
 dering, good-humoured, simpleton, so very 
 dull, and so confident that she must like him ! 
 She had such fun humouring him ! I do quite 
 long to see him!" 
 
 " My dear girl !'' said Lady Dowton, " let 
 me see," thought she, sinking back, — " so she 
 laughed at him, did she?" to Charlotte. » 
 
 " Oh yes," said Charlotte. i 
 
 "Let me see — there will be time to write J 
 
 before dinner — to save the post — I can contra- I 
 
 diet that report then. He, it seems, is in love, 
 and ridiculed by her. Very shameful, and I 
 had just said it was to be." j 
 
 " But then," continued Charlotte, " I re- \. 
 
 member once I said to her that I hoped she 
 would never marry Lord Stoketon (because you 
 know people had talked about it) and she was 
 so amusing! pretended to cut me short — said 
 
 i
 
 ANNE GREY. 19 
 
 slie did not see why I should hope thai — for 
 though Lord Stoketon was a goose, he was rich, 
 and would be a very good match. Was it not 
 di-oll of her?" said she to Miss Dashwood. 
 Miss Dashwood did think it droll, not of 
 Sophy Grey to hold such an opinion, but that 
 Charlotte Daventry should not be aware that she 
 was repeating what her cousin could not easily for- 
 give her for having said. " A new hint," thought 
 Lady Dowton. " Sophy tells me," said Char- 
 lotte, " that that Mr. Barton you were speaking 
 of was forced into marrying Miss Pemberton ; 
 that they were so anxious, that I believe she 
 quite asked him, and he is very good natured, 
 so he did not mind. What an odd way that is 
 of making a person marry one, is not it ?" said 
 she, thoughtfully, yet innocently. Frank Craw- 
 ford smiled and looked at her ; and it seemed 
 that Charlotte returned the smile. " Sophy 
 says," continued she, "that Mrs. Pemberton 's
 
 20 AXNE GREY. 
 
 tfimper is so bad ! Oh ! it is so shocking ! and 
 that is the reason that her daughter is so 
 anxious to many, and though I thought it was 
 strange, Sophy assured me that Miss Pember- 
 ton positively does not at all like Mr. Barton?" 
 
 " Indeed ! my dear Charlotte, how enter- 
 taining you are !" Lady Dowton got out her 
 writing paper. She could resist no longer. 
 She must put it all down for the edification of 
 her dear friend, whilst it was fresh on her 
 mind — but to write in company was difficult, 
 and, retiring with her letter to her room, she 
 there wrote all the scandal she could to wile 
 away the ennui of her dearest friend's long day. 
 
 Miss Dashwoods thought it time to retire 
 
 with their work, and thus were Frank Craw- 
 
 *■ 
 
 ford and Charlotte Daventry left alone. 
 
 " Excellent, Miss Daventry, you have done 
 it well ! Lady Dowton is a happily deceived 
 
 woman I"
 
 AN'NE GREY. 21 
 
 " Yes," said Charlotte, laughing. " I saw 
 you smile ; I was so near laughing too. It would 
 have spoilt it all ; it was very amusing to give 
 her own story back again — all that Sophy had 
 told me was Ladv Dowton's absurd scandal. It 
 will all be written in that letter to her dear 
 friend as Sophy's own — the intimate friend of 
 the parties ! undoubted authority ! and how 
 they will laugh at poor Lady Dowton ! About 
 Lord Stoketon too — I did exaggerate a little — 
 but you know that will soon be set right ; so it 
 don't matter if the Dashwoods did take it for 
 truth. It is so pleasant to have some one to 
 enter into the fun of such a thing : but Mr. 
 Crawford, do not expose me to your cousin. — 
 I believe I am an odd person, am I not ?" said 
 she, throwing up her dark sparkling eyes at 
 him, with an expression that had never yet been 
 seen at Weston . 
 
 *' Yes," said Frank Crawford, *' you are
 
 22 AMNE GREY. 
 
 very odd, and it is for that I like you. Yours 
 is not an ordinary character," and Crawford 
 looked at her with admiration : Charlotte turn- 
 ed away, blushed, and then, sitting down to the 
 piano-forte, sung a lively French song, Mith 
 such grace, such naivete, such fascinating co- 
 queterie, that Frank Crawford could not resist 
 the charm. 
 
 " What a finished coquette," thought he ; 
 and he was going to speak to her — but she was 
 again the demure, uninteresting Charlotte Da- 
 ventry — she ceased to play — rose from her seat, 
 and walked out of the room. 
 
 We have all of us heard a good deal of cir- 
 culating libraries — of the circulation of books — 
 the circulation of opinions, and the circulation 
 of knowledge. Doctors talk of irregular circu- 
 lation, and of sluggish circulation — monied men 
 talk of the circulating medium — statesmen talk 
 of the circulation of sedition, — but more won-
 
 ANNE GREY. 23 
 
 derful than all is the circulation of scandal ! Its 
 surprising velocity — the additions it gains in its 
 course — the variety of channels through which 
 it passes — the impossibility of impeding its pro- 
 gress surpasses belief ! No one has told a scan- 
 dalous tale — no one ever repeats an ill-natured 
 story — every one makes a point of avoiding all 
 gossip — yet, once afloat, it spreads — it circulates 
 — nothing can conceal it, till all that many 
 thousand-eared monster, the world, have heard 
 and known, and wondered, and been satisfied ; 
 and then it falls into a lethargy and dies a na- 
 tural death. We talk of steam-carriag^es and 
 rail-ways — and will no one wonder at the power 
 — the velocity of gossip ? Will no one write the 
 natural history of gossip ? 
 
 We must now return to Weston. " My dear 
 Anne," said Mrs. Grey, at the bottom of the 
 stairs, in a very happy tone, " here is a letter 
 just come ; one for me, and one for you, which I
 
 24 ANNE GREY. 
 
 have opened. Make haste and come down to 
 answer it. It is from that charming woman 
 Lady Hadley, asking you to go there quite alone 
 — to-morrow, or any day, and to stay as long 
 as you can." 
 
 " How very kind," said Anne, quietly as 
 she descended the stairs. " Do you and papa 
 wish me to go 1" 
 
 " Wish you to go ! certainly my dear ; to- 
 morrow by all means. But you know, my dear," 
 added Mrs. Grey, considerately, as if account- 
 ing for Anne's calmness ; " you will be back 
 in time for the Foleys ; we will take care of 
 that." 
 
 " Oh ! thank you, mama, I was not afraid of 
 that," said Anne ; and she was so quiet that 
 Mrs. Grey was obliged to believe her. " If it 
 was any where but Hadley," thought Anne, " I 
 should be very sorry to go from home. But 
 Lady Hadley is so kind, and I love her so 
 
 il
 
 ANNE GREY. 25 
 
 much;" and she smiled sufficiently to please 
 Mrs. Grey, as she sat down to answer the note. 
 On the morrow Anne went to Hadley : Sophy 
 ielt a little envious; "I dai-e say it will be 
 very pleasant," said she ; "1 wish she had 
 asked me too. I dare say," after a little pause, 
 " ^hat Mr. Temple will be there !" 
 
 "1)0 you think so?" said Anne, in a very 
 animated tone. 
 
 Mrs. Grey was in the room, and she won- 
 dered she had not before remembered the 
 barouche- box. 
 
 " He might do as well as George Foley 
 only Chatterton is so near," thought Mrs. Grey ;' 
 " ^""^ ^' '' "°* ^ marrying man I No," thouo-ht 
 she, " she must come back for Chattei-ton, even 
 ^f they are very anxious to keep her, and she 
 can go again perhaps." 
 
 VOL. II,
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Anne arrived at Hadley about ten minutes 
 before the dressing-bell had rung. The door 
 was opened for her, and as she walked across 
 the large echoing hall, through ^e large draw- 
 ing-room, and saw the tall footman stand with 
 the door held open for her at Lady Hadley's 
 morning-room, she felt that even Hadley was 
 a very formidable place, and that Lady Hadley 
 was a very tremendous person : she thought, 
 perhaps, with a sigh, of her snug room at home, 

 
 ANNE GRLY. 27 
 
 and then walked in. Sophy's predictions were 
 verified ; Mr. Temple was at Hadley, and alone 
 in the room as Anne entered. 
 
 1 do not know whether Anne looked pleased 
 or not through her blush : 1 only know that 
 she did blush. She was not sure whether to 
 shake hands, and when Edward Temple held 
 out his, it was held a little time in vain ; how- 
 ever, at last, the Iiands were shaken, and Ed- 
 ward Temple looked animated, and certainly 
 (as Sir Henry Poynton would have said,) 'in a 
 very good-humour.' Anne thought that there 
 was something very delightful in his expression 
 of countenance, and probably her eyes sparkled 
 and her colour brightened, for Edward Temple 
 thought she was certainly very pretty. 
 
 " 1 am glad to see you here again, Miss 
 Grey," said he. He saw that Anne was shy. 
 " 1 am delighted to see you liere. You know," 
 said lie, "that I must, for the present, take the 
 
 c 2
 
 "28 ANNE GREY. 
 
 character of Lady Hadley. You must endea- 
 vour to fancy, for five minutes at least, that you 
 are sitting by Lady Hadley — that she is saying 
 all the civil things on your arrival at her house, 
 and you must say all the proper things in re- 
 turn. You have not yet told me that you are 
 delighted to find yourself here again — that you 
 were afraid you should be too late — that Mrs. 
 Grey desires — what is it? remembrances? love? 
 no, regards is the best word — desires her kind 
 regards, and tells me to thank you for taking 
 me away from her. There, Miss Grey ! Is not 
 that exactly what you will have to say to Lady 
 Hadley when she appears ? Suppose we rehearse, 
 and then you will be quite perfect ? Here am I 
 to personify Lady Hadley ! Ah ! but here she 
 is herself! Just five minutes too soon. Lady 
 Hadley, Miss Grey," said he, making a bow as 
 Lady Hadley entered. " Here have Miss Grey 
 and I, for the last half hour, been rehearsing 
 all she is to say to you on your entrance."
 
 ANNE GREY. 29 
 
 *' What nonsense he talks, Miss Grey, does 
 not he ? " said Lady Hadley ; and then she far 
 exceeded Mr. Temple's ideas of the cordiality 
 of greeting, for she gave her a kiss, and said, 
 with all that warmth of affection and manner 
 that Anne felt was so charming, how happy 
 she was to have her at Hadley once more. 
 
 "There, Lady Hadley! " said Edward Tem^ 
 pie, " you dared to say what nonsense I talked! 
 and now, Miss Grey can tell you that the 
 words I used were exactly the same as your 
 own." 
 
 As Lady Hadley took Anne up to her room, 
 Anne felt that she was the very dearest woman 
 in the world, and that the visit to Hadley would 
 be very delightful. Perhaps her thoughts ex- 
 tended a little farther, but we have no right to 
 tell tales. Her eyes, it is true, were rather 
 more bright, and the delicate colour on her 
 cheeks a little more decided than usual ; and
 
 20 ANNE GREY. 
 
 AvhPn she was dressed for dinner, and had giA^en 
 herself the last, lingering, ' is all right' look in 
 the glass ; she might have said, with perfect 
 truth, that she never saw a more lovely face, 
 a form so light, and so charming a mixture 
 of grace and simplicity. 
 
 But Anne Grey said and thought none of 
 this : she only thought as she gave her last 
 look in the glass, as her maid held her gloves 
 for her, and gave an approving glance at her 
 handy-works, " suppose I should be too late 
 for dinner ! I wish I was safely in the room, or 
 that I had Sophy or mama to go down with 
 me ! " and her colour heightened as she walked 
 down stairs and passed through the hall. 
 
 Her hand was on the drawing-room door 
 — she heard the sound of many voices within, 
 and waited one moment to take breath, till, 
 convinced that courage would not come if she 
 waited an hour, she opened the door. Edward
 
 ANNE GREY. 31 
 
 TeiDple looked up one moment as she entered, 
 and the next was busily talking again to a 
 pretty, as Anne thought (very ))eautiful girl) 
 seeming perfectly unconscious of the presence 
 of the quiet Anne Grey, whom he had flattered 
 before dinner ; and very conscious of the pre- 
 sence, agreeableness, and beauty of the young 
 ladv to whom he was talking with such ani- 
 mation. 
 
 Lady Hadley was in the room, and to Anne's 
 delio-ht, she saw Miss Trevor — the constant 
 visitor, dear old Miss Trevor ! by her she was 
 warmly welcomed, and Lady Hadley instantly 
 made room for her on the sofa, and introduced 
 her to Lady Denham who sat next her. 
 
 Lord and Lady Denham and their daugh- 
 ter (the young lady to whom Edward Temple 
 was devoting himself as Anne entered), Miss 
 Trevor, Mr. Oswald, a hunting friend of Lord 
 Hadley's, Mr. and Mrs. Dormer, and a Mr.
 
 32 ANNE GREY. 
 
 Hutchinson formed the party at Hadley; not 
 to take into account the dinner visitors who 
 caine and went and were forg-otten ! 
 
 Lord and Lady Denham were people of 
 fashion, if I may use that term : ' They were 
 very fine,' as Mrs. Dodson would have said : 
 ' They were very worldly,' as the melancholy 
 half starving country curate would have said : 
 ' They were very entertaining and charming,' 
 as the world would have said of them. Miss 
 Denham, their daughter, was just as exclusive 
 (if that is not an obsolete word) as were her 
 father and mother : very pretty, very bril- 
 liant, very accomplished, a little ill-natured, 
 and, as she thought, very clever ; perhaps the 
 world would have said, very clever too ; for to 
 sum up all, she was very much the fashion ! 
 
 The rest of the party were ordinary kind 
 of people, whom one meets every day, and 
 never cares whether one meets again or
 
 ANNE GREY. 33 
 
 not. Mr. Dormer prosy, Mrs. Dormer blue, 
 Mr. Oswald a thorough fox-hunter, Mr. Hut- 
 chinson a quiet, good sort of young man, who 
 had just left college, and tried to be civil and 
 attentive to the ladies, still looking like a boy, 
 and evidently gene by the feeling that he did 
 so. But he was heir to a title and fortune ; so 
 he put forth his small pretensions in a small 
 voice ; and was tolerated by young ladies 
 when no one preferable was present. He was 
 allowed to engross a little of Miss Denham's 
 attention at odd moments, but was never pei- 
 ceived by her when Mr. Temple was willing to 
 speak, or even sitting within talking distance 
 of her. Such was the party at Hadley. 
 
 Anne felt shy, and was very near thinking 
 that even an evening at Hadley could be dis- 
 agreeable, as she saw Edward Temple devoting 
 himself to the amusement of Miss Denham, 
 talking, laughing with her, and listening to her 
 
 c5
 
 34 ANiSE GREY. 
 
 exclusive talking, persuading her to sing, and 
 attending: to her sons". As this continued durin2: 
 the whole of t^'e first part of the evening, and 
 she never saw him once approaching herself, 
 she actually began to think that even Hadley 
 could be disagreeable. 
 
 She saw that she had expected too much, 
 and, I believe, said to herself something very 
 moral, and sensible, though perhaps not very 
 original, about brightest hopes decaying, and 
 the fairest expectations being soonest disap- 
 pointed ; but she was a good quiet girl, and sat 
 so very composedly attending to Miss Trevor, 
 that no one would have supposed, who looked 
 at her placid face, that she was not as happy 
 and contented as she appeared. 
 
 She had just given up all idea that Mr. Tem- 
 ple would speak to her that evening, when she 
 found that he had left Miss Denham to be 
 amused by Mr. Hutchinson, as well as she
 
 ANNE GRI'Y. 35 
 
 could, and had placed himself near the table 
 at which she was sitting. 
 
 She was intent on a new sort of knittino; 
 just taught her by Miss Trevor, and became 
 doubly intent as he drew near. But he would 
 not allow the knitting to go on uninterrupted. 
 
 " You are very industrious," said he in a 
 quiet voice ; and as Anne raised her head she 
 probably looked pleased, that, at last, he had 
 spoken to her. 
 
 " Yes," said she. " I am learning a new 
 kind of work," and she blushed as she thouo-ht 
 " what a foolish thing to have said ! How silly 
 to tell him that I am learning a new kind of 
 work ! " 
 
 *• Miss Trevor has taught you then, I am 
 sure," said he in a lower voice, for Miss Trevor 
 was near. 
 
 "Yes," said Anne smiling. 
 
 •' I dare say it is very pretty, or very useful
 
 36 ANNE GREY. 
 
 then," continued he. " All ladies' work is, of 
 course, pretty or useful. One is always assured 
 that it is useful, though it is sometimes dif- 
 ficult to believe it. 1 hope, Miss Grey," said 
 he after a pause, " that you will sing this 
 evening ? " and he looked at her for an an- 
 swer. 
 
 " I don't know," said Anne, and she felt 
 embarrassed, for she saw that Mr. Temple was 
 still looking at her. It was very strange, but 
 she felt so much less at ease with him than she 
 had formerly done. 
 
 *' I hope you will sing," continued he, heed- 
 less of the confusion he was making in the knit- 
 ting. " I have often thought of that song — that 
 one beautiful song ! and perhaps," said he, low- 
 eiing his voice, and looking at her; " I have 
 often thought of the person who sung it." He 
 stopped. Anne almost started with surprise 
 and delight. Was this really said to her — was
 
 ANNE GREY. 37 
 
 it really meant ? or leather, did it mean any- 
 thing? and a moment's reflection suggested that 
 he meant to ridicule her. The thought aroused 
 a little indignation, which gave her courage to 
 look up and attempt an answer ; she had 
 begun to say, " I am afraid you are laughing 
 at my song," when she was checked by observ- 
 ing Edward Temple with his eyes still fixed on 
 her face with an expression of earnestness. 
 
 She stopped — blushed deeply — said some- 
 thing about being very glad to sing, and turned 
 to Miss Trevor to ask her how her knitting 
 should go on. 
 
 Edward Temple remained a few minutes by 
 her side — withdi"ew his eyes — took up a book, 
 and looked at it, to allow Anne time to recover 
 the alarm which he saw he had excited, but 
 it could not be overcome — the knittinf? was not 
 so soon to be at an end ; so he put down the 
 book, got up, and walked away to join Lady
 
 38 ANNE GREY. 
 
 Denham in cheating Lord Haclley at double 
 Patience, to attract Miss Denham to watch 
 ' mama's ' Patience, and to be laughing and 
 making others laugh as if the merriest thing in 
 the world were a game at Patience ; and Anne 
 finished her work- 
 But whilst the knitting went on, and in spite 
 of Mr. Oswald's animated description of ' a find,' 
 and an ' in at the death,' she thought, and 
 wondered, and wondered and thought ; '* was 
 it really true? was it a dream that he had 
 said it ? " she asked herself, over and over 
 again ; but he really had said it ; she could 
 not misunderstand. It was spoken, though in so 
 low a voice (and Aime thought there never was 
 one so agreeable), yet so distinct and clear that 
 she could not have been mistaken as to the 
 words. No, he certainly had used those words ; 
 but then he might have been in jest ; perhaps 
 he had, but then his look I no, Anne did not
 
 ANNE GREY. 39 
 
 think he could have been, and she would be 
 happy — she would be delighted. She was, in 
 fact, in a flutter of surprise and joy ; yet she 
 scarce knew why, as she again saw Mr. Temple 
 talking and laughing with Miss Denhani. 
 
 Thev were seated too;ether on a sofa, rather 
 apart from the players at Patience : Miss Den- 
 ham had just finished an Italian song which 
 he had admired. " I wonder whether he says 
 the same thing to her ? " thought Anne ; and 
 she sighed a very little.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The next day was agreeably spent at Hadley. 
 The Denhams discovered that Anne, though a 
 country girl, — a person whom no one knew, 
 was still a great fevouiite with Lady Hadley. 
 She was ' distingute and pretty — there was 
 something naive and interesting about her, 
 and Edward Temple talked to her. 
 
 In short, she was just the kind of girl to 
 take up — to rave about. So Miss Denham asked
 
 ANNE GREY. 41 
 
 her to practise duets with her : Lady Denham 
 found out a likeness for her to Lady somethmg 
 somebody ; made room for her on the sofa, and 
 talked to her in her most agreeable manner for 
 ten minutes at a time ; admired her singing 
 and her gown ; told Lady Hadley within her 
 hearing; that she never saw such beautiful hair ! 
 such eyes! such a skin! — asked Anne if she did 
 not draw as well as she played, and was quite 
 sure she did. 
 
 Anne found Miss Denham agreeable and 
 lively, and really enjoyed playing duets with 
 her, for she played well, though she was per- 
 haps more indebted to art then to nature for 
 her musical powers. She had learnt a good 
 style, and that supplied the place of natural 
 feeling and expression. There was no charm 
 in her performance, but it was brilliant and 
 shewy ; she kept her time, and the duets went 
 on very pleasantly.
 
 42 AUNE GREY. 
 
 Then Anne was made to sing, and Lady 
 Denham and Miss Denham were in rap- 
 tures ; Edward Temple came into the room 
 at the moment. He seated himself very 
 quietly in an arm - chair — took up a book ; 
 and whether he read or listened, or did 
 both, Anne could not say; but he did not 
 speak. 
 
 When her song was over, Miss Denham 
 asked him to come and sing : she said that 
 she remembered a song of his that she liked 
 so much ! It had haunted her ever since. 
 
 " I have had it in my head," said she, " and 
 yet not in enough ; and I can not get it out or in. 
 Do you know that feeling. Miss Grey? You must 
 come and sing it, Mr. Temple, in pity to my 
 head. I shall certainly die of a tune if you do 
 not. Did you ever hear of the poor woman who 
 went into a low nervous fever about a country 
 dance ? No never ! How stranoie ! Mornins: and
 
 ANNE GREY. 43 
 
 night the country dance was hopping, and skip- 
 ping, and buzzing in her head. To a certain 
 point it always went, over and over again: the 
 same country-dance ! But when it came to a 
 certain difficult passage it always stopped. No- 
 thing would make it go on; fingering — counting 
 — nothino; would do. That was the melancholv 
 })art of it ! the doctors tried in vain : if they 
 
 could only have got over that difficult passage all 
 would have been well ! and she would have been 
 cured ! But the doctors could not manage it — 
 the difficult passage was not to be overcome, 
 and into a low nervous fever she went. Poor 
 soul ! I believe she is dead now ! A sad story, 
 Miss Grey," said she, joining in Anne's laugh, 
 " but it is all for the sake of arousing; Mr. Tem- 
 pie's pity. Who knows but that I may go into 
 a nervous fever al^out his song ?" 
 
 " 1 shall be very sorry !" said Mi\ Tem- 
 ple, in a melancholy voice, and not stirring ;
 
 44 ANNE GREY. 
 
 " but like the old woman's head with the coun- 
 try-dance, I can't get over it ! My song and her 
 difficult passage are never to be heard. I deeply 
 regret " 
 
 " No, no, Mr. Temple," said Miss Denham, 
 interrupting him — " don't talk of regret ; you 
 are very disobliging; is not he, Miss Grey?" 
 
 " I suppose I ought to say so," said Anne, 
 " thouo-h I am rather inclined to take Mr. Tern- 
 pie's part, as I should like so much to follow 
 his example, and never sing but when I like. 
 The example is so good a one," said she, laugh- 
 ing, " that I think I shall follow it." 
 
 " It will be a sufficient punishment for my 
 indolence, if you do," said Edward Temple. 
 " Pray do not put your plan in effect," continu- 
 ed he, getting up. " Miss Denham, I am ready 
 to sing a whole music-book full, if you like ;" 
 and he began to sing, looking at Anne as he 
 did so; then seeming tired of it, he left the
 
 ANKE GREY. 46 
 
 instrument, and walked away to the other end 
 of the room, leaving Miss Denham a little 
 mortified, and a little cross. 
 
 However it was all lost upon him, for he was 
 soon too eager in a political discussion with 
 Lord Denham to bestow any more attention on 
 either her or Anne. 
 
 " Mr. Temple is very agreeable when he 
 likes," said she, to Anne. 
 
 " Yes, very," was the reply, and Anne turned 
 away her head as she spoke. 
 
 Nothing remarkable occurred that evening 
 or the next morning. Who has not known the 
 monotony of a country-house? Who has not 
 known that the more comfortable, the more 
 happy, it may be, the fewer events there will 
 be to relate? 
 
 But alas ! — who has not known its dulness? 
 Who has not known the long morning — the ex- 
 pectation of hearing one o'clock strike, and
 
 46 ANNE GREY. 
 
 finding it only twelve? Who has n ot known 
 the sight of the interminable piece of work, re- 
 gularly brought down by the lady of the house, 
 the paucity of ideas conveyed with the work — 
 the question " what shall we do to-day ? do you 
 like a drive? I am afraid it is rather cold !' 
 which shews you that the hope sugget^ted by 
 the offer is not to be realized — that you are 
 expected not to wish to drive. " You will pre- 
 fer walking, I dare say : I should like to shew 
 you my poultry house." 
 
 It is unluckily a cold, dull day. There has 
 been a copious fall of rain : the leafless trees are 
 dripping — pools of water are standing in the 
 walks, and you must think with delight of the 
 the sight of dripping bantams and dirty poultry 
 houses. But you are saved : the yawning 
 soberness of your morning talk is likely to have 
 no end, for lo ! another shower. 
 
 " Ah it rains I see — we shall not stir to-day.
 
 ANKE GREY. 47 
 
 There is nothing so comfortable as sitting in 
 doors at one's work all the morning." 
 
 How does the interminableness of that all 
 morning strike on your fancy! You are very 
 cold : you look at the fire - place : comfort 
 there, at least, you think : but the fire is scarce- 
 ly blazing. The lady of the house sees you cast 
 a longing look towards the grate : she obliging- 
 ly hopes you are not too warm. 
 
 " I don't think we have too much fire, have 
 we ? It w as so hot this morning, I ordered 
 them not to make such large fires ; " and you 
 resign yourself to the knowledge that the care 
 all day will be to keep the room at freezing 
 point. Oh ! who has not known all this and 
 many more of the charms of a long day in a 
 country house ! 
 
 Anne Grey felt none of these annoyances, 
 Hadley was proverbially pleasant. There was 
 always plenty to do — to think of — to talk of.
 
 48 ANNE GREY. 
 
 and to see : — the day was always too short. — 
 the clock struck one when twelve was ex- 
 pected. 
 
 One so often hears that such and such a house 
 is ' so pleasant,' and such and such another ' so 
 dull.' From what does this proceed ? Can no 
 one tell ? The same people are met with at both 
 the dull and the pleasant house : — the owners 
 may not be peculiarly agreeable : — the house 
 may not be particularly good, or pretty, or well- 
 furnished — no peculiar beauty out^ of dcors — 
 no peculiar beauty within. In short, no one 
 knows why it is ; yet such and such houses 
 always are pleasant, and this was the case with 
 Hadley, and it certainly was not the house or 
 the place, the visitors, or even the owner that 
 made it so. Lord Hadley, though an excellent 
 man, was not particularly entertaining ; and 
 though, it is true, that Lady Hadley was a 
 charming woman ; yet how many charming 
 women there are who have dull houses ! 

 
 ANNE GREY. 
 
 49 
 
 There must, we suppose, exist a peculiar 
 art for parties at home. We wish that those 
 few who possess it, who have studied (if they 
 do study it), and have been successful, would 
 give their knowledge to the world. It would 
 be an act of praiseworthy benevolence. — How 
 grateful should we feel towards those who had 
 saved us from the long tedium of the dull days 
 in our excellent neighbours' houses ! A monu- 
 ment would be raised to their memory when 
 dead, or a statue erected to their praise when 
 living ; inscribed with the warmest gratitude 
 and veneration, from the distressed ladies and 
 gentlemen of country life, to the greatest bene- 
 factors of any age or time. 
 
 But we must return to Anne Grey, and her 
 enjoyment of the pleasant house at Hadley ; and 
 so much did she enjoy it that she felt she 
 should even be sorry to return home. 
 
 Mr. Temple had been very agreeable. They 
 
 VOL. II. D
 
 60 ANNE GREY. 
 
 had had a great deal of conversation together, 
 and Anne always forgot her shyness in talking 
 to him. He seemed interested in hearing her opi- 
 nions, and anxious to draw them forth, and he 
 never but once again said anything which made 
 her consider whether he could be speaking seri- 
 ously, or secretly ridiculing her. 
 
 Once more only did he make her start, 
 and feel happy, and fearful, and doubtful. One 
 evening he had left Miss Denham, after she 
 had been exerting her best powers for his 
 amusement, — he left her, to come and sit by 
 Anne. They had talked for long on various 
 subjects, and at length they spoke of memory 
 — of the power of recollecting faces — of identi- 
 fying in the grown-up person the child that 
 had been knoAvn at school, — of remembering 
 those who had been seen but once. 
 
 "There are some people I feel it would be 
 impossible to forget," said Edward Temple. " I 
 
 •"•i 
 
 i
 
 ANNE GREY, 51 
 
 do not mean those whom one remembers mere- 
 ly for amusement ; who strike one only from 
 their absurdity ; I mean those whom one re- 
 members to love. — Yes," said he, after a slight 
 pause, and looking towards Anne, " there are 
 some people whom I never could forget. Do 
 not tlatter yourself, Miss Grey, that you will 
 ever be forgotten." 
 
 The colour came into Anne's face — her 
 heart beat fast as she quickly withdrew her 
 eyes. She felt that those words would never 
 be forgotten. Perhaps they never were. 
 
 It was only this once more that anything 
 was said to cause her, in the retirement of her 
 chamber, to wonder, and be delighted — and to 
 think " it really was," and then " it never could 
 be " — nothing but this to make her stand for 
 minutes over the fire, wondering why her maid 
 delayed so long, and to find at last that it was 
 she who had kept her maid in waiting and sus- 
 
 D 2
 
 52 ANNE GREY. 
 
 peiise : — nothing to make her look all round 
 the room for her gloves, to find that they were 
 both on her hands : — nothing to make her ask 
 if Mr. Temple was gone down instead of Lady 
 Hadley. No — there were but two slight occa- 
 sions to make Anne do all this ; to make her 
 sometimes go into a reverie — sometimes smile 
 in the middle of her reverie — sometimes give a 
 little joyous bound in her light, noiseless step 
 across the room. But there was daily just 
 enough to make her late in coming up to dress, 
 early in going down to breakfast, and to 
 make her say to herself, " how very early we 
 come to bed at Hadley ! " Yes — there was just 
 enough for this in Edward Temple's manner. 
 
 " He is certainly more agreeable than ever," 
 thought Anne. " He talks more seriously to 
 me ; as if he thought my opinions worth hear- 
 ing, and considered me worthy to be told his 
 own ! He certainly talks a great deal to Miss
 
 ANNE GREY. 53 
 
 Denliam," — Anne sighed a little ; '* but I do 
 not think as he does to me. He always seems 
 amused with her, and as if he were willing 
 to amuse her : but it is different ! I should 
 not wish his manner to be the same with me ! 
 Yes — I think, after all, that he does like me 
 the best ! But how conceited ! " thought she. 
 " How presumptuous ! No, I dare say he pre- 
 fers her, and the difference of manner is a 
 proof in her favour. He would probably wish 
 to put forth all his powers of entertainment for 
 me, as he does for her, if he did not think me 
 too dull to understand him. I was very con- 
 ceited," thought Anne, " 1 wonder whether 
 he says he never could forget her ? I dare say 
 be does." And she went down stairs looking 
 very sedate and diffident ; but the moment she 
 entered, Edward Temple left Miss Denham to 
 come and talk to her, and at the end of 
 half-an-hour's serious conversation, Anne Grey
 
 54 ANNE GREY. 
 
 entertained once more those same conceited 
 opinions. 
 
 " It is a pity how the world spoils people ! " 
 says the country cousin, who longs to go to 
 town. "Its a pity how wordly people are ! " 
 says the discontented, philosophical fellow of 
 a college, as he throws on one side my book, 
 which Heaven knows how he had ever been 
 deluded into opening !
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Anne could not think of leaving Hadley 
 without regret, and though she had stayed two 
 days longer than was first intended, yet the 
 five days seemed to have passed as quickly as 
 if they had only been three. 
 
 Anne regretted the loss of Lady Hadley's 
 society^. She had been peculiarly kind : she 
 had talked to her with such affectionate in- 
 terest, and seemed anxious that Anne should 
 regard her as a friend.
 
 56 ANNE GREY. 
 
 " I hope you will often come to Hadley," 
 said she one day. " Now we are got so far in 
 our intimacy, we must not stop here and have 
 to begin again. As long as you remain at 
 Weston, you must remember how near it is to 
 Hadley ; and afterwards, when my little friend 
 is no longer Anne Grey, you must not forget 
 that you had some friends before you changed 
 your name," said she, smiling, and looking 
 affectionately at her. 
 
 Anne blushed, looked grateful, and said 
 all that was natural and proper about her 
 never forgetting Lady Hadley — and never 
 being likely to change her name. 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Lady Hadley, " all girls 
 form a virtuous resolution to be old maids, 
 from sixteen to five-and-twenty ; it is all very 
 right : nevertheless I hope to see you married 
 before a great many years have passed. 
 " There even is a person," continued she.
 
 AJJNE GREY. 57 
 
 whom I should have almost liked for you — but 
 then alas ! he is unfortunately not a marrying 
 man ! If he could once make up his mmd to 
 seriously attach himself, he would make an 
 excellent husband. However, it is out of the 
 question, so 1 would say to all my young lady 
 friends ' beware of Edward Temple!' I think 
 I must give a little advise to Miss Denham. 
 But what a long: lecture on marriage I 
 have been giving you !" said she, smiling and 
 rising as she spoke. " I must make haste and 
 shew that I have respect enough for its coH' 
 veiiances by attending my own husband who 
 is waiting for me all this time !' 
 
 Anne had been rather surprised, and a little 
 vexed, by what Lady Hadley had said of Mr. 
 Temple. Still she believed it was partly said 
 in jest, and that no particular allusion to her 
 had been intended. She hoped Lady Hadley 
 could not fancy her so conceited as to suppose 
 
 D 5
 
 68 
 
 AJiNE GREY. 
 
 Mr. Temple in love with her. She hoped she 
 did not think her manner with him had been 
 forward. One thino; however was certain — 
 Mr. Temple was not a n.arrying man ; and she 
 left Hadley with this conviction on her mind, 
 but with a conviction, no less strong, that 
 another so agreeable a person did not exist 
 in the world. 
 
 The visit to Chatteiton was to take jilace 
 the day after Anne's return, and she had some 
 anticipations of pleasure, though leaving home 
 again so soon, for Mr. Temple was to be there : 
 but there were still warmer anticipations of 
 happiness in returning home even after so 
 short an absence. Yet in that solitary drive 
 irom Hadley, Charlotte Daventry's words often 
 came across her mind. She thought of Lady 
 Hadley and of Edward Temple — of Sophy and 
 of her mother : she felt that Charlotte mijrht 
 be right : there were different appreciations of
 
 ANNE GREY. 59 
 
 her character ; but she checked the thought, 
 and when the carriage door was opened and 
 she found herself again at home — felt her 
 mother's fond kiss — her father's affectionate 
 embrace — saw Sophy's glad look — heard Wil- 
 liam's hearty, " well Miss Anne ! we are all 
 very glad to have you again," she forgot Char- 
 lotte Daventry, and if she remembered her 
 words, it was only to say they were false. 
 
 " I am, and I ought to be satisfied — more 
 than satisfied, with such love ! only a few days 
 absent and welcomed as if I had been away for 
 months !" 
 
 " Dear, dear home ! How I love you !" ejacu- 
 lated she to herself as she put off her bonnet 
 and shawl. She had forgotten all in that 
 warm and pure delight — that love for those 
 who made her home ! She who added a charm 
 to her father's house ; she whose gentle voice, 
 whose never failing cheerfulness, contentment.
 
 CO ANNE GREY. 
 
 elegance and sense, lent to domestic hours 
 their peace and joy — she forgot all but her 
 home : forgot that she had a wish, a hope, on 
 earth beyond. She forgot the world — its trou- 
 bles — its joys — forgot even Edward Temple ; 
 and not till she had sat half an hour alone with 
 Charlotte Daventry the next morning, did she 
 remember that even at home there were sorrows 
 and cares, and that reasons might exist to seek 
 pleasures and forgetfulness elsewhere ; and, as 
 she prepared for Chatterton, she found that she 
 could leave home with less of fond rey-ret than 
 she would perha[)S have wished to feel. 
 
 But she would not allow herself to repine : 
 she turned her thoughts to the contemplation 
 of enjoyment now in her power. She thouglit 
 that society had its pleasures, and that it was 
 right to appreciate and enjoy them ; and if the 
 knowledge that Edward Temple was to be at 
 Chatterton added not a little to her amiable
 
 ANNE GREY. 61 
 
 spirit of contentment, do not let us think that 
 she deserved no praise, because pleasure 
 mingled with her duty. The path of duty 
 need not always be painful and rugged ; yet 
 though it is sometimes spread with flowers — 
 though gleams of sunshine sometimes gild its 
 gloom, yet even from this flowery path we often 
 turn aside with disgust and negligence, because 
 we are unwilling to tread in the steps pointed 
 out to us. This should not be — nor should we 
 deem the duties of others always light and easy, 
 because they are not devoid of everything 
 pleasing to recommend them. We may admire 
 the being whom we see struggling in the nar- 
 row path of duty with no ray of gladness to 
 cheer him on — let us admire, reverence, 
 respect ! but, let us not for this refuse all ad- 
 miration to the being who continues in the 
 same path of duty with more of joy to cheer 
 his steps. He likewise deserves our praise ;
 
 62 ANNE GREY. 
 
 and even so may we look with approbation on 
 the quiet contentedness of Anne Grey. We may 
 praise her that she determined to iind hap- 
 piness in every event, and in every situation in 
 which Providence had placed her. 
 
 There is, it is true, and how gladly do we 
 feel that there is, a i-eal pleasure arismg from 
 the consciousness that we are performing our 
 duty. Yes! though the brightness of Anne's 
 smile had faded, though there was almost a 
 touch of sadness in the calmness of her coun- 
 tenance, yet when the confidential conversation 
 ended, she and Charlotte Daventry quitted 
 the room together, wiio would not rather have 
 been that unrepining being, more sad, it is true, 
 than she had hitherto been, than her wiiose 
 lip was curled in triumph, on whose face a 
 smile dwelt for a moment ? Who would not 
 rather at that moment as they saw the victim, 
 and the deceiver — as they gazed on the proud
 
 ANNE GREY. 63 
 
 smile, which curled the lip, and lighted up the 
 dark expressive eyes of the one — and saw the 
 tear which filled the clear blue eye of the other 
 — who would not rather so have wept with 
 Anne, than so have smiled with Charlotte ? 
 
 Sophy was in high spirits at the thoughts 
 of going to Chatterton. She loved society, and 
 society returned the compliment. Contrary to 
 all rules of etiquette, Mr. and Mrs. Grey were 
 taking out three young ladies at once ; nothing 
 could be so wrong, and Mrs. Grey would never 
 have ventured on the display of so much 
 beauty and agreeableness at once, had not Mr. 
 Foley rode over on purpose to beg that it might 
 be so. 
 
 ' ' Chatterton would be so highly honoured ! 
 Chatterton was quite large enough ! a perfect 
 desert in size ! Really it was impossible to fill 
 it ! Mrs. Grey must grant his little request." 
 Mrs. Grey was exceedingly shocked, quite
 
 6-t ANNE (JREY. 
 
 distressed, and quite delighted. Mr. Foley went 
 away quite satisfied that every one of the family 
 would come, though it would be so distressing 
 to poor Mrs. Grey's feelings ; and Mrs. Grey 
 said, when he left the room, " Mr. Foley is a 
 particularly agreeable gentlemanlike person !" 
 and as she saw the three young ladies in the 
 carriage with her, she bore her sufferings so 
 well, that she actually looked nearly as happy 
 as when she saw Lord Stoketon at the ball, 
 or had completed her largest piece of tent- 
 stitch. 
 
 " It would have been so hard to have left 
 poor Charlotte at home," thought she ; " and 
 yet I would not have left Anne, for I am sure 
 George Foley admires her, and Chatterton is 
 such a very nice place ! Mr. Foley said it was 
 so large it really could not be filled ; but how- 
 ever with a large young family, and Sophy's 
 children, who might stay there whilst she came
 
 ANNE GREY. 65 
 
 to Weston ; and William perhaps, — in a little 
 time I hope, though 1 don't know yet who he 
 may have fixed upon; and Charlotte, Mrs. 
 Robert Dobson — Yes ! Mr. Foley would find 
 it would not be at all too large — but then he 
 would be dead, poor man!" And Mrs. Grey 
 comfortably reposed in the corner of the car- 
 riage on her way to Chatterton, looking, worthy 
 woman, to future happiness, in the delightful 
 contemplation of her charming host's decease, 
 to whom she wished no ill on earth — merely 
 that he should make room for his son. 
 
 Mrs. Grey, never thought of wishing be- 
 yond the common course of nature, but she 
 certainly forgot that Mr. Foley was a little 
 younger than herself ! 
 
 Amongst the party at Chatterton, were 
 Frank Crawford, Mr, and Mrs. Cartwright, 
 Mr. Arthur Dalton, Mr. Temple, Lady Dow- 
 ton — (Sir John was in Leicestershire for a
 
 66 an>;e grey. 
 
 happy fortnight), and Sir Henry Poynton, who 
 was always every where. 
 
 How is it some people always are every- 
 where ? Every body meets them — every body 
 is surprised that you should have met them, 
 though no one is surprised to meet them them- 
 selves. Every body met Sir Henry Poynton, 
 and no one started or looked surprised when 
 they walked into the drawing - room before 
 dinner to see Sir Henry's hale, hearty figure, 
 ready with his extended hand to greet them. 
 
 There were others at Chatterton not 
 amongst our old acquaintances, and justice to 
 Mr. Foley demands that we mention a 
 Duchess Dowager, and an Ex-minister among 
 the number ; but we have so often gone through 
 the labelling process, that it is time to follow 
 the example of those authors of more interest- 
 ing books, who dare not touch on the inexpres- 
 sible feelings of the hero or heroine. Such
 
 ANNE GREY. 67 
 
 feelings, as our novelists tells us, are more 
 easily imagined than described. We doubt the 
 assertion, but we adopt his plan, with regard to 
 the Chatterton visitors, and leave them all to 
 the brilliant fancy of the reader. 
 
 Whether the presence of any of these 
 visitors added to the agreeabieness of the iirst 
 evening, I cannot say ; but it certainly did not 
 diminish the pleasure George Foley experi- 
 enced in the society of Anne, nor that which 
 Anne felt in the conversation of Edward 
 Temple. 
 
 " He is perfect !" whispered Charlotte Da- 
 ventry to Anne, as they separated at the top 
 of the stairs ; " and perhaps he thinks Anne 
 Grey perfect !" added she, with an arch smile 
 as she pressed the small white fingers that 
 were reposing in happy confidence in hers. 
 Anne could only smile and say ' good night,' as 
 with a light step she followed Sophy to her 
 room.
 
 68 ANNE GREY. 
 
 " Yes," thought she, " he is perfect." 
 
 " What a cold mannered girl Miss Foley 
 is !" said Sophy, interrupting Anne's charitable 
 train of thought. 
 
 " No," said she, at length, as if she had 
 been deliberating on the question of Miss 
 Foley's coldness. 
 
 "No?" said Sophy, looking up surprised, 
 and pausing, as she unclasped her bracelets. 
 " No? why, Anne, you are half asleep !" 
 
 " Oh I am I ?" said Anne, recollecting her- 
 self. " No, I am not sleepy — but I forgot — 
 what was it you asked ?" 
 
 "Ah! just so," said Sophy, laughing: 
 " that 710, I was quite sure was the answer to 
 a question in your own mind — ' Is Mr. George 
 Foley handsome or not?' and ' no,' says Miss 
 Anne Grey!" 
 
 " Mr. George Foley I" said Anne, with a 
 tone of surprise; " no indeed, Sophy, I was 
 not thinking of him."
 
 ANNE GREY. 69 
 
 " Oh then, I know ! It was Sir Henry 
 Poynton ?" 
 
 " No, not even of him," said Anne. " How 
 pretty Charlotte looked this evening," added 
 she, after a moment's pause. " Once I looked 
 at her, when she was talking to Mr. Crawford, 
 and I never saw anything more striking than 
 her expression. She has beautiful eyes !" 
 
 "She is 'belle comme le jour,'" said 
 Sophy, " and, to speak the truth, with all her 
 childishness, a little bit of a flirt." 
 
 " No, no, that is not fair, Sophy :" Char- 
 lotte has no idea of flirting ; she is perfectly 
 simple !" 
 
 " And so naive and simple," said Sophy, 
 " that she has won the admiration of Mr. 
 Crawford, who, by the way, I do not quite 
 like." 
 
 Anne did not continue the conversation — 
 she was thinking of Charlotte Daventry's man-
 
 70 ANNE GREV. 
 
 ner at that moment ; of a smile that she had 
 seen given and returned between her and 
 Mr. Crawford. 
 
 " After all, I do not think Mr. Temple is 
 so very agreeable," said Sophy, after a little 
 silence. 
 
 Anne's attention was not so far absent as on 
 a former occasion ; it was immediately aroused 
 by Sophy's remark. It called forth no reply ; 
 but there succeeded a quick rush of colour to 
 her face, and a diligent search for a ring which 
 she had not dropped. 
 
 The morrow was one of those bright and 
 sunny days, which always betoken in a work 
 of fiction either some heavy calamity to the 
 hero and heroine, or a sympathetic piece of 
 brilliant fortune. I can scarcely say which of 
 the two it betokened to Anne and Sophy Grey. 
 It seemed unmarked by any peculiar event, 
 whether of joy or sorrow, to them ! Yet through
 
 ANNE GREY. 71 
 
 the world did not both exist — was there not 
 joy and sorrow on that day ? In every hour, 
 in every moment, joy and sorrow to millions ? 
 
 Yes ! on each day that calls us back to life 
 and light, all around us the mingled web is 
 wove. The many rise, like us — the many 
 weep, or smile, or laugh, and feel. Could 
 we but see and know, what a mass of varied 
 misery and joy would meet our scrutiny ! 
 What feelings in those many hearts ! What 
 fear, what joy, what hope ! What bright 
 realities ! What dark forebodings ! What 
 fluttering hearts ! What fond, gay visions ! 
 There are tears for those departed ; there are 
 watchings round the dying man — there are last 
 words spoken — there are death struggles — 
 there are murders — there are treacheries ful- 
 filled — there are words spoken like daggers 
 to the heart — there are secrets told that blig-ht 
 — there are young hearts awoke to grief.
 
 72 ANNE GREY. 
 
 Yes, but there are smiles called forth — 
 there are hopes fulfilled, sweet words whis- 
 pered, sweet sounds heard ; there are parents' 
 smiles, and parents' tears of joy ; there are 
 children's grateful hearts poured forth ; there 
 are children who have watched, and loved, and 
 been rewarded ; there are suspicions quelled — 
 doubts that are hushed — mysteries unravelled ; 
 there are those who enter upon life, blessed, 
 welcomed, and caressed ; there are calm and 
 holy deaths. Yes, all around us, joy and sor- 
 row, are busy in their work ! 
 
 But let us turn again to our homely scene. 
 Let us turn to the minuUie, the servile copyism 
 of our Dutch school of portraiture. Let us dip 
 our brush in gay and vivid hues, and paint 
 with careful hand the little world of social life 
 around us. Let us be clear, minute, distinct ; 
 and now, with steady touch, and watchful eye, 
 we prepare our colours ; then select and blend.
 
 ANNE GREY. 73 
 
 The morning sun has brought to light tlie 
 leafless trees of Chatterton — the frost has dis- 
 appeared — the air breathes mild and soft 
 — a touch of spring is there — the rooks are 
 up — they are spread abroad, now hovering 
 over the open lawn, now uttering their busy 
 notes — then resting on the ground, walking 
 with strutting industry along the grass ; now 
 up and away again, with a cheerful caw. 
 The mist is gone : — the sun streams forth ; 
 and the bare branches glitter with the dew 
 drops still hanging on the trees. The sun 
 shines forth : it streams in throuo;h the latticed 
 cottage window : it streams in through the 
 curtained window of the rich. It streams 
 in to the large spacious rooms at Chatterton, 
 and wakes Sophy and Anne Grey, to the sweet 
 consciousness of being. 
 
 " What a lovely day !" said Anne, as she 
 put aside the curtain. " It is almost like 
 
 VOL. II. E
 
 74 ANNE GREY. 
 
 spring! It will be a beautiful day for our 
 drive," and her face brightened with a happy 
 smile. 
 
 Why was Anne so happy ? Was it the 
 lovely d{;y alone ? No, not quite ; for though 
 a spring-like day will sometimes give a spring- 
 like feeling to the heart ; though a bright 
 sun will give a sunshiny feeling to the mind ; 
 yet it was not this alone. Anne thought, 
 as she saw the sun so bright, that the open 
 carriage would be put in requisition : — that 
 there would be a place in it for herself, and 
 (shall we say it ?) for Edward Temple ! 
 
 Anne heard the cawing of the rooks, saw 
 the clear blue sky, the light grey, purple, 
 and yellow tints of the clouds all blending, 
 intermingling, and gently moving forward in 
 the soft mild breeze ; and the sun-light bright- 
 ness was reflected o!i her cheek — the softness 
 and the gladness was repeated in her eyes :
 
 ANNE GREY. 75 
 
 anfl the beating of her heart ! was that as 
 gentle as the whispering freshness of the morn- 
 ing breeze? 
 
 Oh ! Anne Grey, how is it that I write 
 this of you? "What nonsense!" you would 
 have said ; and your pretty rosy lips would 
 have looked " what nonsense !" and even your 
 soft blue eyes would have expressed with a 
 quiet contempt, " what nonsense !" — and per- 
 haps it is nonsense for an every day common- 
 place story like mine. 
 
 E 2
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " Miss Anne Grey, here is a place, Sir Henry 
 Poynton has been religiously preserving for 
 you," said Mr. Temple, shewing her a vacant 
 seat between himself and Sir Henry at break- 
 fast. Anne took the offered seat, and for one 
 second at least was unable to reply to Sir Henry 
 Povnton's " Good morning." 
 
 " You have been very idle this morning," 
 said Sir Henry, with a good-humoured smile 
 on his weather-beaten face. " 1 have had great
 
 ANNE GREY, 77 
 
 difficulty to keep a chair for you. I could not 
 have managed it had not Temple helped me : — 
 " Ah ! Temple," added he, speaking across 
 Anne to Mr. Temple, " I was telling Miss Grejr 
 how cleverly you managed. I am telling her 
 that 1 am indebted to you for the honour of 
 having her here by me." 
 
 '■'■ Miss Grey, perhaps is not indebted to me 
 for one part of the manceuvre," said he, turn- 
 ing quickly round, and looking at Anne. 
 " She might have been placed between two 
 people who were agreeable to her, instead of 
 one ; but it is difficult to be unselfish at all 
 times." The sentence was finished in a low 
 voice to Anne : she alone heard it. 
 
 " But I was saying," continued Sir Henry 
 to Anne, " how idle you were this mornmg. 
 There was Miss Daventry up with the lark." 
 
 " Yes, I see she is blushing," said he 
 looking jocose and nodding to her across the
 
 78 ANNE GREY. 
 
 table. We must lay it to the infirmity of his 
 vision, that he spoke of blushes which had no 
 existence. 
 
 " Ah ! I see she is Uushing : and well she 
 may. Slie will not hear, so I may say what 
 I like," continued he, in a particularly audible, 
 confidential voice. " There I found her actu- 
 ally having a tete k t^te with a young gen- 
 tleman, when I came down, thinking myself an 
 excellent man because 1 was so early ; there I 
 found her already seated in an arm chair, and 
 Mr. Crawford in another. Ah ! Miss Daven- 
 try," smiling and nodding at her, as at last he 
 caught her eye, ** I am telling tales. I am 
 telling a little story of you !" 
 
 " Not a short one, I should suppose," said 
 Frank CraAvford, half aloud, to Charlotte 
 Daventry who sat by him. 
 
 '* Yes ! it's very true : Miss Grey can tell 
 you all about it !"
 
 ANNE GREY. 
 
 79 
 
 Sir Henry chuckled, Charlotte laughed, 
 looked very mnocent, said, " Oh! what is it?" 
 and then the joke was over, and Anne could 
 listen to a voice on the other side of her. 
 
 " Your cousin is a very natural character," 
 said Mr. Temple, with a scrutinizing look, as , 
 she answered, 
 
 " Yes, perfectly ?" 
 
 " I see you think so!" was his reply. Anne 
 did not like his tone as he uttered these words : 
 but he immediately turned the subject from 
 Charlotte Daventi'y ; and as Anne listened and 
 replied, she soon forgot Charlotte, Mr. Craw- 
 ford, Sir Henry Poynton, everything but — 
 Anne Grey, I must not be so unkind towards . 
 you — no — not by me shall that modest shrink- 
 ing delicacy be wounded, by having its 
 thoughts, its feelings, and its weaknesses dis- 
 played to the cold, unfriendly eye of the world. 
 No, let the modest retirement of character
 
 80 ANNE GREY. 
 
 remain unexposed. Let it lie hidden and 
 beautiful in its retirement — shrinking like the 
 violet amidst its leaves from the notice, the 
 pollution, and the contamination of the world. 
 " Who is for a drive this morning?" said 
 , Mr. Foley. " Or rather is any not for one on 
 such a day ? Quite the sort of day," said he, 
 
 turning to the Dowager Duchess of who 
 
 sat contentedly on his right hand, " to make 
 one hate the sight of Ottomans and sofas, and 
 regret one has been at the expense of heated 
 flues — new invented stoves &c., ' La belle 
 nature^ is every thing to-day ! one is quite dis- 
 gusted with stoves, and rugs, and Axminster 
 carpets." 
 
 "Are you, really ! " said the good simple 
 duchess. " I think they are very comfortable ; 
 but, 1 dare say, it will be very pleasant for a 
 drive." 
 
 " Oh ! then we will certainly have one : "
 
 ANNE GREY. 81 
 
 then raising his voice and making a general 
 appeal to the company, said, " the Duchess and 
 
 I are engaged for a drive. Who will join our 
 party? Temple," continued he, addressing him 
 across the table, " I have something to shew 
 you. I have a carriage that will amuse you ! 
 and to tell you the truth, 1 have a design upon 
 you ; you are to drive in it to day — it is a whim 
 of Mrs. Foley's. She fell in love with it at — ■ 
 v/here was it? — oh, Cheltenham — she thought 
 it would be exactly the thing for her charitable 
 expeditions. I believe, good enthusiastic woman, 
 she would have bouijht one out of the stand 
 if I would have let her — but that would not do ! 
 so I sent to the fellow in Long-acre that builds 
 me my carriages, and he took the pattern ; — 
 and this is the carriage you must all admire." 
 
 Temple looked amused and acquiescent, and 
 then turning to Anne, " Will you make my 
 duties light," he said in a low voice ; " will 
 
 E 5
 
 8-2 AMNE GREY. 
 
 you promise to drive with iiie ? Miss Anne 
 Grey," said he, raising his voice and address- 
 ing Mr. Foley, " has promised to be miserable 
 for a whole morning's drive with me. We are 
 both victims : you must collect your others as 
 you can. 1 leave that to your powers of per- 
 suasion, Foley." 
 
 " Oh ! 1 am quite a willing victim ! " said 
 Mrs. Cartwright, " and is there room for 
 another person ? " 
 
 " Yes, actually," said Mr. Foley with 
 mock gravity," there is room for four in Mrs. 
 Foley's fly." 
 
 " Oh ! then, there must be another victim ! 
 cried Mrs. Cartwright, " who nmst it be ? " 
 
 " I am another most willing victim — most 
 humble slave ! " said Mr. Arthur Dalton, trying 
 to look comic and insinuating at once ; " Most 
 humble slave !" Who ever saw Arthur Dal- 
 ton, but felt how thoroughly those words be-
 
 ANNE GREY. 83 
 
 longed to him ! Edward Temple smiled, 
 looked at Anne, and saw she understood him. 
 
 " How easily the chain sits on some people!" 
 said he. " Surely some English were born un- 
 English ! Happy, humble man ! Do not you 
 envy him? " 
 
 The drive was to take place. Every body 
 was to go, and it was to be charming, " a real 
 gipsey expedition," as Mr. Foley said. Every 
 one was to be happy, and they were to see the 
 ruins of a castle, and a Roman something — no 
 one knew what ; but it was decidedly Roman, 
 though it looked like a real English heap of 
 soil and the remains of a real English wall. 
 Still it was quite worth going to see. 
 
 " Do not you feel quite inspired, Miss 
 Foley V said Mr. Temple. " Do not you feel a 
 noble enthusiasm rising, and the spirit of im- 
 provising coming upon you ? Cannot you fancy 
 some one of the party — Mr. Dalton, perhaps — 
 a Roman patriot? — look at him, Miss Foley!"
 
 84 ANNE GREY. 
 
 Miss Foley and others who stood near 
 smiled as their eyes followed the form of the 
 Roman Patriot reclining in an arm-chair, fond- 
 ling Mrs. Foley's lap-dos:, and looking sweet 
 and laughing in affected merriment with Mrs. 
 Cartwright. 
 
 Mr. Foley had arranged the party. Edward 
 Temple was, after all, not to go in the fly. George 
 must take his place — the joke was over, and 
 Mr. Temple must go with Lady Emily Harville 
 and the Duchess. Mr. Foley had made up his 
 mind that it should be so, and no one could 
 rebel against his decisions in his own house. 
 George Foley thought it much the best arrange- 
 ment, and when Mr. Foley appealed to her, 
 Anne said so also, whilst George Foley listened 
 to hear how willing she was to have him for a 
 companion. 
 
 Perhaps Anne did not know that Mr, Tem- 
 ple was within hearing when she agreed with
 
 ANNE GREY. 85 
 
 Mr. Foley, and looked as much pleased as 
 George Foley wished. " He was very willing 
 to give it up," thought she, " after having asked 
 me to go with him ! " 
 
 Some people mi^ht have said that Edward 
 Temple was out of humour. Perhaps he was ; 
 but he was a good-tempered man. " What airs 
 that man gives himself!" thought Mr. Arthur 
 Dalton. " I wish 1 could get his tone and 
 manner." 
 
 " Parties of pleasure are proverbially par- 
 ties of pain," said Edward Temple a few 
 minutes afterwards to Mr. Grey who was near 
 him. " I am sure you must agree in thinking 
 that no bore is equal to that of being forced 
 to be delighted for a whole day together, with 
 nothino; to make one so, except doing the 
 very thing one don't like." 
 
 " I agree so perfectly," said Mr. Grey, 
 " that I shall beg off. I am old, you know,"
 
 86 ANNE GREV. 
 
 smiling ; " so I can get out of these difficulties 
 easily — that is one privilege of being an old 
 married man ! " 
 
 " I cannot claim your privilege, but I intend 
 to follow your example. But perhaps you will 
 do a good-natured thing and take my place at 
 the side of Lady Emily ? She is a charming 
 person, as Foley will tell you." 
 
 " Oh ! I thought," said Mr. Grey, smiling, 
 " that you were of the Foley fly party ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ! that is at an end. Miss Anne 
 Grey would not accept of me as a companion, 
 so I am doomed to make the disagreeable to 
 the Duchess and Lady Emily. They must 
 suffer for my mortified vanity." 
 
 " Anne," said Mr. Grey, as she passed near 
 him to look for a book, " do you know what 
 Mr. Temple says of you? I hear you i*efused 
 to drive with him;" said he laughing, and 
 gently drawing his daughter towards him.
 
 ANNE GREY. 87 
 
 " Oh, no ! " said Anne a little embarrassed, 
 " I did not refuse ; I believe it was Mr. Temple 
 who refused to drive with me ; " and she 
 blushed for having said what she felt. 
 
 Some people profess to say whatever comes 
 into their heads, and to be so natural that they 
 cannot help it ; and from those we may always 
 expect to hear either many rude and ill-natured 
 things, or a great deal of nonsense : we may 
 be quite sure that the regular professor of this 
 charming naivete is either very silly, or very 
 malicious. 
 
 Anne Grey made no professions of being 
 under the dreadful necessity of uttering her 
 thoughts aloud. She had neither the artifice 
 of being unnatural, nor of striving to seem na- 
 tural. She was perfectly without artifice : her 
 heart was filled with truth, sincerity, charity, 
 and kindness : she had no disguise ; and if 
 she sometimes said that which etiquette might
 
 88 ANNE GREY. 
 
 have blushed at for etiquette's sake, she never 
 breathed one single word which good taste or 
 good feeling- would have shrunk from expres- 
 sing. She, in fact, said all which those who 
 profess to be natural have heard, and thought 
 so beautiful that they would imitate it. Fatal 
 mistake ! to try to imitate the most inimitable 
 of all o-races ! But to Anne nature had driven 
 this artless charm, and nature, like a kind 
 mother, had blinded her alone to the know- 
 ledoe of its possession. Some will say, ' where 
 is the envied charm of those few words which 
 fell from her lips ? ' Yet had any one seen and 
 heard her at the moment I describe, when, as 
 she uttered those words she leant against her 
 father's chair and put her hand upon his 
 shouldei', they would have acknowledged that 
 a peculiar charm did exist. 
 
 "Then you will not refuse to accept my 
 services once more?" said Edward Temple,
 
 ANNE GREY, 89 
 
 looking at her with animation. " You will 
 let me be useful to the best of my abilities in 
 driving away the dullness of a long drive ? in 
 putting on your cloak for you when it is slip- 
 ping off — in opening gates if we have no half 
 dozen grooms on curveting steeds behind us, 
 which Heaven knows whether Foley would 
 ever forgive me for supposing there would not 
 be?" Anne smiled, and the pleasure betrayed 
 in her smile satisfied Edward Temple without 
 waiting for any other reply. 
 
 " Then I will arrange it all ! " said he, his 
 ill-humour gone. " Mr. Grey, what do you say 
 to Lady Emily and the Duchess ? any wish { 
 It is the last time of asking, remember, for I am 
 going to decide their fates irrevocably in a few 
 minutes. No ? Ah, Mr. Grey ! can you also resist 
 such charms ? Rank, beauty, and fashion ! Well 
 then, Miss Grey, I have your consent ? may I 
 say?
 
 90 ANNE GREY. 
 
 " Yes," said Anne. 
 
 " Then, George Foley, you are doomed to 
 a Duchess and Lady Emily for a drive, or 
 for life ! " 
 
 Edward Temple had soon arranged it, and 
 as poor George Foley looked at the happy 
 radiant face of Anne when Edward Temple 
 returned to her, he could only confess to him- 
 self how little happy he felt ! At that moment 
 he would have liked the privilege of hating 
 Edward Temple. But he forbad the thought. 
 He had strong feelings, but he had a strong 
 control over them. He might be grieved, but 
 he need not be unamiable ; and as he saw 
 Anne's look of pleasure he only felt the chill 
 of disappointment ; and if he envied Edward 
 Temple's powers of fascination, shall we blame 
 him ? 
 
 No ! let the young lady who wishes she pos- 
 sessed the beauty of her preferred rival — let the
 
 ANNE GREY. 91 
 
 starving artist who wishes himself gifted with 
 the talent of his distinguished fellow labourer — 
 let the poor neglected child, who wishes that 
 on herself were bestowed some of the caresses 
 lavished on her more favoured brother or sis- 
 ter — let these plead for him, and let us also 
 acquit him for coveting Edward Temple's 
 power of captivating the heart of Anne Grey.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The drive took place : Mrs. Foley's fly was pro- 
 nounced to be the most charming fly that ever 
 
 came out of coach maker's hands : the Roman 
 remains were admired and apostrophised : Mr. 
 Arthur Dalton looked as like a Roman patriot 
 as he was expected to look ; and the day, though 
 in scarcely a spring month, was yet exactly like 
 spring, and exactly suited for a gipsey party ; — 
 the carriages that might have been closed were 
 thrown open ; and no one pitied the ' poor 
 wretches,' in Mrs. Foley's open fly.
 
 ANNE GREY. 93 
 
 No ! every one might have envied them. 
 Some perhaps did ! and did Anne Grey think 
 she deserved to be envied ? Did she think it 
 such a very charming drive ? Oh yes ! and Mrs. 
 Cartwright and Mr. Arthur Dalton ! they liked 
 it also. Edward Temple perhaps thought it 
 charming too — Yes ! and perhaps in that drive 
 much interesting conversation passed between 
 himself and Anne. But we must rest on conjec- 
 ture alone : it may have been nothing new or 
 entertaining. 
 
 Perhaps Edward Temple spoke of the world — 
 of his dislike of worldly people — his admiration 
 of those who were not ? Perhaps he insinuated, 
 that he never saw a being so unworldly as Anne 
 Grey ! never knew one whose slightest conta- 
 mination by the world it would grieve him so 
 deeply to see. Perhaps he said how easily the 
 world would spoil, and harden, and sully even 
 the purest, the most simple-minded. Perhaps
 
 94 AXNE GREY, 
 
 he warned Anne to beware — perhajDS for his sake 
 to beware ; and (flattering reason) because she 
 was the purest, the most simple-minded, and 
 because of the grief it would cause him to see 
 the slightest change in such a character. Per- 
 haps Anne felt that the world might easily 
 spoil — that it might change many — that it 
 might change her in many things ; still in one 
 thing it never could change her ! She never 
 could forget Edward Temple. 
 
 But will he who mingles in this wicked, 
 spoiling world — -who has long mingled in it — 
 will he forget — will he have said, and looked, 
 and insinuated all this, merely for the amuse- 
 ment of the moment? Will he in a few short 
 days be saying the self-same words — looking 
 with the self-same looks at some other poor de- 
 luded, flattered girl ? Will he perhaps remem- 
 ber her merely to think " hers was a pretty 
 interesting character — an amusing study for an
 
 ANNE GREY. 95 
 
 idle half hour?" Yes, perhaps it will be so; 
 perhaps all this was said and felt, and thought. 
 But I do not say that it was, or that it will be. 
 
 All I dare tell is that when the party safely 
 returned to Chatterton, just in time for dressing, 
 Anne Grey looked very happy. She said it had 
 been a very delightful drive, and the most charm- 
 ing carriage in the world. Edward Temple 
 handed her out with almost more than neces- 
 sary care, hoped she was not tired, in an an- 
 xious (perhaps, we may say) in a tender voice ; 
 and said, when the expedition was spoken of 
 that evening, that it had been very pleasant, 
 and that ,_ nothing would be so delightful as 
 another drive, — " if any more Roman ruins 
 could be found — any Roman pig-styes : the Ro- 
 mans certainly must have had pigs — and they 
 must have built them styes." 
 
 " Certainly," said Lady Dowton, who sat 
 next hhn. " Certainly. I wish my health would
 
 96 ANNE GREY. 
 
 allow ; but I am such a poor, weak, creature, 
 that I lose all these pleasures !" 
 
 " Yes, indeed," said Mr, Temple, compas- 
 sionately. *' You cannot, I fear, look at Roman 
 pig-styes." 
 
 "Ah no!" said Lady Dowton. She was 
 not quite sure whether Mr. Temple pitied 
 her or not. Poor Lady Dowton ! she was quite 
 right not to be too certain. 
 
 " Does not Lady Dowton i-ather amuse 
 you ?" said Edward Temple to Anne, one even- 
 ing at Chatterton. 
 
 " I have known her so long," said Anne, 
 " that the amusement is almost at an end." 
 
 " I can easily imagine that. To me it is all 
 new ; dear, good Mrs. Foley's unavoidable, and 
 Lady Dowton's avoidable, bad health, and inte- 
 resting delicacy of mind and body go on so well 
 together — they clash delightfully." 
 
 And so it was. It may be supposed that the
 
 ANNE GREY. 97 
 
 characleristics of Lady Dowton and Mrs. Foley 
 bore so great a similitude that it was impossible 
 they should agree; but in justice to Mrs. Foley 
 it must be said that all unpleasant feelings 
 arising from their too great sympathy, were fell 
 only by Lady Dowton. Mrs. Foley was exceed- 
 ingly sorry for poor Lady Dowton, and I verily 
 believe had often the tears in her eyes for her. 
 But still they could not help clashing, for in the 
 one there was the affectation of delicate health 
 and sensibility; in the other the reality. To be 
 ill, weak, nervous, and sensitive, was Lady 
 Dowton's ambition — her delight. To be sensi- 
 tive and weak in mind and body was poor Mrs. 
 Foley's misfortune, and upon this she was so far 
 from congratulating or priding herself, that she 
 never could have imagined any other person 
 doing so ; and with all the heart that could be 
 spared from the claims of her hundred cousins, 
 she really pitied poor Lady Dowton. 
 
 VOL. II. p
 
 98 ANNE GREY. 
 
 No wonder that Lady Dowton should dislike 
 her, in spite of her pity, when she saw that she 
 really possessed all the enviahle delicacy and 
 sensibility to which she aspired. Her affected 
 maladies, and Mrs. Foley's real ones were at 
 endless variance; so in spite of Mrs. Foley's 
 ready tear, and though she always called her 
 
 « 
 
 * poor Lady Dowton,' and ' poor thing,' Lady 
 Dowton talked of Mrs. Foley's indolence ; 
 wished, with many a sigh, that she possessed her 
 good health, and said how shocking it was 
 when people gave way so terribly to [fancied 
 evils. 
 
 " My dear Lady Dowton," said Mrs. Foley, 
 that evening, as her ladyship was eagerly lis- 
 tening to a quite new, very scandalous story, 
 with all the freshest on difs detailed by Lady 
 Caroline Fullerton, " my dear Lady Dowton, I 
 am sure you must be tired to death by all this 
 talking. Your health, I know, is so much like
 
 ANNE GREY. 99 
 
 mine — I am sure this noise is quite too much 
 for us. Do come with me into my little snug- 
 gery, where we shall be quite quiet, and you 
 must really lie down a little." 
 
 It was said in such a kind, compassionate 
 voice, that Lady Dowton was obliged to seem 
 languid, to leave the delightful piece of scandal, 
 and to follow Mrs. Foley. 
 
 " You are quite right, Mrs. Foley," said 
 Edward Temple, " to take Lady Dowton away. 
 You are quite right. Lady Dowton," said he in 
 a confidential tone. " When once Lady Caro- 
 line begins to tell little stories of her dear 
 friends, there is really no end of it ; none but 
 the strongest nerves could bear it." 
 
 Lady Dowton tried not to frown, and to 
 walk away with a relieved and contented air 
 from the possibility of hearing what she would 
 have given everything in the world to hear. 
 
 " Poor woman !" said Edward Temple, 
 
 F 2
 
 ]00 ANNE GREY. 
 
 smiling at Anne, and seating himself by her as 
 Lady Dowton withdrew. " It was almost too 
 cruel ! I half repented when I saw her look of 
 agony, as I mentioned the interminable gossip." 
 " It was very cruel," said Anne, laughing. 
 " Would it not be kind to call her back 
 again ?" 
 
 " No, no ! that is a very charitable idea !" 
 said he, " but my fit of remorse is over. I am 
 much too happy here to allow of its continuance. 
 A hundred Lady Dowtons should not take me 
 away !" and then, as he saw Anne look embar- 
 rassed by something too impressive in his man- 
 ner, he added, " no ! a hundred Lady Dowtons 
 should not take me away from Lady Caroline's 
 newest scandal !" and he was so eager to hear 
 it that he talked to Anne the whole time it 
 was going on. 
 
 The next day was showery. No drives could 
 be thought of on such a day. Towards evening
 
 ANNE GREY. 101 
 
 «t altered ; the sun shone out before it set, but 
 the ground was so wet that few of the party 
 thought of stirring from the house. Two how- 
 ever of the number did venture forth together, 
 and their voices might be heard as they turned 
 the angle of the fir grove, and emerged in the 
 lono- wide s:ravel walk some distance from the 
 house. 
 
 These two adventurous people were Char- 
 lotte Daventry and Frank Crawford. They 
 walked slowly ; perhaps Charlotte Daventry, a 
 young and timid girl, such as we know her to 
 be, wished to shake off her companion's attend- 
 ance, and purposely chilled herself to make 
 him feel that it would be more for his comfort 
 to walk alone. As they turned the corner of the 
 dark avenue of pines, and walked farther from 
 the house, a part of their conversation might be 
 heard. Charlotte Daventry was speaking. It 
 was not in her usual voice — her usual childish
 
 102 ANNE GREY. 
 
 lively tone — her almost foolish manner. It was 
 a new and different tone and manner, 
 
 '* Yes ! Isabella Foley is in love wiili Wil- 
 liam Grey — you may start, Mr. Crawford, but 
 so it is !" turning towards him for an instant 
 with a half comic look of enquiry. 
 
 " From any other person but you, I would not 
 have borne such an assertion," said Crawford. 
 
 " And why from me ?" rejoined Charlotte. 
 
 •' Look at me, and I will tell you," was the 
 reply. It was made in a voice that could scarcely 
 be misunderstood. 
 
 " When a man bids a woman look at him 
 in so grave a voice as yours, his request is 
 seldom granted," said she. " If I were like the 
 generality of my sex, I should turn my head 
 the other way — I should blush — perhaps I 
 should sigh," added she, with almost a laugh. 
 " But I do neither. Yes, I will look at you." 
 
 Charlotte turned her head towards him.
 
 ANNE GREY. 103 
 
 Their eyes met — there was a pause. " Yes," 
 continued she, after some minutes' silence, *' I 
 repeat what I said ; Isabella is already attached 
 to William Grey, and therefore you hate him — 
 I know it." 
 
 " He is j/o?//- cousin," said Crawford. " You 
 must love him. Can I hate him then?" 
 
 " My cousin I" said Charlotte, " yes, he is 
 )ny cousin !" she added in a tone of irony. 
 " Yes, I must love him — that name is a passport 
 certainly ; mi/ cousin — it is a name to love !" 
 the tone of contempt and irony was dropped. 
 Her voice became serious and earnest. " You 
 think, then, that Charlotte Daventry loves her 
 cousin — loves him — loves any thing ! You think 
 that she has love to bestow ! Yes, yes ! she did 
 love once !" Frank Crawford started. " She has 
 loved. Mr. Crawford, once she had a father, 
 and to that father she gave fond, adoring, duti- 
 ful love. She gave it — she received it. Once — "
 
 104 ANNE GREY. 
 
 she paused — " once she had a father ; he died. 
 
 He is dead now !" — there was another pause. — 
 
 Those words had been spoken slowly, calmly, 
 
 impressively : they expressed the full meaning 
 those words could convey. They expressed not 
 
 only that the father was dead, but that the con- 
 sciousness of bis death lay heavy on the child. 
 He was dead, and the cold, dead sense of desola- 
 tion still lay chilling round her heart. " He is 
 dead now," she repeated again in that same low, 
 still voice. " You think that I can love once 
 more? Aye, think so! They all may think — 
 they all do think I can ! — and you believe it too. 
 I know that you believe — " 
 
 " Say any thing — suppose any thing, rather 
 than that you cannot love !" exclaimed Craw- 
 ford with vehemence. " Say any thing but that 
 Charlotte Daventry cannot love once more !"' 
 
 " Women have loved," said Charlotte gently, 
 almost tenderly. " Women have loved, even
 
 ANNE GREY. 105 
 
 where the power of affection seemed extinct." 
 She sighed ; her voice was soft, she turned her 
 eyes on Crawford. Did a tear glisten there? 
 Her hand was seized — it was not withdrawn : 
 it was pressed — it was carried to his lips. 
 
 In a few minutes, the careless, childish 
 voice of Charlotte Dav entry, the good-hearted, 
 simple girl, might have been heard ; talking 
 gaily and at random, wondering, pleased, and 
 sorry. She was again the Charlotte Daventry 
 of Weston and the Greys, as they returned to 
 the house. 
 
 " Oh dear ! we have had such a charming 
 walk, Mrs. Foley," said Charlotte, as she 
 entered, her face glowing with pleasure. " I 
 was so sorry you did not all come out ! It was 
 really quite beautiful. But it is just dressing- 
 time I see, and I must go and change my wet 
 shoes." 
 
 " What a nice ardess girl she is,'" said Mrs. 
 
 F 5
 
 106 ANNE GREY. 
 
 Foley, as Charlotte bounded out of the room 
 with a light and joyous step. " So cheerful 
 and good-tempered !" 
 
 " Yes, remarkably so," said the Dowager 
 Duchess. 
 
 " Dear Charlotte," said Sophy Grey that 
 night as they sat together before going to bed ; 
 " in a few more days, perhaps I shall see Lord 
 Stoketon !" 
 
 " Yes, perhaps you will," said Charlotte, 
 giving her a kiss ; " and in a few more days 
 Miss Grey Avill be engaged to marry Lord 
 Stoketon, and then in a few more, and a few 
 more — what will happen then, Sophy ?" 
 
 " Oh dear! though," sighed Charlotte, after 
 a moment's pause, " what shall we do without 
 you ? I am sure it must be very good-natured 
 in me to be so glad ! for what shall I do when 
 you are gone ?" 
 
 " Oh ! you will do very well," said Sophy,
 
 ANNE GREY. 107 
 
 " and you know you must come and see me. 
 I shall often have you with me." 
 
 " You good, kind girl !" exclaimed Char- 
 lotte, her eyes sparkling with joy. " Will you 
 indeed ?" 
 
 " Yes, surely," said Sophy, eagerly. " But 
 Charlotte," she added, "I am not married yet ! 
 and, after all, 1 may not be even likely to be 
 married !" 
 
 " Oh ! we shall see," said Charlotte, archly, 
 " a few more days will settle that — (if 1 was 
 selfish, I should say) — I am afraid. I shall 
 not have you to come and coze with before bed 
 time then ;" and Charlotte sighed a little. 
 " But good-night," said she, rousing herself. " 1 
 am keeping you up, and your beauty will not 
 be so bright as usual. Good-night," and Sophy 
 left the room. 
 
 " Aye, good-night!" said Charlotte Daven- 
 try to herself, and she smiled. " Go and dream
 
 108 ANNE GREY. 
 
 of him. Chance may befriend you, it is true ! 
 but if not — then dream in vain ! Yes ! a little 
 time," she looked at herself in the glass — 
 '• this face — there is no peculiar beauty here. 
 And yet — these eyes," they Hashed with the 
 thought, " have these no power? Has this 
 wild head no brijxht iiiiaoiuinos to bless it!" 
 she smiled as her eyes rested on her mirrored 
 reflection — "to illumine this ordinary face, 
 to lend a fascination — an attraction — aye, a 
 power that guides — that leads those who think 
 they lead ? Can this tongue utter no false, 
 insinuating, flattering words? Yes, here I 
 behold myself — a simple, ordinary girl — and 
 yet gifted with power to soothe and win all 
 hearts. That enamoured fool, Frank Craw- 
 ford! with all his selfish caution" — she half 
 laughed, " He little knows that he is made a 
 tool of Charlotte Daventry's ! He thinks I love ! 
 I meant he should, for love is blind : and if he
 
 ANNE GREY. 109 
 
 speaks, who would believe the story of a rejected 
 lover 1 No, I am safe ; his ill-nature — his want 
 of truth are too well known. One is gained ! 
 and all shall be ! All ? Yes, alas ! but one" — the 
 bright glow faded from her cheek, the flashing 
 of her eyes was quenched — they turned mourn- 
 fully from the glass, on which they had rested 
 with proud and scornful exultation — her arms 
 fell listless by her side — " Yes, yes," mattered 
 she in a sad and bitter tone, " all but one, whom 
 I could love. Aye, shame to say it! and he loves 
 another ! and I — I must look on — despair. 
 
 But no, no !" and her eyes flashed again, 
 as she proudly gazed on the form imaged in 
 the glass. " Does Charlotte Daventry speak of 
 despair? no, no ! I will not despair! He shall 
 leave — forget — despise her — and she! yes — 
 there shall the serpent sting — she shall — she 
 will love still ; and day by day she shall pine, 
 and pine ; and the Are shall be kept alive — a
 
 J 10 ANNE GREY. 
 
 skilful hand shall stir and feed the half ex- 
 piring flame, when religion — aye religion, 
 duty, pride — a woman's pride, has almost 
 quenched that flame, the skilful hand shall 
 raise it once more — shall revive — shall feed it. 
 The pale cheek — the failing step — the tear — 
 the would-be smile — the faint heart-broken 
 smile — " She paused : the image was before 
 her in all its life, and sad reality : she saw it, 
 and a smile was on her lips. 
 
 " Yes," continued she, " Revenge is sweet 
 — Father, for you it is sweet ! Yet, father" — 
 and the smile was gone, " when the serpent 
 stung — when he was nursed, caressed^ and 
 loved, and he prepared to sting — say, did the 
 venom never recoil ? Did he never sting: him- 
 self? — Oh, father, yes — it must be so — there is 
 a serpent here" — she pressed her hand upon her 
 heart; — her eyes were wild — " there is a ser- 
 pent, stinging, curling, gnawing here !" she
 
 ANNE GREY. 1 1 1 
 
 screamed — " again, again, I feel it ! Her 
 eyes could not have stung me so — her kiss" — 
 she shuddered — " No, no ! it was the seq^ent's 
 stino; !" But enouo;h of this ; we will no farther 
 undraw the veil of privacy. Let us return with 
 the morning light to the breakfast table at 
 Chatterton.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 It was Sunday — the day was just remembered 
 by one or two of the party, besides the Greys, 
 some of the Foley's, and Mr. Temple. 
 
 " By the bye, what's the day?" said Mr, 
 Cartwright. " Oh Sunday ! very true, 1 
 thought it was." 
 
 It was just remembered to find an excuse 
 for not going to church. Some little ailment 
 that had never been heard or thought of 
 before, rendered it out of the question that they
 
 ANNE GREY. 
 
 113 
 
 could go to a church a quarter of a mile from 
 the house. 
 
 " Oh ! I would not have you think of it !" 
 said Mr. Foley, in a civil manner, as if he 
 were persuading them not to stand upon form 
 with himself. "The carriages are always ready 
 on Sunday morning for any who choose to go : 
 but I never make a point of it. I always make 
 a rule that the servants should go. I am very 
 strict in that respect. I hope you think we are 
 rioht?" said he, to the Duchess. 
 
 " Perfectly," said her grace, hurrying over 
 her breakfast, for she heard the hour for 
 church was eleven. 
 
 " Mrs. Foley and Isabella always go. Mrs. 
 Foley thinks it right to go as an example to the 
 lower orders. It is highly proper they should 
 attend. It keeps them from the ale house, and 
 from theft and murder, and all those horrible 
 crimes incidental to the canaille."
 
 114 ANNE GREY. 
 
 " Ah," said Mr. Temple, " that is a truly 
 discriminating view of om- religious duties! 
 You know how to make distinctions, Foley." 
 
 Mr. Foley w^as almost preparing to bow, 
 delighted at a proof that the great Mr. Temple 
 approved of what he said. He was silent, ex- 
 pecting more w^ould follow, and with the blissful 
 certainty that all the party were listening. 
 
 " That is quite a new idea," continued Ed- 
 ward Temple. " It is certainly singular that it 
 never should have occurred to me before, that 
 the rich have nothing to do Avith prayer and 
 praise. Now, I suppose," said he looking to- 
 wards Mr. Foley, who seemed rather puzzled, 
 and not quite prepared for what had been said ; 
 " I should imagine," continued he, with a mo- 
 dest, enquiring look, " that any great man, a 
 king for instance, or a prime minister, or a 
 commander in chief, can have no sins to be for- 
 given? I should suppose they would never say
 
 ANNE GREY. 115 
 
 their prayers, not even private ones, nor offer up 
 praise and thanksgiving ? Yes, I see you think 
 so," making a sort of acknowledgment to Mr. 
 Foley : " you hold out a high premium on ex- 
 ertion and talent : it is an interesting considera- 
 tion indeed, and may be useful." 
 
 He stopped. No one spoke. Mr. Foley was 
 not quite sure whether to be angry or not ; but 
 he thought it better to let it pass ; so he turned 
 to the Duchess, and talked about Mrs. Foley's 
 new school. 
 
 " Do not you wish," said Edward Temple, 
 turning to Anne, " that you were a king or a 
 prime minister ? You will not answer ;" and then 
 lowering his voice so that she alone could hear, 
 " you look grave. I fear you think me wrong. 
 You think, perhaps," continued he, anxiofisly, 
 " that I ought not to have shewn my indigna- 
 tion ? Yes — then I fear I must have been wrono;. 
 I should have restrained myself. But yet,"
 
 116 ANNE GREY. 
 
 continued he, " to hear any human being, and 
 above all any educated person professing to re- 
 gard religion as made for the poor alone ! To 
 imagine himself raised above the want of im- 
 provement ! The self-complacency, the presump- 
 tion, of supposing he needs neither instruction 
 nor forgiveness ; that he owes no gratitude for 
 the very blessings he boasts. No, I could not let 
 it pass as if I concurred. But I see," said he, 
 checking himself, " that you think perhaps it is 
 I who am most wanting in humility. I am sorry," 
 he added in a half mortified tone, " that I did not 
 let it pass." Anne was silent whilst ]Mr. Temple 
 spoke. It had been delightTul to her that he 
 should seek her opinion ; but she felt afraid of 
 answering such an appeal, and of appearing to 
 think that he could really desire its expression. 
 She saw, however, he expected an answer. 
 
 " I hope you were not wrong," said she, 
 " for if you were, I fear I must have been so
 
 ANNE GREY. 
 
 117 
 
 also. I believe, my only reason for looking grave, 
 if I did so, was my dread that you should say 
 less than you did. 1 felt eager that you should 
 turn such opinions into ridicule, as J knew 
 you could — that you should make them appear 
 in their true light." Anne checked herself, and 
 the blush of eagerness turned to one of timidity, 
 as she found she had been carried on by her 
 feelings, and she added with some degree of 
 confusion : " I suppose it was this which made 
 me look grave." 
 
 Edward Temple's eyes had been fixed on her 
 as she spoke, and he thought, as the glow of 
 animation lighted up her face, that he never 
 had beheld a being more lovely and intelligent. 
 
 Edward Temple had not spoken in vain. 
 Many, who had not thought of church before, 
 or who had spoken doubtfully of slight colds, 
 slight head-aches, &c. ; now found that there was 
 nothing to prevent their attendance, and nearly
 
 1 18 ANNE GREY, 
 
 all the party went. Charlotte Daventry had 
 complained of a cold the evening before, and 
 Mrs. Grey would not allow her to go. Frank 
 Crawford seldom went, and he did not go this 
 morning. Lady Dowton could not go — she was 
 too ill ; but alas ! poor soul ! she might as well 
 have been at church, for not a word of gossip 
 did she obtain, even from Lady Caroline 
 FuUerton. 
 
 " No," said Charlotte Daventry to Frank 
 Crawford, as they sat together in the drawing- 
 room, " I will promise that William Grey shall 
 not marry her." 
 
 " And how must I rely on your promise, 
 or even your power ?" said Crawford. Charlotte 
 Daventry turned her eyes upon him. They 
 were not at that moment wild and sparkling 
 as they had often been : but full of softness. 
 
 " Can you doubt my wish?" said she, in a 
 half-upbraiding voice ; and then in an instant
 
 ANNE GREY. ] 19 
 
 changing- her look, her eyes once more flashing 
 with animation, "canyon doubt my power?" 
 
 " No, no!" said Crawford, as he gazed on 
 her with eager admiration, — " no, no ! How 
 could I doubt it V 
 
 "Power! what a pretty thing it is!" said 
 Charlotte after a moment's pause, in her natu- 
 ral childish voice, and with her ordinary half 
 silly manner. "How I wish I was a queen! 
 Oh ! Mr. Cartwright," said she, as he entered, 
 " I have been wishing I were a queen. Should 
 not you like it so much V 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha," said Mr. Cartwright, " cer- 
 tainly if you were queen, I should wish to be 
 king ;" with a gay, gallant air, making a bow 
 to Miss Daventry and her perfections. 
 
 "Oh! should you?" said Charlotte, good 
 simple girl, quite innocent of the compliment 
 implied. " Oh yes ! I suppose so," added she, 
 after a moment's thought of why he did not
 
 ]20 ANNE GREY. 
 
 rather wish to be a queen, " Certainly ; you 
 would wish to be a king and I a queen. Well," 
 said she, with a bounding- step out of the room ; 
 " I must go and look for Lady Dowton, and see 
 whether she has quite killed Lady Caroline 
 with talking. Good-bye, Mr. Crawford." She 
 cast a comic half-despairing look at him as she 
 left the room. Mr. Cartwright had turned the 
 other way. 
 
 " Miss Daventry," said Crawford, following 
 her. " Miss Daventry," — she hesitated : he 
 followed her out of the room. " Miss Daventry 
 you will walk with me ?" said he, in an implor- 
 ing tone and manner. " Do not refuse. I can- 
 not bear to be refused by you. I cannot bear to 
 be away from you. Say you will walk with me, 
 as it seems that in the house we are to be inter- 
 rupted every minute by some officious simpleton 
 or other." 
 
 " Mr. Crawford," said Charlotte, in a very
 
 ANNE GREY. 121 
 
 quiet voice, and with a very demure look, " I 
 told you and Mr. Cartwright that I was going 
 to Lady Dowton. I do not know why you 
 should doubt my word ;" and she almost ran 
 away, humming the air of a song Lady Emily 
 Harville had sung the evening before. Craw- 
 ford looked after her as she went. 
 
 " That girl has a power to torment," thought 
 he, " but then what a heaven to be certain of 
 her love ! — to know she loved one, as such a 
 being might love ! Can she know how her care- 
 less manner torments? Yes, yes, she knows her 
 power!" and Crawford returned to the room. 
 
 " Why, what's the matter Crawford ?" said 
 Mr. Cartwright. "Ten thousand furies are in 
 your face — the true reflection of a woman's 
 frowns ! So the girl frowned at you, did she, 
 and bid you go back ? Aye ! she can smile 
 though !" added he, with a complacent look at 
 himself, as he adjusted his cravat by the glass. 
 
 VOL. II. Q
 
 122 ANNE GREY. 
 
 " Furies !" said Crawford," " do you mean 
 
 to insinuate that she smiles on such " he 
 
 checked himself: he thought of the madness of 
 exposing his feelings to a man like Mr. Cart- 
 wright. He compressed his li[>s firmly logether, 
 as if to prevent the rage that boiled within from 
 bursting forth. He threw himself on a chair, 
 and was silent. 
 
 " Come, my dear fellow," said Mr. Cart- 
 wright, rather alarmed by the effect of his 
 words, and not wishing to have a quarrel with 
 a man like Frank Crawford, "come my dear 
 fellow, you know my little jokes. Well, I am 
 o-oino- out for a walk," said he, as he received 
 no answer, and trying to look careless, he 
 walked out of the room. 
 
 " The safest course ;" said he to himself. 
 " I meant nothing. The girl has smiles— it's 
 true enouo h • and smiles for me too, let Craw- 
 ford think what he pleases; and who was to 
 
 ;i 
 
 l
 
 ANNE GREY. 123 
 
 know that he was smitten ? Who indeed would 
 ever have thought that Crawford could he 
 smitten — it's astonishing ! However, no one 
 heard him, and he did not finish the sentence. 
 There was no occasion for me to guess what he 
 meant to say !" and Mr. Cartwright walked 
 away his sense of the affront in a pleasant ram- 
 ble round the grounds at Chatterton, till the 
 church bells ringing told him the party would 
 be returned from church, and then he also bent 
 his steps toward the house, for there was safety 
 in numbeis. 
 
 This was the last evening to be spent at 
 Chatterton. On the morrow the party was 
 going to break up. How many were sorry, or 
 how many were glad, it would be difficult to 
 say ! for who can judge what feeling lurks 
 under those civil words of leave-taking, those 
 hopes with smiles of meeting again, those re- 
 grets with sighs at parting ? Some may ask 
 
 g2
 
 124 ANNE GREY. 
 
 themselves " when shall we meet ao-ain ? " to 
 say and think "I do not care how long it 
 may be ; " some to hope that meeting may be 
 soon, to sigh that it may be long delayed — 
 aye, perhaps, for ever ! Some may ask " when 
 (shall we meet aoain ? " and the answer will 
 sound like a knell, "perhaps never more! " that 
 ' good-bye ' may press mournfully on the heart, 
 that parting cause the inward groan ; and the 
 blood rushes swiftly to the face in the strug- 
 gle to repress the tears so ready to burst forth. 
 Some may ask " when shall we meet again ? " 
 and, as they look their last on those gentle sor- 
 rowful eyes, and hear the soft good-bye, to 
 some it says, " when those eyes will no longer 
 look kindly, when that soft voice will no longer 
 speak in fondness, when time will have changed 
 that heart — then shall we meet again ! " Some 
 may ask "when shall we meet again?" to 
 answer with melancholy foreboding, " when
 
 ANNE GREY. l^S 
 
 sorrow has been — when happiness, the careless 
 joy of heart, is gone — when those whom now 
 we see and hear, whom we have loved from 
 the days of childhood even till now — when the 
 young, the beautiful, the glad — when they are 
 cold and still, are lost to us for ever — when we 
 are grown old in feeling — when the ties that 
 bound us to earth are gone — then shall we 
 meet again ! " 
 
 "When shall we meet again?" Yes, there 
 is sadness in those words, even in gay careless 
 partings when spoken in gaiety and happiness. 
 There is something that may make us think 
 and moralize, and ask ourselves shall we ever 
 meet again? for the grave lies near us, and 
 the hand of death may now be upon us, upon 
 them ; and another day — another hour may not 
 be ours, or theirs ; and we may never meet 
 again !
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 On that last evening at Cliatterton, and on the 
 following morning, Edward Temple conversed 
 with Charlotte Daventry. 
 
 " She has either better sense, and better 
 feelings, or greater artifice and power of dissi- 
 mulation than I gave her credit for," thought 
 he, when it was over. When alone that night 
 in his room he remained deep in thought for 
 some time. " I wish it were otherwise," said 
 he, half aloud. " If it is not so, how dan- 
 gerous to her disposition — to her happiness ! "
 
 ANJiE GREY. 127 
 
 Anne wished Mr. Temple good-bye in the 
 pleasing hope that ere long she might see him 
 again. The preceding evening she heard her 
 father invite him to Weston. Mr. Temple ac- 
 cepted the invitation with evident pleasure, 
 and turned, for an instant, to look at her as he 
 did so. If Anne did not feel happy she ought 
 to have done so ; and if her pleased, her almost 
 grateful look at her father when a few minutes 
 after he approached and laid his hand affec- 
 tionately on her shoulder, may be accepted 
 as a proof, it is certain that she did feel 
 happy. 
 
 As she di'ove home the next day and heard 
 her father speaking in the highest terms of 
 Mr. Temple, she felt that it was almost worth 
 while to be separated from him for the satis- 
 faction of listening to his praises, and for the 
 pleasure of looking forward to meeting him 
 again.
 
 128 ANNE GREY. 
 
 And what were the feehngs of some of those 
 left at Chatterton ? George Foley had seen that 
 Anne Grey preferred Edward Temple. He 
 was not sure of Mr. Temple's feelings towards 
 her, and he believed that however mueh he 
 might admire her, it was probable that, as a 
 fastidious self-adoring man of the world, he 
 would regard matrimony in the light of a sacri- 
 fice. He thought highly of Edward Temple in 
 many respects ; not only of his talents but of his 
 feelings and principles. Still as he was a man 
 of the world, he thought that self might triumph 
 even over Anne Grey in the heart of Edward 
 Temple. With such an opinion, independent 
 of all selfish sorrow, he watched with pain the 
 growth of her affection for him : he feared that 
 she might hereafter have cause to grieve that 
 she had ever become acquainted with Edward 
 Temple. He longed for the privilege of putting 
 her on her guard, for whilst he acquitted Tern-
 
 ANNE GREY. 129 
 
 pie of premeditated deceit, he knew the power 
 of self, he knew the many excuses too easy to 
 be found for all that is pleasing, amusing, or 
 interesting, where selfishness is at hand to 
 prompt. 
 
 In this view of Edward Temple's probable 
 conduct, there was nmch that might have been 
 gratifying to George Foley ; but if it did encou- 
 rage him in a hope that, with steady persever- 
 ance and patience on his part, he might one 
 day secure for himself the affections of Anne ; 
 he was too amiable not to grieve most sincere- 
 ly, for anything which could occasion distress 
 to her feelings. It would, perhaps, be uncha- 
 ritable to pry too far into his heart, or to de- 
 fine too exactly the degrees of sorrow or joy he 
 experience. Suffice it to say that, whilst he 
 felt sorrow for her, he almost dared to trust 
 with a fond, pleasing, yet uncertain hope to the 
 happiness of one day calling her his own. 
 
 G 5
 
 130 ANNE GREY. 
 
 " My dear," said Mrs. Grey to Anne, that 
 evening at Weston, " what a very nice young 
 man Mr. George Foley is. I like him better 
 than ever ! " 
 
 " He is a very sensible good sort of fellow !" 
 said William, and this was high praise from him. 
 " Yes, I thought so," said Mrs. Grey, looking 
 with delight at him. " I always thought so. 
 You see, my dear," turning to Anne with her 
 very happiest smile, " that William says he is 
 a very sensible man — a very good sort of young 
 man." 
 
 " 1 said * fellow,' ma'am," interrupted Wil- 
 liam. 
 
 " Ah, yes," said Mrs. Grey unchecked by 
 the interruption. " He is indeed a very de- 
 lightful young man, and Mr. Grey always says 
 so. He talked a good deal to you, Anne ! " 
 
 " Yes," said Anne, " and he is one to whom 
 I always like to talk ;" she even added a few
 
 ANNE GREY, 131 
 
 words more in his praise, and Mrs. Grey was 
 so pleased at her warmth of approval that she 
 sat smiling at her as she spoke, and said, 
 " very true, my dear Anne, that's very sensi- 
 ble :" when she had done. 
 
 William laughed and said, " Very judicious 
 praise you give your daughters, ma'am ! I hope 
 you will praise me whenever I make a spirited 
 eloge of any young lady of my accpiaintance. 
 Come, Anne, you shall be Mrs. George Foley, 
 if you'll be a good girl ! " 
 
 " My dear William ! " said Anne, looking 
 at him with surprise and a little annoyed. 
 " My dear William, what nonsense you are 
 talking ! " 
 
 " Yes, yes, my dear," said Mrs. Grey, looking 
 delighted at the nonsense, but rathei" alarmed 
 lest it should have a bad effect and put Anne 
 too much on her guard with Mr. George 
 Foley. " Yes, yes, my dear, it is only his little
 
 132 ANNE GREY. 
 
 joke. Come, William, we will have no more 
 of this nonsense : you know its all a joke ! " 
 
 " I never thought it was anything else, 
 ma'am," said William ; " and after all there is 
 no joke equal to two people falling in love and 
 marrying." 
 
 " Your mother and I thought so, William, 
 thirty years ago," said Mr. Grey smiling. 
 
 " Seven-and-twenty, my dear!" said Mrs. 
 Grey. "Seven-and-twenty this day three weeks." 
 
 " Well then, I'll have another cup of tea if 
 you please, ma'am," said William, " in honour 
 of what is to be commemorated this day three 
 weeks, and a little stronger than the last if you 
 
 can afford it. Did you read 's speech in 
 
 the paper to-day, Sir ? " said he, to his father, 
 whilst Mrs. Grey was murmuring to herself 
 about nerves and " actually as strong as coffee," 
 and endeavouring to make weak tea look strong 
 by tilling William's cup quite full.
 
 ANNE GREY- 133 
 
 But here we must leave the domestic circle 
 at Weston, to turn to one small comfortable 
 sitting-room of Isabella Foley's in the large 
 rambling house at Chatterton. There we find 
 George Foley and herself seated for a fire-side 
 coze, neither of them quite so much at ease as 
 usual in their confidential fire-side talks, when 
 all thoughts and feelings were usually avowed 
 and discussed between the brother and sister. 
 
 They were neither of them quite at ease, for 
 each had something they wished to confess, yet 
 each scarce knew how to begin. 
 
 " The Greys are very agreeable people," 
 said George, looking at his boots. 
 
 " Charlotte Daventry is a very nice girl," 
 said Isabella, reaching a hand-screen ; whether 
 to shade her face from the fire, or from obser- 
 vation, I do not know. 
 
 " How pretty Miss Grey is," said George, 
 just looking at Isabella to see what she thought
 
 134 ANNE GREY. 
 
 of that ; but Isabella did not look that way, and 
 her face was so screened that he could gather 
 nothing from it. " I think some people might 
 call her prettier than her sister." 
 
 George Foley was touching delicate ground : 
 he paused, hoping to have gained something. 
 
 " Yes, certainly," said Isabella, not exactly 
 knowing what she was saying, "yes certainly, 
 nmch prettier ! " 
 
 " Do you think so? " said George, his cau- 
 fi(jn all gone at hearing her assent to such an 
 opinion. 
 
 " Oh ! I fancied you thought so," said 
 Isabella, finding she liad not answered quite 
 right, yet knew not why. " Miss Grey is rather," 
 — hesitating a little and putting her screen still 
 nearer to her face, " Miss Grey is rather— I 
 think she is a little— perhaps like her brother." 
 
 "Yes, very," said George, returning Isa- 
 bella's compliment by answering something to 
 which he had not attende<l. 
 
 I
 
 ANNE GREY. 135 
 
 "No, do you think so?" said Isabella, 
 roused at last, as George had been. " I cannot 
 say, I think so very like — scarcely indeed," she 
 added, getting animated in defence of William 
 Grey's good or bad looks, " scarcely indeed, I 
 should say, any likeness at all." 
 
 " Oh ! I beg your pardon," said George, 
 recollecting himself. " I misunderstood you : 
 I thought you were saying how like William 
 Grey was to his sister. I only agreed with you. 
 I really never thought much about it." 
 
 " William Grey is a very agreeable person," 
 said Isabella, turning away. 
 
 " Yes, he is a good rattling sort of fellow, 
 rather blunt and bearish, I think ; but clever, 
 and I dare say good-hearted." 
 
 " Do you think he is so very blunt and 
 bearish, George?" asked Isabella. "Blunt, tOj^ 
 be sure he is, and I like that sort of bluntness. 
 One sees there is no deceit : but I do not think
 
 136 AXNE GREY, 
 
 he is bearish! It is unjust to call him bearish," 
 added she rather warmly. 
 
 " Well, my dear Bell, I did not mean to 
 say anything against him. I think he is a 
 good, manly, open-hearted fellow, with a great 
 deal of shrewdness and good sense, some quiet 
 humour, and appreciation of humour in others, 
 with rather too little consideration for the feel- 
 ings of others, and rather too fond of self." 
 
 " No, not quite that," murmured Isabella very 
 softly, and not meaning it to be quite audible. 
 
 " But I did not know. Bell, that you would 
 care whether I praised William Grey or not ?" 
 
 " No, indeed," said Isabella, w^th a deter- 
 mined effort to avail herself of this opening. 
 " No, indeed, I dare say you did not. Indeed 
 I don't know why I should care," and poor 
 Isabella got very much confused, sighed, and 
 looked from behind her screen at the fire, saw 
 nothing in the fire to help her, and at last made
 
 ANNE GREY. 137 
 
 one more desperate effort to tell her brother 
 at once, how much she was interested in Wil- 
 liam Grey's character; and how she feared he 
 did not care for her ; and how Charlotte Da- 
 ventry, who was such a dear good girl, was so 
 fond of him and praised him so much ! 
 
 George listened with great seriousness, and 
 with great interest, just as a brother should 
 listen to such a confession from a sister. 
 
 " I know I ought not to love him," said 
 Isabella, " for I have no reason to suppose it 
 reciprocal — if he even likes me, it is but as a 
 mere acquaintance — a pleasing girl, perhaps," 
 said she blushing as she spoke, and hesi- 
 tating. 
 
 George was grave as he listened to Isabella : 
 to own the truth, he was sincerely sorry to hear 
 her confession. He saw that she was more 
 seriously attached to William Grey than he 
 had wished to believe ; for, with a character 
 
 -JK
 
 138 ANNE GREY. 
 
 such as hers, attachment could not be tliat 
 light, changeable sentiment it might be with 
 others. He had heard of William Grey's ad- 
 miration for Jane Graham, which rendered it 
 peculiarly unlikely that he should return his 
 sister's affection. George thought it right to 
 tell his sister what he knew on this subject. It 
 was a disagreeable task to dispel any pleasing 
 illusion that might have dwelt in her mind. 
 Still it was right so to do, and Isabella bore 
 the intelligence better than her brother had 
 expected; she had had so little hope, that it 
 was less disappointment to hear that he already 
 loved another than it might otherwise have 
 proved. Besides, it was not quite certain ; and 
 might she not still allow herself to look for- 
 waixl to time to effect what she desired ? 
 
 It now became George's turn to confess ; 
 and he had soon acquainted Isabella of his love 
 for Anne Grey, and of her apparent preference 
 
 .1
 
 ANNE GREY. 139 
 
 for Edward Temple. Isabella in her turn lis- 
 tened and looked grave. 
 
 "Yes," said George Foley, "I love Anne 
 Gre y ! ' 
 
 " I am sorry for it," said Isabella sadly, 
 looking down with a discomposed air. George 
 fixed his eyes upon her inquiringly, as if to see 
 whether there were any other reason for this 
 regret than that which he himself had men- 
 tioned. 
 
 "Yes, indeed, dear Bella, I thought you 
 would pity me. I knew you must be sorry be- 
 cause there is so much hopelessness in the case." 
 
 " But, George," said Isabella gravely, " it 
 is not for that only, but I am sorry on every 
 account that you should love Anne Grey." 
 George looked at her in surprise. " I shall 
 distress you, dear George," she said looking at 
 him sorrowfully : " it seems we are fated to-day 
 to say unpleasant things to one another."
 
 140 ANNE GREY. 
 
 George reddened with alarm as Isabella 
 spoke. He looked anxiously at her, begged 
 her to go on, and Isabella then told him all 
 that she had learned from Charlotte Daventry 
 concerning the disposition of Anne, and her own 
 reasons for believino; that it was true. She des- 
 cribed Charlotte Daventry's manner about the 
 music — all that had dropped from her at vari- 
 ous times, both with regard to Anne, to Mr. 
 Grey, and to all the family — and her praises of 
 William were not foro-otten. 
 
 George listened : he leant his head on his 
 hand ; he was painfully intent on what his 
 sister said. When she told him that Charlotte 
 Daventry had betrayed that Anne was jealous 
 of her doing anything better than herself, he 
 interrupted her by exclaiming, " Jealous ! jea- 
 lous of another's accomplishments ! No, that 
 is a mistake I That is not true ! " When she 
 told him of Anne's temper — of her want of
 
 ANNE GREY. 141 
 
 feeling and consideration for her — of her dissi- 
 mulation, he again exclaimed, " No, no," then 
 again was Cjuiet, and by a sign bid Isabella 
 continue. But when she had done — when she 
 had said all — had expressed her detestation of 
 such a character as Anne Grey's — had implied 
 her conviction that her brother must soon, if 
 not at once, look with equal detestation on such 
 a deceitful character — when she spoke of her 
 love and pity for Charlotte Daventry, he no 
 longer restrained himself — he was no longer 
 silent. 
 
 He started up, and bursting forth in a tone 
 of mingled anger and agitation, exclaimed, 
 " Do not say that again, Isabella ! Do not re- 
 peat that you love, that you admire Charlotte 
 Daventry ! You are not to blame — I do not 
 blame you — you have been deceived ; but never 
 talk to me again of loving the person who could 
 speak ill of Anne Grey! Whoever breathed a
 
 142 ANNE CREV. 
 
 word against her has uttered a falsehood ! 1 
 would stake my life that it is false ; and Isabella, 
 I bid you beware of the person who could 
 defame such a character ! " He walked out of 
 the room unable to repress his indignation. 
 
 " He is gone ! " said Isabella sadly. " I have 
 grieved — offended him ! and yet if Charlotte 
 Daventry should be right! what else could I 
 have done? And yet if Charlotte Daventry is 
 deceitful ? " the colour rushed to her face, " I 
 have trusted her ! Oh ! if George is right 1 It 
 may be so!" she sighed. " How unhappy either 
 way I Dear George ! He was angry. I never 
 saw him angry with me before. Oh ! how 1 
 wish I had never known Charlotte Daventry ! " 
 and Isabella Foley leant her head on her hand, 
 and burst into tears. 
 
 " Isabella," said George, as he came into 
 her room before they separated for the night ; 
 " I am afraid I was cross with you. I was
 
 ANNE GREY. 143 
 
 angi'v at the time. Will you forgive nie ? " 
 laying his hand on hers. 
 
 " Dear George," said Isabella, her face 
 brightening with pleasure, " how glad I aui to 
 hear you speak so to me again ! Indeed there is 
 nothing for me to forgive ! But I have been 
 very unhappy. I wish we had never come to 
 Chatterton, George ! Do not you ? I wish we 
 had never known any of them !" looking up at 
 him, with the tears standing in her eyes. 
 
 " No, dear Bella," said George, " I cannot 
 wish that. We shall find yet much happiness 
 heje I dare say ; and as to the Greys — " after a 
 pause — " that perhaps will all be well in time. 
 But I want to speak to you about that, Isabella. 
 1 was imjust to you before, but I was not quite 
 myself. I could not be calm to hear Anne Grey 
 traduced. I firmly believe that it is false — 
 there is some mistake. I will not blame any 
 one till I know where it is deserved. I have
 
 144 
 
 ANNE GREY, 
 
 been sufferino; the last few hours in thinkinsf of 
 my injustice to you. You may have misunder- 
 stood Miss Daventry's words, or there may be 
 something we do not understand. I do not wish 
 to judge harshly of any one ; still there is some- 
 thing I do not quite like about her. Of course 
 you are aware that Frank is in love with her. 
 EN-ery one must remark that ; and I know it is 
 so, not only from what he said himself, but 
 from something Cartwright told me : however 
 that is less to the purpose. But there is some- 
 thins: strange in her manner about this : in 
 short, Bella dear, I do not wish you should 
 place too much confidence in her. I had doubts 
 before, and all you have told me has but helped 
 to confirm them. It is utterly impossible that 
 Anne Grey should be what she would represent ; 
 and I do not believe that Mr. Grey would ever 
 be guilty of the faults of which she accuses 
 un.
 
 ANNE GREY. 145 
 
 " She did not exactly accuse," interposed 
 Isabella. " She only let fall things." 
 
 " It is the same thing," said George : " you 
 must either have heard wrongly, interpreted 
 wrongly, or she could not have been aware 
 what she was saying ; or, Isabella, I fear there 
 is another alternative. Consider a little. Is it 
 not rather strange, that, short as your acquaint- 
 ance with Miss Daventry has been, she should 
 have already contrived to let fall so many things 
 by accident, against the characters and disposi- 
 tions of those with whom she lives ? That, 
 with all the cleverness, the sensibility, the 
 feeling, of which you tell me she is possessed, 
 she should still have been so weak, unguarded, 
 and I should say, so ungenerous, as to let out to 
 you in the course of a four days' visit, so many 
 circumstances to the disadvantage of her nearest 
 relatives ? Would not any girl with a particle of 
 common sense, or of good feeling, have con- 
 yoL.ii. H
 
 146 ANNE GREY. 
 
 trived to keep tliem to herself? You say her 
 
 manner, when she talked to you alone, was so 
 
 different from her usual one, that you do not 
 
 believe her to be childish and thoughtless, as 
 
 she appears. What then does this prove ? Ii 
 
 she is not really light and thoughtless, where is 
 
 her excuse ? Do you see nothing suspicious — - 
 
 nothing contradictory in this?'' 
 
 Isabella considered — looked doubtful, and 
 
 at length said, " Certainly it is strange : it 
 
 never struck me so before — but then, George, 
 
 Charlotte Daventry is unlike other people. She 
 
 is so natural ! She does not consider what she 
 
 is saying." 
 
 " That is a good excuse with some people," 
 
 said George, " for saying every thing that is 
 most ill-natured, and for concealing nothing 
 that, for the sake of others, ought to be con- 
 cealed." 
 
 " But she never professed to be natural/' 
 said Isabella. 
 
 1
 
 ANNE GREY. 
 
 147 
 
 *• No, she had no occasion 16 profess. She 
 left no one in doubt of her being what is called 
 a ' natural character.' A natural character, 
 Isabella, sometimes is but another word for an 
 artificial one. I will not as yet say positively 
 it is so with her. There may be some mistake ; 
 but I have my doubts. Her manner is very 
 variable : she may be an excellent actress. I 
 sometimes almost feel that she is constantly 
 acting a part." 
 
 " Acting a part !" said Isabella, looking 
 astonished. " Oh no! that cannot be !" 
 
 " If you had seen her one morning as I 
 did," said George, " perhaps you would not be 
 so surprised, I happened to come into the room 
 when she and Frank were sitting together. 
 They did not observe me enter. Her manner— 
 her look then, Isabella, was different to what 
 you have ever seen it — in short" — he paused a 
 moment— "in short, Bella, do not make a 
 
 H 2
 
 148 ANNE GREY. 
 
 friend of Charlotte Daventry. I have noticed 
 the coldness of your manner to the Miss Greys, 
 and they noticed it, I am sure. I was surprised 
 and sorry to perceive it. Try to think differently 
 about them. Try to find out for yourself: that 
 is the best way, after all. A character may ge- 
 nerally be discovered by study. I will try too. 
 I will not be blinded to the faults even of Anne 
 Grey, if she has any : it has distressed me much 
 to hear even an imputation cast on her, of the 
 falsehood of AAliich I can obtain no immediate 
 proof: yet I could almost stake my life that 
 it is false. Let us, however, both be on our 
 guard. We need not trust too implicitly, nor 
 blame too easily ; — and now, good-night, dear 
 Bella, You have forgiven me I hope?" 
 
 " Forgiven you ! It is I who have to be 
 forgiven ;" and they separated with their wonted 
 kindness and affection. 
 
 George Folev retired to rest, to think whe-» 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
 I
 
 ANNE GREY. 149 
 
 ther there could be a fault in Anne Grey, and 
 to come to the happy conclusion that there was 
 not one ; and I.^abella retired to rest to think 
 whether, if Charlotte Daventry had spoken un- 
 truly of all the rest of the Greys, she might not 
 still have spoken the truth of William ; and to 
 convince herself that all that had been uttered 
 in his praise must be true. Thus did George 
 and Isabella both fall asleep, having mentally 
 settled their mutual questions in the way people 
 always settle all questions for or against their 
 ■wishes — the way most pleasing to themselves.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 We once more return to Weston, just as the 
 Miss Greys and Charlotte Daventry have re- 
 tired to their rooms. " I am glad you are 
 come," said Charlotte to Anne, as she entered 
 her room, and they seated themselves over the 
 fire, "for I have not had a coze with you for 
 such an age ! and I have a great deal I want to 
 say to you. 1 want to speak to you of him;" 
 looking archly at Anne. '■ Yes of him — you 
 know who V
 
 ANNE GREY. 151 
 
 " No," said Anne, belying her assertion by 
 a deep blush. 
 
 " No !" said Charlotte ; "but that blush, mv 
 own Anne, says ' yes.' Yes ! I want to talk to 
 you about Mr. Temple." 
 
 " Ah !" said Anne, not looking very much 
 surprised notwithstanding her ' no;' " I thought 
 no one would have found that out !" 
 
 " I have only found out one thing," said 
 Charlotte ; " that Mr. Temple is in love with 
 you : farther I do not know." 
 
 " Nor so far, indeed," said Anne, looking 
 very happy, " for it is probably not the case."' 
 
 " Not the case!" said Charlotte, with a tone 
 of astonishment. " Do you mean to be so vary 
 modest as to doubt the truth of that? No, Anne^ 
 he loves you — that is certain, and what I wish 
 to say is, that I congratulate you upon your 
 conquest ! I longed to tell you what I thought of 
 him. — I longed to tell you that you were some- 
 times so cold in your manner to him, I feared
 
 152 ANNE GREY. 
 
 you would frighten him away ; and I would not 
 have you lose him for the world ! No, Anne, I 
 think him so perfect that I have set my heart 
 on seeing you married to him. Yes, it would 
 so grieve me if he should go away mortified by 
 your coldness, and perhaps marry some other 
 person whose manner was less indifferent." 
 
 " Charlotte," said Anne, looking half alarm- 
 ed, yet half pleased, " you forget what every 
 one says, or perhaps you have never heard it 
 — that Mr. Temple is not a marrying man." 
 
 "Oh! but he is — he must be! No man, so 
 good as he is, could behave so ill as to fall in 
 love—" 
 
 " Nay, Charlotte," said Anne, laughing, 
 " you may allow a person to fall in love if he 
 cannot help it T' 
 
 " No, I will not," said Charlotte. " No man 
 like him would behave so ill as to let himself 
 fall in love, and make love to a girl, and be so
 
 ANNE GREY. 153 
 
 attentive to her, without meaning to marry. No, 
 Mr. Temple is superior to this ! I cannot think 
 so ill of him as you would do, Anne." 
 
 " / think ill of him !" exclaimed Anne : 
 " but, indeed," continued she, after a moment's 
 pause ; " I should have no reason — no parti- 
 cular reason, for blaming him if he had never 
 meant anything — if he married any one else 
 to-morrow," sighing. " He never said anything 
 you know, Charlotte, to bind me— never asked 
 — never — '' 
 
 *' Oh yes 1 I know what you mean, Anne. 
 He never said ' Will you marry me V no ; but he 
 said a great deal that meant the same ; and in 
 short, Anne, I do hope you will marry him some 
 day. You think me careless and foolish, and so 
 I am sometimes, — I know I am ; but I can feel 
 and think seriously, and I have not seen you 
 and Mr. Temple together without very great 
 interest, and when none of the others saw it — 
 
 H 5
 
 154 ANNE GREY. 
 
 no, not even Sophy, for you know she said once 
 she believed Mr. Temple rather admired her — " 
 
 " Did she?" said Anne, starting. Charlotte 
 took no notice and went on . 
 
 " When none of them saw it, I found it out ; 
 and 1 have watched him, and tried to study his 
 character, and I see that he loves you, — that he 
 is worthy of you — that he could understand and 
 appreciate you, as few others can, and my whole 
 heart is set upon your marrying him. Yes ! 
 though I seem such a careless, giddy girl, when 
 I really love people I can find out things that 
 others do not — perhaps because they do not 
 care so much !" 
 
 " Dear Charlotte," said Anne, affectionately, 
 how warm-hearted and kind you are ! But you 
 think too highly of me, I fear, and too much of 
 INIr. Temple's preference for me. Indeed it is 
 not likely to be more than merely a slight pre- 
 ference. He is never likely to think seriously
 
 ANNE GREY. 155 
 
 of me, and instead of encouraging myself to 
 become more attached to him, I should try all 
 I can to resist the feeling. But I must go, 
 Charlotte. I must not let an interesting subject 
 make me keep you up all night. So good night 
 dear." 
 
 " Breathes there the girl with heart so dead, 
 Who never to herself hath said, 
 
 this is the very person I should prefer to all 
 others if he would only fall in love with me ? 
 No, no, there is not such a person," said 
 Charlotte to herself, as Anne left the room, 
 " No — even the meek, retiring Anne Grey is 
 caught ; aye, fairly caught! and she may strug- 
 gle and struggle, and never will she get that 
 little constant heart out of the web in which it 
 is so nicely entangled ! Never whilst Charlotte 
 Daventry lives. No, my pretty fly, let the 
 spider run round and round you, and drop a 
 sugared word — a sugared tone now and then to
 
 156 ANNE GREY. 
 
 amuse you, whilst it makes each thread the 
 tighter : yes — the spider shall draw it each day 
 tighter — harder — and the venom meanwhile 
 shall drop into its veins — drop by drop. It shall 
 be carefully instilled, and there the poor strug- 
 gling heart shall remain, and the spider shall 
 entwine and triumph:" the picture was too 
 delightful. Charlotte Daventry smiled, — that 
 peculiar smile gleamed through her eyes. " And 
 there it shall remain," she continued, " till its 
 struggling is over — till it is broken — till it is 
 cold and still. Yes — pretty, gay and gladsome 
 thing — flutter awhile — you know not what is in 
 store for you ! What ! does she think that 
 Charlotte Daventry will rejoice to see him 
 marry her. To see him love her? No ! I can 
 prize that love, and I claim it ! It shall be 
 mine — it shall never be Anne Grey's." 
 
 She clasped her hands together, as she 
 littered these words : she stood firm, erect.
 
 ANNE GREY. 157 
 
 Proudly she drew herself up; determination, 
 and fixed resolve were painted in her counte- 
 nance — her very form — her very attitude ! She 
 stood for a moment thus, but then a mournful 
 thought passed through her mind, and all was 
 changed ; her figure no longer retained its firm 
 erectness ; her head was no longer proudly 
 raised in triumph ; her hands no longer clasp- 
 ed. No — one moment and all was gone. 
 
 " He loves her," murmured she. " He loves 
 me not. He scorns me !" and she rested her 
 head mournfully on her hand, whilst the tears 
 slowly and silently streamed down her cheek. 
 
 Anne had quitted her cousin that night with 
 the thought so strongly impressed on her mind 
 that if ever she should marry, she would like to 
 marry exactly such a person as Mr. Temple, 
 that, for once in her life, she behaved like a 
 heroine and dreamt of the hero ! She dreamt 
 she was sitting in the library at Weston, that
 
 io8 ANNE GREY. 
 
 Edward Temple walked in — that he was going 
 to put out his hand — that he looked delighted 
 to see her. She felt the glow of pleasure 
 throudi her heart, at his look and manner, 
 when suddenly Charlotte Daventry appeared — 
 she snatched away his hand just as she was 
 extending her own : his face and manner was 
 changed — he frowned on her — he looked at 
 Charlotte with kindness — with that look with 
 which he had so often regarded her : he again 
 turned towards herself: it was with dislike ; 
 Charlotte looked at her too, and her look was 
 one of scorn and hatred. She was going to 
 speak — to ask her why she so regarded her : 
 she made an effort and awoke. 
 
 " What a horrid dream !" thought Anne, 
 and she could scarcely shake it from her mind : 
 it still kept recurring, and she actually started 
 when she heard Charlotte Daventry 's voice, 
 and felt her hand on her shoulder. She almost
 
 ANNE GREY. 159 
 
 expected to behold the same horrid face that 
 she had witnessed in her dream. 
 
 And what were Edward Temple's thoughts 
 during this time ? Had he any terrible dreams ? 
 Not one ; but, as he found liimself alone that 
 evening at Temple-court — had walked across 
 the pillared hall, had passed through the spa- 
 cious drawing-room, entered the large gallery- 
 like library, and brought out of it the book he 
 wanted, and looked, as he returned, at the 
 deserted drawing-room, observed the melan- 
 choly appearance of the tables without work, 
 drawings, or any female occupations to give 
 the room its air of comfort; returned to his 
 own snug room, seated himself in his comfort- 
 able arm chair, opened his book, stirred the 
 fire, and settled himself to the intellectual de- 
 lights of solitary reading ; what shall we say to 
 a sensible, clever, intellectual hero, when we 
 know that, instead of going steadily with mind
 
 IGO ANNE GREY. 
 
 and eye through the first page of his booli, he 
 actually let the one wander to the fire — the 
 other still farther ? 
 
 As he sat there in his own large splendid 
 house, with everything indicative of wealth about 
 him, all to be enjoyed alone, for a moment a 
 vision passed across his mind ; a gentle being 
 
 presented herself to his imagination — a gentle 
 being with a low-toned voice, soft blue eyes, 
 and graceful figure ; he thought of a light and 
 noiseless tread, a joyous laugh, a ready smile, 
 a ready tear, quick intelligence^ conversational 
 powers, a cultivated mind, and elegance of 
 thought; he thought of a being to look to him with 
 fond affection, to be ever near him, to become 
 attentive as he spoke, to warm into enthusiasm 
 as she listened, to reveal to him the rich stores 
 of her mind — to infuse her charm, her taste, her 
 cheerfulness into everything around him — to 
 give to the lonely house a look of comfort and
 
 A-WE GREY, 161 
 
 of occupation — to sing, to laugh, to talk, to be 
 sad with him, and to love him : yes — to love as 
 she alone could love: and in return to be prized 
 — beloved — adored. The vision for a moment 
 passed across his mind — a gentle, affectionate 
 being — a wife. It was a vision of Anne Grey. 
 Only for a moment — and then — the leaf of the 
 book was turned — another, and another — and 
 Edward Temple was once more deep in his 
 intellectual delights.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 " Who can that be, come so early?" said Mrs. 
 Grey, as she heard the door bell ring ! 
 
 " Oh ! some one on business to Papa, I 
 suppose, said Sophy ; and on she went with a 
 difficult passage in her music, which she had 
 vainly tried three times to conquer. One 
 finger always came in that brilliant run where 
 the other finger ought to have come, and 
 that one little finger set all the others wrong. 
 Might we not moralize on this, and say how
 
 ANNE GREY. 163 
 
 one little fault sometimes sets a whole cha- 
 racter wrong — sets all our actions wrong — 
 causes the misfortunes of our future life ? One 
 slight fault fires the train of our misfortunes ; 
 and then, in quick succession, one calamity 
 causes another — all from one slight error in 
 the outset. 
 
 But we leave the reader to moralize farther 
 if he likes, whilst we usher in the early visitor 
 to Mr. Grey, and introduce him as Lord 
 Stoketon. 
 
 " Lord Stoketon !" exclaimed Mr. Grey. 
 
 " Yes," said Lord Stoketon in a hurried, 
 agitated manner, half turning his head away, 
 as he received Mr. Grey's hearty shake of the 
 hand — " Yes, you could not expect me ! I did 
 not expect to find myself here !" and he seated 
 himself without seeming to know what he was 
 doing. Mr. Grey was alarmed— he saw that 
 Lord Stoketon was in great agitation. A
 
 164 ANNE GREY. 
 
 thought of his son rushed through his mincl. 
 He waited almost breathless, for him to speak. 
 
 " Would to God I had no cause for coming 
 so !" said Lord Stoketon, " for coming with 
 such a different motive to that to which I had 
 so fondly looked forward ! Mr. Grey I I am 
 going to distress you. 
 
 Mr. Grey laid hold of a chair. He looked 
 eagerly at Lord Stoketon; " any illness?" he 
 murmured, scarcely audibly." 
 
 " No, no," nothing of that kind ! Good, 
 God! what a fool I have been!" as he saw 
 Mr. Grey turn pale. " No — no ! no illness — 
 no deatli !" 
 
 " Thank God !" uttered Mr. Grey, as he 
 looked at Lord Stoketon, and tried to smile, 
 saying " I was foolish to be so much alarmed 
 — but a father — " continued he, half smiling, 
 " a father always dreads some calamity to his 
 children when they are not all around him, 
 I thought of my boy ! It was a father's folly."
 
 ANNE GREY, 
 
 165 
 
 Lord Stoketon buried his face in his hands, 
 and for a minute he was unable to speak. 
 " Mr, Grey," said he at length raising* his 
 head, "you spoke of a father's feelings. I am 
 come to wound those feelings — and yet I have 
 a hope — but I must not speak of tliat. I come 
 on the part of a friend, to accuse Miss Grey of 
 spreading malicious reports against his cha- 
 racter, and that of those most dear to him — for 
 the purpose of breaking off his union, and — " 
 speaking with great effort — *' because she her- 
 self was attached to him. I come to ask you 
 to make Miss Grey retract these unfortunate 
 assertions" — he paused in strong emotion. " I 
 did think to come for a very different purpose," 
 he added mournfully — " to ask your permis- 
 sion — but — I must not think of what I had 
 hoped to come for ! Mr. Grey, if you can say 
 that all that is alleged is false you will indeed 
 make me happy !"
 
 166 ANNE GREY. 
 
 Mr. Grey changed colour as Lord Stoke- 
 ton spoke ; when first he mentioned his daugh- 
 ter's name he had looked indignant, and was 
 inclined to interrupt him ; but he checked 
 himself, and allowed him to continue; but 
 when Lord Stoketon stopped, and appealed to 
 him, he replied with evident emotion : 
 
 " Lord Stoketon, you have brought an ac- 
 cusation against my daughter which, if made 
 lightly — if made unjustly — I warn you can- 
 didly, it had been better you should never have 
 made. It had been better for any man to 
 have deliberated before he came to accuse a 
 daughter to her father," said he, proudly. 
 " But I do not believe that you mean to speak 
 unkindly. I believe that it grieves you to say 
 this to me — that vou think there is reason for 
 believing it. God knows how you came to 
 believe such a thing !" 
 
 Lord Stoketon suddenly raised his head as
 
 ANNE GRBY. 167 
 
 Mr. Grey uttered these last words. " Lord 
 Stoketon," continued he, " here is my hand, 
 in token that towards you 1 feel no anger, — that 
 my indignation is not against you." Lord 
 Stoketon took the hand, as it was given, with 
 emotion. He almost sobbed as he unclasped 
 it, turned away his head, and again concealed 
 his face. 
 
 " But," continued Mr. Grey, " that I do 
 feel indignation — the greatest indignation, J 
 will not deny. I believe that my daughter is 
 innocent of all she is accused. If there has 
 been malice, it has been from some other 
 quarter, Sophy never harboured a malicious 
 — an ungenerous feeling in her heart ! She is 
 quite innocent — utterly so !" 
 
 Lord Stoketon turned towards Mr. Grey as 
 he spoke thus firmly and proudly. He looked 
 at him for a moment, then seizing his hand, 
 exclaimed " Thank you — thank you for that !
 
 168 ANNE GREY. 
 
 Heaven bless vou, Sir ! 1 knew it was false — 
 I knew it must be — I knew Sophy Grey was 
 innocent !" 
 
 Mr. Grey was affected, and he could only 
 thank Lord Stoketon, at the moment, by the 
 cordial pressure of his hand. There was a 
 pause, for both parties were affected, and for 
 a few minutes unable to speak. Mr. Grey was 
 the first to break the silence, and it was to ask 
 Lord Stoketon for further information, 
 
 I need not repeat all that passed ; but 
 briefly relate the circumstances which had 
 caused this abrupt and painful interview. It 
 may be remembered that a marriage was talked 
 of between Maria Pemberton and Frederick 
 Barton. The reader may also remember the 
 ill-natured remarks of Lady Dowton, at which 
 Sophy had laughed ; and which were after- 
 wards repeated by Charlotte Daventry with 
 some addition concerning Lord Stoketon, just
 
 ANNE GREY. 169 
 
 to amuse herself and Mr. Crawford, one morn- 
 ing at Lady Dowton's expense. At the time, 
 Charlotte Daventry could have had little idea 
 of the serious results which would arise from 
 what she prohably viewed as an innocent 
 amusement. 
 
 Frederic Barton was a friend of Lord Stoke- 
 ton's. He was a young man of good principles, 
 with w^arm and steady feelings : a mutual at- 
 tachment existed between himself and Maria 
 Pemberton. Maria Pemberton was plain, but 
 agreeable, clever, accomplished, and amiable, 
 with as much good sense as a large share of 
 romance would allow. She had a mother who 
 loved, and almost idolized her, and Maria 
 Pemberton loved, and idolized in return. Had 
 she been a beauty, every one would have raved 
 of her enthusiasm ; but she was plain, and 
 people found out that her romance was rather 
 silly. 
 
 VOL. II. I
 
 ]70 ANNE GREY. 
 
 When Frederic Barton proposed to her, 
 she thought of her mother : she loved him, 
 but she could not bear to leave her fond 
 mother ; and she made some excuse to delay the 
 marriage for a year or two. The world mean- 
 time had nothing to do but to talk and wonder, 
 and such reasons were invented for the delay 
 as we have already heard from Lady Dowton. 
 
 These reasons had been refuted by Sophy 
 Grey, but again repeated by Charlotte Daven- 
 tr}^ as proceeding from Sophy, and again cir- 
 culated by Lady Dowton, not only with the 
 additions regarding Lord Stoketon, but with 
 another, of Sophy's supposed attachment to 
 Mr. Barton. 
 
 The calumny against her mother, and her- 
 self, came to the ears of Maria Pemberton. 
 She was indignant, for her mother's sake. With 
 a character such as hers, where high-wrought 
 feeling was apt to take the place of sounder
 
 ANNE GREY. 171 
 
 iudo'ment, her course mav be conceived. She 
 concealed the truth from her mother, but im- 
 mediately resolved to break off her engagement 
 as the surest means of contradicting these re- 
 ports. To none but Mr. Barton did she allege 
 her reason. In vain he tried to dissuade her 
 from such a cruel and useless measure. She 
 was determined, and the greater the sacrifice, 
 the more did she glory in it for the sake of her 
 mother, on whom she thus inflicted pain by 
 her efforts to defend her. 
 
 It was at this time, and shortly after the 
 visit to Hilton, that Frederic Barton had seen 
 Lord Stoketon, and had confided to him the 
 cause of his unhappiness. Lord Stoketon's 
 distress may be conceived, as he listened to the 
 most circumstantial details of the unamiable 
 character of the woman he loved ; but he im- 
 mediately resolved to restore the happiness of 
 his friend though his own was gone. He told 
 
 i2
 
 172 ANNE GREY. 
 
 Mr. Barton of his intentions, received his hearty 
 expressions of gratitude, and set off to Weston 
 in a pitiable state of agitation and distress. 
 
 He travelled all night, and reached Weston 
 the next morning. Worn out with the tumult of 
 his feelings, he was unable to be calm and com- 
 posed as he had intended ; but he concealed 
 nothing from Mr. Grey : he actually sobbed with 
 joy as Mr. Grey repeated his assurance, with a 
 manner, in which there was no deceit, that he 
 believed the accusation against Sophy to be 
 altogether false. But Mr. Grey would not 
 allow it to rest on his conviction alone. Sophy 
 must be questioned, and the origin of the 
 report, if possible, discovered. 
 
 Lord Stoketon left Weston after a two hours' 
 convei'sation with Mr. Grey, and was to remain 
 at the neighbouring town till he heard again 
 from him. He would not trust himself to re- 
 main in the house and to see Miss Grey, till be
 
 ANNE GEEY. 173 
 
 knew on what footing he might meet her ; but 
 he left Weston in a state of comparative bliss 
 to that in which he had entered it. He believed, 
 lover-like, almost before a word had been said 
 in her favour, that Sophy must be innocent. 
 He was convinced, the moment he saw Mr. Grey, 
 and heard him speak of a father's feelings. — 
 Yes, Mr. Grey could not have spoken so, had 
 not his dauo'hter been as amiable as Lord 
 Stoketon fondly imagined. 
 
 What followed his departure at Weston will 
 be imagined. Mr. Grey sent for Sophy, told 
 her all that had passed, and her unfeigned as- 
 tonishment, no less than her assurances of inno- 
 cence, were sufficient to convince her father, 
 had he needed to be convinced, that it was as 
 he hoped. Then followed the indignation, the 
 sorrow, the dismay, and the surmises of how 
 her name could have been connected with these 
 calumnies. Sophy remembered Lady Dowton's
 
 174 A?fNE GREY, 
 
 story — remembered repeating it some time after 
 to Charlotte as a proof of the absurd gossip of 
 Lady Dowton. Sophy was farther questioned 
 as to what she had ever ?aid about Lord Stoke- 
 ton, and was no less surprised at finding how 
 much she had been misrepresented ; earnestly 
 affirmed it was utterly untrue, was very un- 
 happy, cried a great deal, and, when her father 
 told her she had brought some of this upon 
 herself by her inclination to gossip, she cried 
 still more, and expressed her contrition — then 
 asked what was to be done, looked at her father 
 for assistance, and with bitter tears and sobs 
 anxiously enquired whether Lord Stoketon was 
 really gone — gone in anger, believing her 
 capable of such wickedness. 
 
 Anne pitied Sophy to her heart — heard with 
 indignation the charge against her — and, till 
 she heard her father speak of his distress, she 
 was even indignant with Lord Stoketon himself 
 for having believed it.
 
 ANNE GREY. 175 
 
 We will not dwell on all that followed — 
 suffice it to say, that, in a short time from his first 
 painful visit at Weston, Lord Stoketon had the 
 joy of seeing Maria Pemberton and Frederic 
 Barton once more engaged to each other, and 
 of finding himself again on his road to Wes- 
 ton. 
 
 Lord Stoketon arrived ; Sophy saw him 
 for a moment, left her mother and Anne lo 
 amuse one another, and then walked out alone 
 whilst he and Mr. Grey were engaged in con- 
 versation. Perhaps Lord Stoketon began to 
 grow inattentive, for Mr. Grey smiled, and 
 said, " Perhaps you will like to walk ? " 
 
 Lord Stoketon 's answer was not quite audible ; 
 he was out of the room before Mr. Grey had even 
 time to apologize for not accompanying him. 
 Mrs. Grey's eyes wandered towards the window, 
 and she had the comfort of seeing that Sophy 
 was no longer alone, and she looked so happy
 
 176 - ANNE GREY. 
 
 that Mr. Grey caught the hifection, smiled most 
 good-humouredly, gave Anne a kiss, and said, 
 as he patted her cheek, " Sad work this, Miss 
 Anne ! " and the work was so sad that he 
 smiled again as he said, " Take care of yourself, 
 Anne. I cannot afford to part with you too." 
 
 We will leave it to the reader's imao;ination 
 to discover all that was said in that tete-a-tete 
 walk between Sophy and Lord Stoketon. It 
 is sufficient to say, that Lord Stoketon pro- 
 posed and was accepted. 
 
 And what had become of Sophy's predilec- 
 tion for Captain Herbert? Had she quite for- 
 gotten him ? It seems she had, for when Char- 
 lotte Daventry, after expressing over and over 
 again her delight at dear Sophy's prospects, 
 suddenly looked a little sad, and said with a 
 sigh, " poor Captain Herbert," Sophy neither 
 blushed nor sighed. Charlotte withdrew her 
 eyes, as she saw the smile brightening on
 
 ANNE GREY. 177 
 
 Sophy's face at the distant sound of Lord Stoke- 
 ton's voice — saw her little blush of joy as he 
 entered, and perceived Lord Stoketon's animat- 
 ed glance at Sophy as he opened the door. She 
 turned away her head, and in another mo- 
 ment left the room. 
 
 " Yes," said she to herself, as she ascended 
 the stairs, " baffled for once ! Such a blunder- 
 ing, good-hearted fool ! What other man would 
 have come over post-haste to accuse his mis- 
 tress to her father, of telling a lie of his friend 
 and ridiculing himself? Well, I have learnt one 
 thing, never to trust again to what a simpleton 
 may not do ! '' 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Grey, I do congratulate 
 you with all my heart," said Lady Dowton in 
 the kindest, most affectionate manner, as she 
 was shewn into the drawing-room at Weston 
 about a week after Lord Stoketon's proposal. 
 Mrs. Grey knew that Lady Dowton had. 
 
 I 5
 
 178 ANNE GREY. 
 
 done some mischief by spreading disagreeable 
 reports of Sophy, and she had declared, in the 
 virtuous indignation of the moment, that she 
 had no patience with her, and she did not care 
 if she saw it. However, when Lady Dowton 
 walked into the room and congratulated so 
 kindly, and looked so very nmch pleased (as 
 every one was indeed) that Sophy was going to 
 be married, Mrs. Grey quite forgot her want 
 of patience — extended her hand with the most 
 cordial, happy smile on her face — begged Lady 
 Dowton to sit on the sofa, for she was sure 
 she must be tired ; and overcame her displea- 
 sure so much, as to say, " You are very kind," 
 and to tell her all, from the first hour of ac- 
 quaintance down to that of his proposing, not 
 forgetting the very doubts whether the wedding 
 should be on a Monday or a Thursday. 
 
 Lady Dowton listened as never woman lis- 
 tened before, when the subject related neither
 
 ANNE GREY. 179 
 
 to themselves nor their own concerns ; and 
 when she had farther ascertained that Lord 
 Stoketon was gone from Weston to see his 
 mother and sister, and hasten the lawyers ; 
 and that Sophy employed for the trousseau 
 the same milliner she had always employed ; 
 she took her leave without being much fatigued, 
 or a ' sad invalid,' for more than once during 
 the visit. Mrs. Grey said, " After all, she really 
 is a good, kind creature ; so very fond of us 
 all, and particularly of our dear Sophy." 
 
 " Mr. George Foley, ma'am," said the ser- 
 vant, and in walked Mr. George Foley. He 
 congratulated Mrs. Grey, as she expected he 
 would, and she smiled so much and so often 
 that there was no doubt whether condolences 
 or congratulations were due. Mrs. Grey then 
 enquired after Miss Foley, and remembered 
 that Anne had some message for her, and Anne 
 was sent for and obliged to come.
 
 180 
 
 ANNE GREY. 
 
 ~" Who could dare to say she was unamia- 
 ble ? " thought George Foley, as Anne entered. 
 He was come on a visit of discovery of cha- 
 racter, and who will give much for his assur- 
 ances that his love should not blind him, when 
 we find that one look v,^as sufficient to make 
 him say to himself, " She is little less than an 
 angel ! '' 
 
 Yes ! Mr. Foley, it is an easy thing for 
 any happy deluded lover to say, ' I will not 
 be blind !' But when the very thing you love 
 comes before you — when the very voice you love 
 to hear speaks to you — the very eyes you love to 
 look on are turned upon you — then it is not easy 
 to remember such high resolves ; and, if George 
 Foley in that morning visit forgot every thing 
 but that Anne Grey was the most perfect being- 
 he had ever seen, who will blame him? or 
 dare to say, that with all his good sense, he 
 was unpardonably weak !
 
 ANNE GREY. 181 
 
 " Yes," thought he, as he rode home from 
 Weston, " it would be happiness indeed to win 
 her affection ! " and he spurred his horse in the 
 eagerness of the thought, and the horse cur- 
 veted and capered to remind him for a mo- 
 ment he was on horseback , but he was an 
 excellent horseman, and he soon forgot it again, 
 and once more provoked his horse to caper 
 and plunge, as he thought, " It may be won ! 
 Time and perseverance may touch the heart of 
 Anne Grey ! " and he galloped home, for he 
 was very late. Anne Grey had kept him too 
 lono- !
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 "Did you give the note?" said Charlotte Da- 
 ventry to her maid. 
 
 " I did Mam'selle." Charlotte Daventry 
 smiled. 
 
 At length the wedding day arrived. That 
 day vehich many have looked for, longed for, 
 sighed for, and repented of. All the due quan- 
 tity of love had been made by Lord Stoketon 
 and Sophy Grey : the due number of lovers' 
 walks taken, and the due number of delays
 
 ANNE GREY. 183 
 
 gone through, from the dilatoriness and the 
 precision of lawyers ; all lawyers had been duly 
 sent (we will not say where, for it does not mat- 
 ter) by Lord Stoketon, and Sophy had made all 
 the proper number of excuses for them. The 
 trousseau had been ordered ; and the trousseau 
 arrived ; and there were pretty gowns, and 
 pelisses, and bonnets, and canezoous sufficient 
 to make any young lady, from the age of seven- 
 teen to five-and -twenty, ardently wish to be 
 njarried, and most sincerely envy Sophy Grey ! 
 There was white — bridal white — nothing; so be- 
 coming! There was beautiful, rich black velvet ! 
 There was pretty, lively pink; soft, sentimental 
 blue : vapeur — most becoming of all becoming- 
 colours ! There were all these, and there wei'e 
 more. Oh ! happy bride elect ! Why do young 
 ladies ever answer ' No ?' 
 
 The trousseau had been duly looked at and 
 admired by all the ladies in the house, and the
 
 184 ANNE GREY. 
 
 neighbourhood. Every ladies' maid within a 
 walk had just at that crisis been moved with 
 the spirit of friendship for Mrs. Watson, or 
 Mrs. Hickman, at Weston ; and all had seen the 
 trousseau, and all had admired. 
 
 The favours were ready : w^hite and silver : 
 pretty emblems of love, where love is simple, 
 unchanging, and poor. Why are there not 
 golden favours? Surely there should be this 
 distinction made for the prudent, sensible mar- 
 riages, which are planned on the wisest delibe- 
 I'ations of Chaperons — which are formed on 
 considerations of rent-rolls, jointures, houses in 
 town, and houses in the country — which have 
 nothing to do with hearts. Surely, for such as 
 these, this glittering and appropriate distinction 
 might be made. It would be a true emblem of 
 the sensible and praiseworthy principles on 
 which the marriage was planned. Let those 
 who foolishly and rashly marry on love and
 
 ANNE GKEY. 185 
 
 esteem, retain the common badge of simple 
 white; but let not merit go unrewarded. Let 
 golden principles have golden badges. Let 
 them gain all possible advantage from their 
 wisdom. Let their gold be displayed, for its 
 merit is in display. It will not, like affection, 
 make a peaceful home ; it was never meant to 
 give quiet happiness ; it aspires to distinction, 
 and must be blazoned forth. English justice 
 will surely see the propriety of granting a pecu- 
 liar badge for the weddings of the prudent, who, 
 with praiseworthy zeal, sacrifice every feeling on 
 the shrine of wealth. I am disrressins: from 
 Sophy Grey, even though the wedding ring had 
 been procured, and Lord Stoketon had declared 
 that never was such a little finder in want of a 
 wedding ring before. 
 
 Anne had wept and smiled, with that mix- 
 ture of feelings which all perhaps have known 
 on such occasions. She was very glad, and
 
 186 ANNE GREY. 
 
 very sorry, and smiles and tears were the con- 
 sequence : but smiles predominated, for Anne 
 Grey was not selfish : and she had listened to 
 all Sophy had to say and to feel on the occa- 
 sion : she had praised Lord Stoketon, and he had 
 praised her, and they had both praised Sophy ; 
 and with delight she had heard him say how 
 happy he was and ought to be. Charlotte Daven- 
 try had been glad and sorry too. She had said 
 how dear and pretty she thought Sophy ! how 
 charming! how much in love Lord Stoketon 
 was ! and Lord Stoketon had thought her a dear 
 good, atfectionate girl, who was devotedly fond 
 of Sophy. 
 
 At length, on a fine Thursday morning the 
 bells of the church at Weston were set merrily 
 ringing — the clergyman was in readiness — the 
 party of friends were dressed in all bridal ele- 
 gance — the brides-maids, simply and becomingly 
 attired, were ready ; and the bride appeared.
 
 ANNE GRKY. 187 
 
 lovely, as brides should appear, and the bride- 
 groom, poor man ! happy, awkward, and 
 annoyed in his orthodox blue coat. 
 
 The bride turned a little pale, and then a 
 little flushed, and at last, had just the right 
 quantity of bright, becoming colour, and almost 
 shed a tear, but not quite, for a smile came 
 instead and chased it away ; the bridegroom was 
 warned not to forget the ring, and all were 
 assembled round the altar : ' I will,' was uttered 
 in a clear, low voice, and the new name written, 
 and Sophy Grey was Sophy Grey no more ; and 
 she turned her bright face to be looked on, and 
 loved, and admired by the crowd of relations 
 and friends surrounding her ; and they thought 
 that Sophy Stoketon was still dearer and prettier 
 than even Sophy Grey had been — and then the 
 carriages were entered, and the house was 
 reached. Sophy walked into her father's house — 
 her childhood's home — her home no lonoer — and
 
 188 ANNE GREY. 
 
 the bridal dress was changed, and the travel- 
 ling dress took its place, and all crowded round 
 her — the father, the mother, the sister, the 
 brothers — all crowded round her to say good- 
 bye — to look and look on that dear face once 
 more — to feel that her fate was sealed — to pray 
 that it might be a happy one ; to think that she 
 was going away — away from them — away from 
 her home — away with a stranger ! and tears and 
 smiles were mingled, and fond looks, and long- 
 embraces — and a father's mingled tear of joy 
 and sorrow was on her cheek, and the sister's 
 tear, that vainly tried to be a smile, and the 
 mother's sobs ; and Sophy Grey left her father's 
 house — left it with the bright beam of joy and 
 hope upon her brow — and another moment, 
 the carriage door was closed, the last good-bye 
 uttered — and Sophy was gone. 
 
 Oh ! how melancholy ! how lonely does the 
 house appear, where but a moment before all
 
 ANNE GREY. 189 
 
 lias been interest and hurry. Who has not 
 experienced the deserted sensation, when those 
 whom we have been accustomed to see are 
 gone — when the agitation, the interest of 
 parting is over. The forlorn empty look of the 
 room^ — the stillness — the work-box, the draw- 
 ing materials, the music, all gone ; or perhaps 
 one single thing; left to remind us how all 
 was — a flower, perhaps, that had been gathered 
 and cast aside — the cover of a letter which had 
 been scribbled over in the forgetfulness of the 
 happy conversation. 
 
 Yes ! that was a melancholy, happy day 
 for those who remained at Weston. To none, 
 perhaps, so melancholy as to Anne. She had 
 lost more than any. To all but her, Sophy 
 Stoketon would be much the same as Sophy 
 Grey had been, whenever she was again 
 amongst them ; but to Anne it was not so. 
 There is a degree of intimacy and communion
 
 190 ANNE GREY. 
 
 of thought and feeling existing between sisters 
 that cannot remain unbroken after marriage. 
 Pure and beautiful as is the tie of sisterhood, it 
 is not right that it should continue in all its 
 strictness and exclusiveness when marriage has 
 divided them ; for the husband has still stronger 
 claims upon his wife, and it is impossible this 
 can exist uninjured if the tie of sisterhood is 
 retained in all its former power. 
 
 Anne Grey felt all this as she returned to 
 the desei-ted room at Weston ; — her's and Sophy's 
 joint room, where Sophy had so lately been, 
 and had kissed her, and asked her so often 
 to write, and said that she felt as if Weston 
 would always be her home — as if she should 
 always love that room. Anne returned to it. 
 How melancholy it looked ! How different ! 
 how changed her whole life would be now. 
 How changed Sophy's would be — perhaps not 
 changed for greater happiness ; could it indeed
 
 ANNE GREY. 191 
 
 be changed for greater? No, Anne's long sup- 
 pressed tears might now be allowed to flow, as 
 she thought with fond regret of the days gone 
 by — the happy childish days with Sophy ever 
 near her — Sophy's ready laugh — her joyous 
 voice — Anne Grey wept, nor could she compose 
 herself till a gentle knock at the door announced 
 the entrance of Charlotte Daventry, and re- 
 called her to the necessity of self-controul. 
 
 The sight of Charlotte checked her tears, 
 she scarce knew why ; but she had been dwel- 
 ling fondly upon days of happy childhood, of 
 opening womanhood with Sophy, and she was 
 at once re-called from her pleasing yet mourn- 
 ful vision by the sight of Charlotte. 
 
 " Dear Anne," said Charlotte, " I thought 
 how it would be. But you must not cry. Yet 
 I know it is difficult to prevent it. Even I — I, 
 who have so much less cause, am almost as 
 foolish. But then you should think of Sophy's
 
 192 ANNE GREY. 
 
 happiness — we all should. We should try to 
 follow her example ; she behaved so well ! You 
 see she did not cry — not even when she wished 
 us all good-bye." 
 
 Anne dried her tears. " No," said she 
 sadly, " I ought not to cry ; but we will g-o 
 down, Charlotte. We must be in good spirits 
 this evening, and all our party will wonder if 
 we are not — so let us go down." 
 
 " Never was a prettier bridesmaid to a 
 prettier bride," said Charlotte, smiling at Anne, 
 as they descended the stairs arm and arm. So 
 thought George Foley, who was at the wed- 
 ding. So thought Robert Dodson, who was 
 also there. 
 
 Poor Robert Dodson ! How did he bear the 
 loss of his cousin Sophy? — Remarkably well, 
 and Mrs. Dodson only looked grave and cross 
 for one minute, when she heard that Sophy 
 was going to marry Lord Stoketon.
 
 ANNE GREY. 193 
 
 " Anne will do just as well, and better 
 indeed," said she to herself, " and I have always 
 thought that Bob rather preferred her : ' My 
 wife's sister, ' Lady Stoketon !' ' Viscountess 
 Stoketon !' sounds very well. Yes. I really am 
 heartily glad !" and Mrs. Dodson went over 
 to Weston to tell Mrs. Grey how heartily glad 
 she was ; to give Mr. Grey a hearty shake of 
 the hand ; and wish Anne, with all her heart, 
 as good a husband in a little time. 
 
 Mrs. Dodson told Bob, when she went 
 home, that she thought Anne Grey grew pret- 
 tier every time she saw her, and Bob looked 
 so happy, and coloured so deeply, as she said 
 so, that Mrs. Dodson w^as quite satisfied, and 
 thought the Greys were really excellent people 
 — as nice a family as she knew any where — 
 and as highly thought of in the world — Mrs. 
 Dodson's world of fashion ! 
 
 "Yes! I have failed!" said Charlotte to 
 
 VOL. II. K
 
 194 ANNE GREY. 
 
 herself that night as she retired to bed. " Yet, 
 liow could it be otherwise ? no eyes, no ears, 
 no attention for any other being. Fond, 
 devoted simpleton I it was impossible. But 
 still" — she paused an instant — " still, father, 
 do not blame me yet. Do not say that I am 
 guilty — that I am careless ! Is there not mar- 
 ried felicity? Yes, father, you know it: there is 
 married felicity ! A vain, conceited coxcomb 
 still lives, and a vain conceited girl still lives, 
 not the less that she is married. Yes! there 
 is married felicity, heavenly boon ! Father, wait 
 awhile, for there is married bliss ! " Charlotte 
 Daventry smiled.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Anne was no longer the one of two Miss 
 Greys; she wrote Miss Grey on her mother's 
 cards, and sighed as she did so ; and when 
 Henry, who came home on the happy occasion, 
 and had declared he thought a wedding a mon- 
 strous dull thing, — not half the fun he had 
 expected — said " Well, Anne ! so you are Miss 
 Grey now ! Only think of that — Miss Grey I" 
 as if he imagined the height of power and 
 felicity lay in those words ; she only gave a 
 
 k2
 
 196 A>N£ GREY. 
 
 sigh, and looked towards the empty table 
 where Sophy's drawing book was wont to lie. 
 
 For the first few days and weeks, time 
 passed heavily with her. She tried to say 
 ' how selfish ! ' ' how wrong it was to regret 
 her loss so much.' But how very easy it is to 
 say how selfish we are, and to feel quite sure 
 we will be so no more ! and yet how very easy it 
 is to go on being quite as selfish as ever. When 
 we are crying and sighing over the absence of 
 a friend who has gone away to be ten times as 
 happy as if they were enjoying our society, it 
 is so easy to say that ' we ought to be glad' ; 
 that ' we are very wrong not to rejoice :' yet 
 still, as with other things that are the easiest 
 in the world to say, it is the most difficult to 
 practice. 
 
 There stands the empty chair ; there stands 
 the round table minus the figure of our plea- 
 sant companion ; there is the long gravel walk
 
 ANNE GREY. 197 
 
 which we pace up and down, without our 
 friend to pace up and down with us, and be- 
 guile the tedium of wholesome exercise. Still 
 worse does it seem if our friend has been a 
 useful friend — a sort of domestic toady ! there 
 lies our book on the table at the other end of 
 the room ! we would give all we possess to 
 have it in our hands ; but where is the useful 
 friend to give it us ? There is our work ! we 
 would give a good deal to go on with it, 
 having no other employment ; but we got into 
 a scrape in tlie morning : two immense knots, 
 hard, involved, tight, and firm, as Gordian 
 knots, must be unpicked before we can go on ; 
 and where is the useful friend to unpick them? 
 We sigh bitterly — perhaps we groan in the 
 anguish of our hearts ; we know that our good, 
 dear, useful friend and toady is exceedingly 
 happy all this time — much happier than ever 
 
 she dreamt of being when with us. How easy 
 
 J-
 
 198 ANNE GREY, 
 
 it is to say in such a case, " that we ought to 
 he very glad !" Yet who can help regretting? 
 who ever thought of not being selfish? who 
 would not resolve, even at that very moment, 
 never, if possible, to let our useful friend leave 
 us again ? 
 
 Anne Grey said how wrong it was to regret 
 Sophy's loss ; but still she could not help re- 
 gretting ; and when Sophy, in about a month 
 after her marriage, returned to Weston for a 
 week, she found that week the shortest that 
 ever was spent. Oh ! it was delightful to see 
 dear Sophy so happy ! to have her once more 
 amongst them : she almost felt that she never 
 had loved her so much before. Anne felt the 
 (juick and easy flight of time. To the happy 
 indeed, it flies swifter than the swallow ; but 
 not so to the listless ennuye : time to the 
 ennuye is like the high and insurmountable 
 wall up which the snail lingers and dawdles in
 
 ANNE GREY. 199 
 
 his toilsome progress ; and should he get to 
 the top! what then! why he must toil down 
 again ; and away he goes, creeping, slipping, 
 sliding, slowly as ever ; till some mischance 
 befalls him ! — hc'^looses his hold — and down he 
 falls, to the river that flows dark, cold, and 
 deep below. Snail and ennuye! — they both 
 get their falls — the one in the water — the other 
 in the grave. In vain they turn with regret, 
 the one to his wall, — the other to his time, 
 despised, mis-spent and lost! 
 
 Anne Grey had experienced the quick and 
 the slow progress of time. When Sophy was 
 absent it had passed heavily ; but Sophy was 
 come, and never did a week fly so rapidly. 
 She and her husband departed, and Anne was 
 left again to muse on time past and present, 
 and to feel more lonely than ever, after the 
 short, happy week spent in their society. 
 
 A little vexation occurred to vary the
 
 200 ANNE GREY. 
 
 monotony of existence, and if, as a wise man 
 avers, " the greatest pleasure in life consists in 
 being beloved," how supremely happy might 
 she have been. 
 
 One morning, Mr. Robert Dodson walked 
 into the drawing-room at Weston : Mrs. Grey 
 not being there, he proceeded to his cousin's 
 morning- room ; the comfortable busy looking 
 room where Anne and Sophy sat in the morn- 
 ing, working, drawing, playing, or reading ; 
 — where stood Anne's harp — where stood the 
 small piano-forte, Mr. Grey's present to them 
 one happy new - year's - day (when the rents 
 had paid well), for their own private room 
 and morning practice : and there stood the 
 table, covered with pretty and useful things — 
 there stood the drawing - table with the half 
 tiiiished drawing, and the open port- folio lean- 
 ing against the light chair by its side : there 
 stood, on another table, the flower rising
 
 ANNE GREY. 
 
 201 
 
 from the moss in a pyramid of* rosy blossoms ; 
 and on the ground was set the basket filled 
 with gaudy coloured worsteds : there, drawn 
 to the fire, stood the comfortable arm chair, and 
 still more the comfortable one with long back 
 and no arms ; there the small, neat book-case, 
 filled with books both useful and ornamental : 
 against the walls hung the framed drawings ; 
 the chef-d'oeuvres of Anne and Sophy. There 
 too hung the likenesses of all the family of 
 Greys in small gold frames, which half con- 
 cealed the miniatures they were meant to 
 adorn. There from that comfortable busy room 
 the sun was visible, gaily streaming over the 
 smooth short grass, the bright clumps of 
 flowers, the sloping lawn, the graceful trees, 
 the verdant shrubs, the distant hills, and the 
 river which roamed through the farther valley. 
 It was into this happy loo^i|ig room that 
 Mr. Dodson was ushered. He was infected 
 with the matrimonial contagion. He saw Sophy 
 
 k5
 
 202 ANNE GREY. 
 
 Grey turned into a happy wife. He saw Lord 
 Stoketon looking happier than any one ever 
 looked before ; and if Robert Dodson was not 
 a sensible man, he at least felt and behaved 
 like one at present, for he thought such happi- 
 ness was not to be despised. As he entered, he 
 found not his cousin Anne, but Charlotte 
 Daventry. 
 
 " I thought Anne had been here," said he 
 after greeting her. 
 
 "No," said Charlotte; "here am I in 
 solitary blessedness! but Anne is only gone to 
 look for a book, and she will be here again in 
 a moment. Yes !" said she, smiling archly at 
 him, " and perhaps she would come directly, 
 even without her book, if she knew who was 
 here. Poor Anne!" and Charlotte smiled again, 
 and looked significant. Robert Dodson smiled, 
 coloured, sat down — got up again, and said, 
 "Do you think she would? I don't know — I 
 wish I knew — " And again he seated himself.
 
 ANNE GREY. 203 
 
 " ' Faint heart never won fair lady,'" said 
 Charlotte Daventry, in a quiet, half laughing, 
 little voice. " But, 1 will go and look for 
 her." 
 
 " Miss Daventry !" said he, getting up and 
 trying to call her back — " Miss Daventry!' 
 but Charlotte was gone — and in a few minutes 
 Anne and Charlotte entered. Anne had no 
 book in her hand ; she looked pleased, and said 
 she was glad to see her cousin, and then sat 
 down to her drawing. In a few minutes Char- 
 lotte said she must search for a letter she had 
 to answer, and giving a little comic look at 
 Mr. Robert Dodson, left the room. 
 
 In a few minutes more, Mr. Robert Dodson 
 was just peering over Anne's drawing — then 
 he seated himself in a chair close to her's, and 
 said he wished he had one of her drawings — 
 was very readily promised one when it was 
 finished — " This very one, if he liked." He
 
 204 
 
 ANSE GREY 
 
 should like that — auvthing of her? : and turned 
 away his head — coloured — got up — went and 
 looked out of the window — came and sat down 
 again, and said, " How pretty Sophy looked 
 when she was married ! " 
 
 Considering that Sop)iy had been married 
 more than two months, and that he had seen 
 Anne several times since, that was rather a stale 
 remark. Anne smiled a little, said she cer- 
 tainly did look very pretty, and very compos- 
 edly M'ent on with her drawing; but as nothing 
 followed the remark, she looked up at Mr. Ro- 
 bert Dodson in some little surprise, and still 
 more was she surprised to see him looking con- 
 fused, and at length, saying, " Yes, she looked 
 veiy pretty, and very happy, /thought." 
 
 " Yes," said Anne, suspecting her good 
 cousin Bob must have lost his intellects. "Yes, 
 that she certainly was," 
 
 "And, I dare say, she icill be very happy,"
 
 ANNE GREY. 205 
 
 said he, again looking wistfully at Anne's draw- 
 ing, or at the little white hand employed upon 
 it. *' I dare say people are very happy when 
 they marry," said he, raising his eyes to her 
 face, and as quickly withdrawing them again, as 
 Anne turned to see what he could be meaning. 
 
 " Yes," said Anne, " some people, I should 
 hope, are very happy when they marry ; and 
 Sophy, 1 trust," added she laughing, " will he 
 one of these happy ones. I should think that 
 she and Lord Stoketon had an excellent 
 chance." 
 
 " Lord Stoketon is a happy man ! " said 
 Robert Dodson, not looking at Anne, and heav- 
 ing a deep sigh. " What," thought Anne, be- 
 ginning at last to fancy she understood him : 
 " is cousin Bob o-oins; to be sentimental ! Is he 
 actually wearing the willow for Sophy?" There 
 was something so nearly ludicrous in the idea 
 of Bob Dodson's being sentimental, that Anne
 
 206 ANNE GREY. 
 
 found it difficult not to laugh, — this difficulty 
 made her blush. " Can it be," thought she, 
 "that he was in love with her? But I ought 
 not to laugh — for I pity him if it was so. Still 
 I hope he is not going to make me his con- 
 fidante ;" and she continued her drawing, feel- 
 ing a little embarrassed ; and tried to turn the 
 conversation away from Sophy, and Lord Stoke- 
 ton, and the willowed heart. 
 
 But he was bent on proceeding. He looked 
 up and saw her blush — it gave him courage. 
 '* Lord Stoketon is a happy man ! " and he 
 sighed again. " I envied him at the wedding. 
 I thought the bride very pretty — very lovely 
 indeed!" added he with a sigh, "and so they 
 all said ; but do you know," and he looked on 
 the ground for a minute, " do you know, Anne, 
 what I thought?" 
 
 Anne's face grew still hotter : she thought 
 it was really coming, and she should have to
 
 ANNE GREY. 
 
 207 
 
 listen to a confession of love for a married 
 woman from Robert Dodson. 
 
 " Do you know," said he, looking up at her 
 with a very tender expression, "/thought some- 
 body else much prettier ! " 
 
 "Did you!" said Anne, raising her head, 
 pleased to find herself out of the expected scrape. 
 " Did you ? " said she, looking at him and half 
 laughing; but quite astonished when she saw 
 his look of confusion— his delight as she turned 
 
 towards him. 
 
 " Why, what can it be ! " thought she. 
 
 " Oh ! perhaps another confidence : perhaps," 
 and she wondered she never had thought of it 
 before, " perhaps he is in love with Charlotte." 
 She had not long to wait. 
 
 "/thought someone much prettier — much 
 prettier than every body else, indeed ; and I 
 always do, at all times. Yes, I see you under- 
 stand what I mean. I thought you were ten
 
 '208 ANNE GREY. 
 
 times prettier than Sophy, and I wished that 
 you were going to be married too," he conti- 
 nued with encreasing courage, and not to be 
 mistaken empressement of manner and look, 
 as Anne turned away and blushed deeply in 
 utter dismay and vexation as that * you ' re- 
 vealed the secret. She was vexed, thoroughly 
 mortified, and deceived. 
 
 " Yes," said he looking at her, " I envied 
 Lord Stoketon. I wished that I was in hi» 
 place then, and you in Sophy's. I never dare 
 tell you before — I never dare ask you," conti- 
 nued he, growing more energetic every minute, 
 as Anne's continued silence and blushes seemed 
 to assure him of her approbation. " But you 
 must have seen it long ago. You were so kind ! 
 but 1 never should have spoken had not " 
 
 Anne stopped him. She had at first been 
 too much surprised and confused to think what 
 to say. But she now recollected herself, and
 
 ANNE GREY. 209 
 
 quietly and calmly she begged him not to pro- 
 ceed. She said, she feared she could not mis- 
 understand him : that she wished it had not 
 been so. Robert Dodson put in a word about 
 his love — his ardent love — his hope she would 
 return it. 
 
 " No, no," said Anne, '* do not say any 
 more, cousin Robert. It is all a mistake. 
 Indeed you are mistaken in thinking what you 
 do. Let me hope you do not mean all you are 
 saying. You love me, I hope, as a cousin — as 
 I have always loved you ; let us go on loving 
 one another in this way." 
 
 She put out her hand to him. He hesitated 
 for a moment ; but then his better nature pre- 
 vailed. He took her hand. 
 
 " Yes," said she gently, and with a kind, 
 yet firm voice, "let us go on loving one another 
 as cousins. I shall try to forget what you have 
 said to-day, and you will forget it too — you
 
 210 ANNE GREY. 
 
 will soon forget that you ever thought of me 
 but as a cousin." 
 
 *' No, no," said Robert Dodson, dropping 
 her hand. "I shall never forget!" and he 
 leant his head on the table. "I am very 
 wretched," said he looking up. " I have been 
 a fool ! but you have made me very miserable ! 
 — No ! I never shall forget to love you. I 
 always shall ! I always have ! " 
 
 Anne was very sorry — very much perplexed 
 to know what to do, or say ; and just then, when 
 she despaired of making Mr. Robert Dodson 
 less miserable, without giving him false hopes, 
 the door opened and Mrs. Grey walked in. 
 
 " Robert! " said she. " I did not know you 
 were here. I'm very glad to see you." But 
 poor Robert Dodson was not in a state to speak, 
 much less to be glad of anything at that 
 moment. 
 
 Mrs. Grey perceived it. " Why, Anne, is
 
 ANNE GREY. 211 
 
 anything the matter?" said she, looking at 
 her inquisitively. Anne blushed ; just mut- 
 tered in reply, " I do'nt know ;" and walk- 
 ed out of the room. Mrs. Grey began to 
 guess : she put one or two apposite ques- 
 tions, and she soon obtained the truth from 
 Robert. 
 
 Mrs. Grey was a kind-hearted woman. She 
 could not bear to see Robert Dodson unhappy, 
 and she tried to comfort him. She said he must 
 not despair : it was only a little nonsense of 
 Anne's : he must wait a little, and try again ; — 
 he must wait till she was a little older, in 
 other words wiser, and knew her own mind 
 better : and poor Robert at last went home 
 a much less miserable man than he ex- 
 pected. He still hoped that his cousin Anne 
 would learn to like him, and that it would 
 end, happily by her becoming Mrs. Robert 
 Dodson.
 
 212 ANNE GREY. 
 
 Mrs. Grey and hope had whispered kind 
 words to him, and, if they were delusive, still 
 they were pleasant ! Let us all hope and believe 
 as Robert Dodson did. Disappointment is 
 scarcely so bitter as hopelessness ; and if our 
 wishes should not be fulfilled, after all have we 
 not gained ? We only come at last to the melan- 
 choly truth which we might have known long 
 before. We have been enjoying days, or years 
 of happiness to which we had no right. But 
 are they less charming on that account? Oh 
 no ! Let us then when ' Hope tells a flattering 
 tale,' believe its enchanting whispers. Let us, 
 with Robert Dodson, contentedly submit to 
 something disagreeable, because we hope for 
 something very agreeable ; and let us envy him 
 as he rode home that day from Westoa- a 
 rejected yet a hopeful lover. 
 
 When Robert Dodson was gone, Anne was 
 severely lectured by Mrs. Grey, as if it had
 
 ANNE GREY. 213 
 
 been her, and not Robert Dodson who had just 
 done a foolish thing : she was asked " Why 
 she had been so unkind to poor Robert ? Why 
 she did not wish to marry him ?" 
 
 Anne said how sorry she was that she could 
 not like him sufficiently ; but that so it was. 
 Mrs. Grey begged her not to be foolish, and 
 always throw away her chances of happiness 
 in this way — begged she would be kind in her 
 manner to poor Robert, and let him perceive 
 no difference : he had promised she said, very 
 good-naturedly, that it should make no diffe- 
 rence in his feelings. If no such person as 
 Mr. George Foley had existed, Mrs. Grey might 
 have been still more severe upon her; but 
 Robert Dodson was certainly less desirable for 
 a son-in-law than George Foley ; and Mrs. Grey 
 was therefore less displeased than might have 
 been expected, considering the serious nature of 
 her daughter's offence.
 
 214 ANNE GREY. 
 
 Poor Anne was much annoyed by what had 
 passed. She was sorry on Robert Dodson's 
 account : she had always liked him as a good- 
 hearted youth, whose stupidity she could easily 
 overlook for the sake of his kind disposition ; 
 and it was disagreeable to her to cause him 
 pain, or to view him in any other light than 
 as their affectionate cousin. 
 
 But she was still more mortified by her mo- 
 ther's manner. She saw with surprise that 
 Mrs. Grey blamed her for not accepting him, 
 and that even now she had scarcely given up 
 the idea that she certainly ought to marry him, 
 and that in course of time she probably would. 
 She was annoyed at it ; but Anne was never 
 meant for a heroine ; and instead therefore of 
 fretting herself and the family into a fever by 
 fine bursts of sentiment, indignation, and ill- 
 humour, she went on contentedly and cheer- 
 fully, although she had refused a wealthy lover
 
 ANNE GREY. 215 
 
 — although she feared his proposing a second 
 time — and although she dreaded tliat her 
 mother, and perhaps both her parents, would 
 be very angry if she did not accept him.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Perhaps it will be supposed that Anne Grey 
 was alike insensible to pleasure and to pain. 
 That she was one of those excellent stupid peo- 
 ple, who really are so very good, that we find 
 it the hardest thing in the world to love them : 
 whom, in fact, we never do love with our heart, 
 only with our reason : whom we even find it 
 the hardest thing not to dislike, if they are 
 much thrown in our way. Could we but dis- 
 cover some little weakness — some one little
 
 ANNE GREY, 217 
 
 point which could make either their eyes spar- 
 kle, their cheeks redden, or their tongues utter 
 an involuntary exclamation — we could then for- 
 give them all the rest — we should be saved at 
 once from dislike, and, perhaps, might even 
 begin to love them. 
 
 Anne Grey never put any one to this test. 
 Though she could cheerfully submit to unavoid- 
 able evils, she was perfectly alive to the sensa- 
 tion of pleasure — was quite capable of uttering 
 hasty exclamations of delight — of having her 
 heart beat with joy, and her eyes sparkle with 
 happiness. She really had emotions, in proof 
 of which, she was actually in a flutter of plea- 
 sure one morning on the arrival of a letter to 
 Mr. Grey. 
 
 This animating letter was merely from Mr. 
 Temple, and its contents nothing more than a 
 proposal to come to Weston, if convenient to 
 Mr. and Mrs. Grey. 
 
 VOL. II. L
 
 218 ANNE GREY. 
 
 Nothing could be so convenient as Mr. Tem- 
 ple's coming. Mrs. Grey had been longing to 
 have the house filled with company ; — there 
 really were so many people they ought to ask ; 
 it was quite shameful they had not been asked 
 long ago ! She only vanted an excuse to make 
 this evident to Mr. Grey, for she was not quite 
 certain that it would be so clear to him ; but 
 now Mr. Temple had invited himself. He could 
 not come to a family party. Some one must 
 meet him, and she easily gained Mr. Grey's 
 consent to invite as mi any of their acquaintance 
 as the house would hold. 
 
 Will it be believed that Edward Temple, 
 who could condescend to talk so much and so 
 agreeably to little simple Anne Grey, was really 
 a great personage ? The world of fashion would 
 hardlv have denied his claim to that distinc- 
 tion. Napoleon had been a greater man, cer- 
 tainly — Walter Scott had, perhaps, been a
 
 ANNE GREY. 219 
 
 greater man — Beau Brummel, no doubt, in his 
 day had been by some considered a greater 
 man — but still Edward Tern pie was a great 
 man, and Mrs. Grey was so delighted that the 
 all-admired Mr. Temple should have proposed 
 to come to Weston that she ordered the car- 
 riage, and drove over to see her dear cousin, 
 Mrs. Dodson. 
 
 Perhaps she mentioned his name in that 
 visit ! Be that as it may, Mrs. Dodson and she 
 talked a good deal about Robert Dodson and 
 Anne. They said it was a foolish affair, Mrs. 
 Grey apologized for Anne — said she was young 
 and did not know her own mind, but no doub 
 in a little time would be wiser ; she was rather 
 more discreet than she otherwise mio-ht have 
 been as she thought of Mr. George Foley, and 
 of Edward Temple's visit; but still she ven- 
 tured to say, that she hoped poor dear Robert 
 
 l2
 
 220 AVSE GREY. 
 
 would not take it much to heart, and would 
 not despair. 
 
 Mrs. Dodson said, that poor dear Rotert 
 certainly did rather take it to heart, but she ] 
 thought he would soon get up a better spirit, 
 and she had no doubt it would all be well, and 
 Anne would know her own interest better in a 
 little time; and Mrs. Dodson's forbearance and 
 friendliness on the subject did her great credit. 
 
 Mr. Temple came to Weston. A jjarty was 
 invited on the occasion. TJie Foleys unluckily 
 were gone from home for a fortnight. It was 
 very unfortunate! Poor Mrs. Grey had relied 
 upon them. She was, to tell the truth, with 
 all her delight, a little nervous about Mr. Tem- 
 ple's visit. She was afraid of not having lords 
 and ladies, and fashionable people enough to 
 meet him. I am sure any good kind of country 
 
 gentleman's wife will sympathise with her at 
 this moment. They all may have felt the
 
 ANNE GREY. 221 
 
 Strange mixture of pleasure and pain combating 
 in their minds when some great man or woman 
 of society — some one a little superior to them- 
 selves, has deio;ned to offer himself as their 
 guest. What o-ood kind of woman has not felt 
 in ajidget, and wished that the honour and the 
 pleasure were more synonymous? 
 
 Just so felt Mrs. Grey! It was a great 
 honour to have Mr. Temple, but still, what 
 were her exclamations and remarks beginning 
 with ' I wish,' which means ' I have something 
 to fear ' — what were her remarks to Mr. Grey 
 on the subject? " Oh ! Mr. Grey ! how I wish 
 we had got a party to meet Mr. Temple ! I wish, 
 my dear, we had got those new chairs in the 
 drawing-room! I wish, my dear, I knew 
 whether Mr. Temple ever eats veal, because 
 Fowler says there is nothing to be had for the 
 top dish the first day but veal ! I wish, Mr. 
 Grey, we had a man cook ! I wish we could
 
 222 AN.XE GREY. 
 
 know whom he would like to meet! I wish, my 
 dear, those lamps would burn better in the 
 dining-room. The last time we had company 
 they gave no light at all ! a pair of tallow 
 candles would have given as much!" And 
 many, many more, were Mrs. Grey's wishes, 
 hopes, and fears, on the subject. Mr. Grey 
 listened to them with a patient, enduring face, 
 and whether he attended to them or not is a 
 matter of no importance. 
 
 " I wish to goodness that the Foleys had 
 come," added Mrs. Grey. She had thought of 
 the Foleys directly, as suitable people to meet 
 him, and it was so unlucky that they were gone 
 out. "Really gone! Are you quite sure, Mr. 
 Grey, that he says not to be back before Wed- 
 nesday ? — Yes, I see," said she, with a heavy 
 sigh, as she looked over Mr. Foley's note, and 
 saw that there was no possibility of reading it 
 with a different meaning.
 
 ANNE GREY. 223 
 
 " Well, we can have Lady Dowtoii, and Sir 
 John, if he is at home. Mr. Temple knows 
 Lady Dowton, and I saw he talked to her a 
 little atChatterton." 
 
 " My dear, what does it signify," said Mr. 
 Grey, " whom we have? Mr. Temple is coming 
 to see us — not to see people he can meet every 
 day of his life if he chooses. Ask those whom 
 it is our turn to ask. You told me there were 
 several people we ought to invite, so now is 
 your time. As we are going to have the bore of 
 company let us get off all the civilities at once." 
 "Well, my dear, Mr. Grey, lam sure, I 
 am very anxious to do so. I did not think you 
 would have been so cross about it." 
 
 Mr. Grey's placid smile showed how very 
 cross he was liable to be. 
 
 " I wish to get a pleasant party to meet 
 Mr. Temple, if 1 can," continued she. "He is 
 used to such smart people."
 
 224 ANNE GREY. 
 
 " I am afraid you will not find many in this 
 neighbourhood," said Mr. Grey smiling. "But 
 settle it yourself, I leave it to you, my dear. 
 I shall be quite satisfied, and so will Mr, Tem- 
 ple, I dare say, with whoever you choose to 
 ask." 
 
 Poor Mrs. Grey did settle it as well as she 
 could. The day arrived, and Anne wondered 
 why she felt so particularly shy at the thought 
 of a party at home ; she told herself it must 
 be because Sophy was not there to be ' Miss 
 Grey.' Mr, Temple came, and she blushed so 
 deeply when he arrived, that, as she ascended 
 the stairs to her own room, she said to herself, 
 " How foolish ! how provoking ! What might 
 he not have thought of it V She remembered 
 what Charlotte had said concerning his prefer- 
 ence for her, and her coldness of manner to 
 him. She wished that Charlotte had never 
 uttered a word on the subject, for she felt so
 
 ANNE GREY. 225 
 
 awkward. She was sure he did not care for 
 her, and if that were tlie case, he could not 
 care how cold her manner was. 
 
 Whilst these thoughts were passing in her 
 mind, her toilet was completed, and she des- 
 cended to the drawing-room with the persua- 
 sion that nothino" was so awful as walkino; into 
 a room before dinner. 
 
 As she entered, she saw Mr. Temple talking 
 to her cousin. Charlotte looked better than 
 Anne had ever seen her before. It was strange, 
 but even her manner seemed improved — her 
 complexion brightened — her eyes more beauti- 
 ful- — Then her dress was perfect, and her figure, 
 which was always good, but not always shewn 
 to the best advantage, from her negligence of 
 dress, was now displayed to the greatest ad- 
 vantage. Anne was quite struck with her ap- 
 pearance, and she could scarcely keep her eyes 
 from her. Perhaps it was because she had no 
 
 L 5
 
 226 ANXE GREY. 
 
 longer Sophy to compare her with, but Char- 
 lotte certainly looked decidedly handsome. Her 
 manner likewise, quiet, and lady-like, yet filled 
 wiih animation and grace, as she sat smiling, 
 talking, or listening to Mr. Temple. 
 
 Anne saw that he was struck with her. He 
 never moved when she entered ; he seemed per- 
 fectly engrossed, and went on conversing with 
 evident interest and animation. Anne felt for 
 a moment a little pang — a strange sensation- 
 hut it was soon subdued, and she turned away her 
 eyes, and devoted herself to Mrs. Cunningham, 
 
 who, with Mr. Cunningham, and two outof the 
 three 'very different,' or as some one said, 'very 
 ^/different ' Miss Cunninghams, were staying 
 in the house. It was unlucky that Anne asked 
 Miss Cunningham after herself, and talked to 
 Miss Mary Cunningham about her younger 
 sisters : it was a strange mistake, as they were 
 so ' very different.'
 
 ANNE GREY. 227 
 
 Dinner over, the ladies quitted the dining- 
 roonj, and in about half an hour after, the ap- 
 proach of the gentlemen was heard. 
 
 Anne wondered whether Mr. Temple would 
 come and talk to her, or whether he would 
 again devote himself to Charlotte. She tried, 
 as the door opened at the other end of the room, 
 to talk to ^liss Mary Cunningham, and not to 
 care whether Mr. Temple spoke to her or not. 
 She sat with her back to the door, so that she 
 could see no one as they entered, and there was 
 a long room to be crossed before the procession, 
 of gentlemen could reach her, if any were even 
 so inclined. Charlotte Daventry sat behind her, 
 more in the middle of the room. Anne tried 
 not to listen for Mr. Temple's voice, and to talk 
 very steadily to Miss Mary Cunningham. She 
 was kept some time in suspense. She heard 
 some one ask Charlotte what her work was, 
 and wonder how ladies could work ! That was
 
 228 AKNE GREY. 
 
 not Mr. Temple. Then she heard the begin- 
 nings of various talkings. Heard an arm-chair 
 wheeled a little nearer to the fire, or to the 
 table, or to some one's seat, "That is Mr. 
 Temple," thought she: and she asked Miss 
 Mary Cunningham, for the second time that 
 evening, whether she had ridden much lately. 
 
 Yes — Anne gave it up! He would not talk 
 to her it seemed. That had evidently been his 
 arm-chair, perhaps drawn comfortably towards 
 the fire, with the intention of remaining there 
 for the evening, in a silent mood — a prac- 
 tise, she had heard, was not very uncommon 
 with him when not well pleased with the com- 
 pany. She began to think how foolish she had 
 been to believe a word that Charlotte had 
 said ; when Miss Mary Cunningham, whose 
 head was turned towards the door, began to 
 bridle up. Anne read in that movement that 
 some one was coming. Yes, a chair was drawn 
 near her own.
 
 AN'NE GREY. 229 
 
 " You have forgotten your promise, Miss 
 Grey," was said in a voice she did not mistake. 
 She turned her head. It was Mr. Temple. 
 " You have forgotten your promise, Miss 
 Grey." 
 
 " What promise?" said Anne, bending over 
 her work. 
 
 " I had hoped," said he, " you would not 
 have required to be reminded of it. No," he 
 continued, " I cannot tell you. I have no right 
 to remind you. I only can see and fiel,'" he 
 added, lowering his voice, " that you have 
 forgotten it." 
 
 The colour rushed to Aiine's face as he said 
 this. She remembered the promise, at least, 
 she remembered his asking her to promise never 
 to meet him again as if he were a mere ac- 
 quaintance — to meet him in future as a friend. 
 In a moment she forgot Charlotte Daventry ! 
 
 He went on ; but, who would suppose that
 
 230 ANNE GREY. 
 
 he would not go on — that he would do other- 
 wise than draw his chair towards her with the 
 intention of conversing ? 
 
 I am not going to repeat a word more of 
 his conversation, though it lasted some time. 
 Charlotte Daventry looked at them once or 
 twice during its continuance. Once there was 
 a peculiar expression on her countenance as 
 she looked. Could that be a frown from dear 
 good Charlotte Daventrv ? Oh, no ! it could 
 not have been ; for when Anne moved from her 
 seat to sing, and Mr. Temple, after sitting some 
 time listening to Anne's singing, seated himself 
 by her side, she shewed how difficult it would 
 be for her to frown. She sat in smiling,- 
 quiet gracefulness, as she spoke and listened. 
 There was a gentleness, mingled with anima- 
 tion, about her manner that had never before 
 been discernible. Anne's thoughts were not 
 intent on her as they had been at first that
 
 ANNE GREY. 231 
 
 evening, and, when at length her attention 
 was attracted, she only felt pleasure at seeing 
 lier cousin, apparently liked by one whose 
 judgment she valued.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 " Gratitude is an overpowering feeling," said 
 Charlotte Daventry, in continuation of a con- 
 versation with IVIr. Temple, during one of the 
 Miss Cunningham's performance on the piano- 
 forte. " Gratitude is an overpowering feeling. 
 It must either exist intensely, or not at all. It 
 must engross all other feelings or it cannot 
 exist." 
 
 " Do you think then," said he, " that grati- 
 tude would render us blind to the faults of 
 those towards whom it is due ?"
 
 ANNE GREY. 233 
 
 Charlotte hesitated — at length she said, 
 with some emotion, " We must wish it should ; 
 yes, I should say it ought to do so. Are we 
 not guilty of a crime ?" she said, eagerly look- 
 ing at him, as if anxious, veri/ anxious for his 
 opinion. " Are we not guilty of a cime even, 
 if we do not blind ourselves to the faults of 
 those who have a claim on our gratitude ?" 
 
 " I cannot think so," said he, regarding 
 her calmly, perhaps with scrutiny. 
 
 " You think not," said she, eagerly, as she 
 actually bent forward to listen for his answer. 
 " You think not !" Her eyes expressed plea- 
 sure, but that expression soon faded. 
 
 " No ! but it cannot be so. You have never 
 considered the subject seriously, anxiously. 
 You never have had occasion to consider it — 
 as — " she checked herself — " as some may have 
 had," she added, " I was mistaken in thinking" 
 — she stopped herself again. " Yes," said she,
 
 234 ANNE GREY. 
 
 "I know it is right to feel gratitude so strong- 
 ly as to preclude the exercise of every other 
 feeling. It is a crime" — and she put her hand 
 before her eyes, as she uttered this word, and 
 a slight shudder was just perceptible. "It is 
 a crime not to be blind to every failing in 
 those who have a right to expect our grati- 
 tude." She paused for a moment, as if occu- 
 pied with painful emotions, and then continued, 
 "Oh! it is easy for those who have never 
 lain under a sense of obligation to speak lightly 
 of it — to say it is not a duty ! But it is an over- 
 powering duty. Easy, perhaps, to those who 
 begin by love — who can esteem— admire — who 
 are loved — who are not reminded" — she stop- 
 ped and then said in a lighter tone, " It must, 
 I should think, be easy in such cases to be 
 grateful. It cannot be such an overpowering 
 feeling as T should suppose it to be in others," 
 she added, laying a stress on the word ' sup-
 
 ANNE GREY. 
 
 235 
 
 pose/ and just glancing at Mr. Temple, as if 
 she were anxious he should perceive she only- 
 spoke of an imaginary case — " and yet," con- 
 tinued she, as she saw his face betokened no 
 signs of applying what she had said, as she 
 feared it might be applied, " and yet the duty 
 is as ereat in one case as in the other. The 
 faults, numerous though they may be, should 
 not be discovered — even though the favour was 
 bestowed grudgingly, unwillingly — though it 
 is continued from necessity alone — still the 
 obligation for gratitude is the same. What a 
 sin it is ! how terribly self-upbraiding must 
 that person's feelings be who could not blind 
 herself to the faults and failings of those who 
 bestow the favour!" 
 
 She stopped — emotion betrayed itself as she 
 finished, and for a while she seemed completely 
 occupied and abstracted by the thoughts she 
 had conjured up. She put her hand before her
 
 236 ANNE GREY. 
 
 eyes — then slightly starting, as if recolkcting 
 herself, she looked up, tried to laugh, said 
 something about the way in which a subject 
 carried her on, saw Edward Temple look at 
 her rather inquisitively, and blushed deeply. 
 
 " You will think," said she, trying to be 
 gay, " that I have some person in my head — 
 but you know, it is easy to conjure up imagi- 
 nary cases. It is very easy! I am, I believe 
 given to do so. I often conjure up cases, and 
 on this very subject — it was odd that we should 
 have been speaking on tliis subject." 
 
 " Perhaps not," said Edward Temple, " as 
 you say it is one you often think of, and you 
 began it yourself." Charlotte coloured still 
 more violently, and turned away her head, as 
 she saw him look at her with an intelligent 
 smile on his face. 
 
 Perhaps she was hurt by his manner. She 
 might have thought him wanting in consider-
 
 ANNE GREY. 237 
 
 atioii for her evident confusion ; foi", lieedless 
 of her embarrassment, he continued ibr a few 
 minutes regarding her attentively ; and he 
 added, as he withdiew his gaze, " Yes, I 
 think it was a subject you yourself began. 
 ]t is one indeed that I have little reason 
 to think or talk about," said he carelessly, 
 " for I have no one to be grateful to, thank 
 goodness!- — Except," he added, turning with 
 an air of gallantry towards her, "it is to Miss 
 Daventiy at this moment for allowing me the 
 pleasure of talking to her." 
 
 " That is a pleasure," said Charlotte Da- 
 ventry, without the slightest coquetry of man- 
 ner, " that is a pleasure which it seems I have 
 bestowed so willingly that it lays claim to no 
 gratitude. So Mr. Temple," said she, smiling, 
 " according to your own confession, you are 
 relieved from the necessity of gratitude to 
 any one."
 
 238 ANNE GREY. 
 
 " And you would regard that, Miss Daveii- 
 try, as a happy exemption ?" said he, smiling 
 and looking inquisitively at her. 
 
 A flush passed across Chai'lotte's face, as 
 he spoke and looked at her with a kind of 
 privileged scrutinizing ease. Her answer was 
 made quietly, and, though free from anger, was 
 such as seemed to rebuke the freedom, if not 
 heartlessness of the question. " Few people," 
 said she, lowering her voice, and averting her 
 eyes as she spoke, " few people would have 
 asked such a question of me." 
 
 Edward Temple felt it — he was struck for 
 an instant with the consciousness of having 
 been unjust. He was grieved, to have asked 
 the poor dependent orphan whether she 
 thought the exemption from gratitude a hap- 
 piness! It was indeed cruel, if undeserved; 
 and, deserved or not, he saw that it was felt. 
 It had been rebuked, calmly, pointedly, and
 
 ANNE GREY. '239 
 
 with dignity — some proof that it had not been 
 deserved. 
 
 Edward Temple was staggered in his pi*e- 
 conceived opinion, and his voice and manner 
 shewed his consciousness that he had been 
 unkind : when next he spoke, it was with some- 
 thing almost of kindness in his voice. Char- 
 lotte Daventry looked up, and at that mom.ent, 
 if not before, Edward Temple must have felt 
 his injustice, for he saw the tear standing in 
 her eye, as she thanked him by her look for 
 the change of his manner. 
 
 But the wound had been given — the feel- 
 ings had been hurt. And in vain did Mr. 
 Temple exert his powers of conversation. In 
 vain did he try, by his lively endeavours to 
 amuse, to dispel the recollection of his unkind- 
 ness. She was apparently making an effort 
 to seem attentive, and to conceal the depres- 
 sion of spirits which those few words of his had
 
 240 ANNE GREY. 
 
 caused, but evidently unable to overcome the 
 painful recollections they had recalled. She 
 remained serious and almost silent. Ed^vard 
 Temple saw that she -wished to be left — that 
 she wished at least that he should not continue 
 to talk to her ; and h-^ left her, with a strong 
 feeling of self-upbraiding, which was not a little 
 increased by perceiving shortly after that she 
 had quitted the room. 
 
 " How unaccountable !" thought he, " ano. 
 yet even now may it not all be deceit? A mere 
 finished piece of acting ! No," thought he, as 
 lie looked at Anne Grey's calm and lovely 
 countenance, as she sat listening to Miss Cun- 
 ningham's bad playing, without one gesture of 
 impatience, or one look of ridicule to account 
 for her patient attention, " there cannot be 
 falsehood there. Truth and kindness are too 
 plainly written ! 1 have been duped," he con- 
 tinued, after a minute's thought, whilst intently
 
 ANNE GREY. 241 
 
 Studying the countenance of Anne; "I have 
 been completely duped ! after all my caution !" 
 He half smiled. " Duped by a finished piece 
 of acting!" and the next moment he was by 
 the side of Anne Grey. 
 
 " Your cousin has left us," said he ; " Miss 
 Daventry has disappeared." 
 
 " Disappeared !" said Anne, looking round. 
 
 " Yes," replied he, " I heard her say ' Good- 
 night.' She was tired, or not well, or some- 
 thing, I believe." Anne's face of concern was 
 just what Edward Temple expected, and, be it 
 known, what he wished to see. 
 
 " 1 hope she is not ill," said Anne ; and she 
 left the piano-forte, the Miss Cunninghams — 
 and Mr. Temple — looked the fear she felt, 
 that Charlotte Daventry was ill, and left the 
 room . 
 
 " I knew it I" thought Edward Temple, 
 and he seated himself with his back to Miss 
 
 VOL. II. M
 
 242 ANNE GRHY. 
 
 Cunningham, not the least aware that she was 
 in the finale of her first-rate song. 
 
 " I knew how it would be! There was 
 proof in that kind, pitying look ; and I have 
 done well, if she has any feeling — any touch of 
 remorse ; I have seni the best tormentor to 
 her." 
 
 " Mr. Temple," said Mrs. Grey, " I beg 
 your pardon — but I think Miss Cunningham 
 is looking for the book you have there." 
 
 Mr. Temple started at the sound of Mrs. 
 Grey's civil apologetic voice. He got up and 
 gave the book to Miss Cunningham, and then 
 remembered to turn his face towards the instru- 
 ment and the performer. 
 
 Anne returned in about a quarter of an 
 hour. He looked at her as she entered. She 
 was grave, and there was something of sorrow 
 and of pity in her look. 
 
 " I hope Miss Daventry is not ill?" said 
 he, as she returned to the music party.
 
 ANNE GREY, 243 
 
 " No, she is not ill, thank you," said 
 Anne, " but she was a little overcome. 
 Charlotte, though she appears so lively and 
 thoughtless," said she after a few minutes' 
 pause, " has a great deal of feeling. Unhap- 
 pily, perhaps for her ! Little things affect her 
 at times — one scarcely knows why — except, 
 indeed," added she, " that it is easy to believe 
 under such a melancholy situation as her's 
 how readily every little thing may affect her." 
 
 " I who am so happy," she continued, half 
 smiling through the sadder expression which 
 rested on her countenance, " have so little 
 reason to understand her feelings that I am 
 often fearful of wounding them from ignorance 
 or inadvertence — not that I cannot sympathize 
 with her, for my own happiness makes me 
 more alive to the sense of what it must be to be 
 deprived of it. It appeared, from what she let 
 fall, that something had occurred to agitate 
 
 m2
 
 244 ANNE GREY. 
 
 her this evening. — Poor thing !" said she, 
 with a compassionate voice : " she is indeed 
 to be pitied ! No affection, no care, no kind- 
 ness can supply the place of that she is de- 
 prived of!" 
 
 " I believe you did not know her father?" 
 gaid Edward Temple. 
 
 " I see you think," said Anne, looking at 
 him as he spoke, " that my cousin is not to be 
 pitied for the loss of such a father. But lie 
 was devotedly fond of her, and she was pro- 
 bably blind to his faults. She had no occasion 
 to know them ; for they were not faults against 
 her. She, I know, was attached to him 
 with no common devotion. She had only him 
 to love, for she lost her mother when almost 
 an infant. A child is indeed to be pitied who 
 has no parent!" She sighed, and was silent for 
 a moment. Edward Temple read with delight 
 in her expressive countenance the feelings
 
 ANNE GREY 
 
 245 
 
 which had made her pause, and of which he 
 had just before been ahiiost deceived into be- 
 lieving her incapable. 
 
 Miss Cunningham's performance was at an 
 end ; and Anne was to say something civil, to 
 ask for another song, and to be refused with 
 becoming diffidence; and thus closed the 
 
 scene. 
 
 And now what shall we say, when we hear 
 that Anne actually remained awake that night, 
 to ask herself, what we all know by this time, 
 ' whether she was in love with Mr. Temple V 
 ' Whether, if she were in love with him, it was 
 wrong in her to be so V and lastly, ' whether, 
 after all, Edward Temple was a marrying 
 man?' If Edward Temple had been asked that 
 question what would he have answered ? " Let 
 me wait," he would perhaps have said, " till I 
 am safe away from Weston, and then I will 
 tell you."
 
 CHAPTER XVr. 
 
 Charlotte Daventry's manner, the next morn- 
 ing, shewed no traces of the agitation which 
 Anne had witnessed with sorrow on the preced- 
 ing evening. When she had then gone up to 
 her room, she had found her in evident emotion, 
 and as Anne kindly questioned her as to the 
 cause, she let fall some allusions to her desolate 
 situation in the loss of her father, which reveal- 
 ed at once what had affected her. 
 
 Anne had often witnessed such emotion
 
 ANNE GREY. 247 
 
 before, caused, as she belkved, by some sli2,ht 
 allusion to her situation, something which had 
 touched on the chord of feeling — unconsciously 
 perhaps to all but herself. 
 
 Charlotte kissed her cousin, and the tears, 
 which had probably been suppressed before, 
 began to flow as she leant on her neck, and 
 thanked her over and over again for her kind- 
 ness; and then, with considerate eagerness, 
 begged her not to remain with her. 
 
 " Do not I know," said she, " that he is 
 here," smiling through her tears. " Yes, yes, 
 Anne, you must go, and leave me :" and as she 
 was beginning to refuse, " yes, you must go. 
 I had rather be left — indeed I had — it is better 
 for me ;" and she urged her so much to return 
 to the drawing-room, that Anne saw it Vv^as 
 better to comply. 
 
 If Anne had been a real heroine she would 
 have been delighted to have her duty and her
 
 248 ANNE GREY. 
 
 pleasure so little at variance. She would, as she 
 entered the drawing-room, and saw the hero's 
 eyes still fondly resting on the door, the very 
 door where last he had caught a glimpse of her 
 receding figure ; — she would, as she saw those 
 eyes flash with animated joy on her return — as 
 he advanced in eager delight one step to meet 
 her ; — she would, as she saw all this, have com- 
 pletely forgotten everything but the delight — 
 the rapture of again beholding him — she would 
 have completely forgotten that she left a poor 
 unhappy cousin weeping up stairs. 
 
 But, though Anne, as she entered, saw Mr. 
 Temple turn anxiously round, and though he 
 spoke to her the moment she drew near, and 
 had evidently been watching for her return — 
 yet she did not, on this account, forget her sor- 
 row for Charlotte Daventry, nor did she feel 
 the true heroine-delight as she descended the 
 stairs, but wished most sincerely that she might
 
 ANNE GREY. 249 
 
 have been allowed to remain to comfort Char- 
 lotte, instead of returning to the drawing-room, 
 even though Edward Temple was there. 
 
 However, on the morrow, Charlotte appeared 
 with her usual cheerful, lively manner, and 
 Mr, Temple hardly refrained from asking her 
 whether the weight of gratitude was become 
 more burdensome since the preceding evening? 
 but he did refrain and turned to talk to Anne. 
 
 During the day, Lady Dowton was happy 
 enough to engage his attention. The Greys 
 and Charlotte Daventry were all out of the 
 room, and Mr. Temple actually sat down by 
 her, to the amazement of Mrs. Cunningham and 
 the two Miss Cunninghams, who all three would 
 have given the world to have been even spoken 
 to by him. Edward Temple and Lady Dowton 
 had a long conversation, and in such a low con- 
 fidential tone of voice, that it was sometimes 
 almost hushed into a whisper. What could it 
 
 M 5
 
 250 ANNE GREY. 
 
 have been about ? Neither more nor less than 
 Charlotte Daventry and the Greys. 
 
 " She plays most beautifully, I can assure 
 you — but poor thing she never plays here. — No 
 — that would not be quite allowed. It would 
 interfere, you know. The Greys — I really am 
 very fond of them." 
 
 " Yes, I see," said Mr. Temple. 
 
 " But you know they have their little fail- 
 ings," continued Lady Dow ton, "who has not? 
 and perhaps, with regard to this poor girl — 
 who is undoubtedly attached to them from gra- 
 titude — there is evidently a little jealousy." 
 
 " Mr. Grey, I suppose ?" said Mr. Temple. 
 " He and Miss Daventry would certainly clash." 
 
 " Yes, exactly," said Lady Dowton, not un- 
 derstanding, but going on. " There is a little 
 jealousy, and Charlotte Daventry is not allowed 
 by any of the family to do anything well. Her 
 music— they all say, as you know, that she can-
 
 ANNE GREY. 
 
 251 
 
 not play at all, and does not like it; but the 
 poor girl is passionately fond of it, and really 
 plays beautifully." 
 
 " You have heard her V said Mr. Temple. 
 " No, not exactly, but Miss Foley — " 
 " Miss Foley !" said he, in a diiferent man- 
 ner, and with a little start. 
 
 " Yes, Miss Foley was very sorry for her." — 
 "And she heard her play. Lady Dov,-ton?" 
 " Yes, often at my house," was the reply. 
 " Often — and she is very fond of the poor girl, 
 and very sorry for her. These little jealou- 
 sies are very disagreeable in a family, Mr. 
 Temple. You would scarcely suspect Anne 
 Grey of such a thing — but a little sulkiness of 
 temper, and this jealousy of others' accomplish- 
 ments go together in her — and she looks so 
 quiet, and is so kind in her manner — such a 
 very gentle manner — and I dare say sJie /pmi/ 
 feel a little, — but still for a poor thing in
 
 252 
 
 ANNE GRE7. 
 
 Charlotte Daventry's situation, it is hard to 
 bear." 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Temple. " Miss Grey 
 certainly has all the appearance of a person 
 with whom it would be difficult to live." 
 
 " Exactly," said Lady Dowton, thinking 
 Mr. Temple, who was such a superior-minded 
 person, must be right ; " Exactly." 
 
 " You have often seen her sulky, 1 sup- 
 pose. Lady Dowton, as you live so near, and 
 have known her from a child ?" said Edward 
 Temple. 
 
 " No indeed," said Lady Dowton ; " but my 
 delicate health you know — " and she was sink- 
 ing back in interesting languor. Mr. Temple 
 saw it. 
 
 " Perhaps you have heard. Lady Dowton — " 
 
 Lady Dowton was roused, ' you have heard 
 p'rhaps,' betokened something to be heard. 
 
 " Perhaps you have heard the story about 
 Mr. Grey and the poodle dog ?"
 
 ANNE GREY. 253 
 
 "No, indeed! never!'' said Lady Dowton, 
 in an animated voice. " No, indeed." 
 
 " jVh, well I thought you had known it. It 
 is highly to Mr. Grey's credit, I assure you, and 
 to Miss Grey's too. It proves most completely 
 that the Greys are everything most kind and 
 attentive to Miss Daventry, and that Miss Anne 
 Grey has not the smallest particle of sulkiness 
 or jealousy. I cannot tell you the story. I 
 thought, as a friend of the family, you might 
 have known it, otherwise 1 would not have 
 named it. It was told me in confidence, and I 
 must ask Lady Dowton, as a favour, that you 
 do not mention the poodle dog — that is the 
 particular thhig which must not be named — 
 besides which you perceive that to those who 
 do not know the whole story, it would sound 
 ridiculous. Of course the fact may be men- 
 tioned that there are well-grounded proofs that 
 the Greys are free from all jealousy and want
 
 254 ANNE GREY. 
 
 of kindness to Miss Daventrv ; and that Miss 
 Anne Grey is not sulky — but has the sweetest 
 temper in Christendom. This you must be at 
 liberty to repeat, and there can be no harm in 
 adding the very strong grounds of your own 
 personal experience of her disposition. In short 
 these reports are stale now. This of the poodle 
 dog is the new version. I wish [ was at liberty 
 to relate the whole to you. But the inference 
 is sufficient." 
 
 "Well indeed," said Lady Dowton, "I 
 always said and thought it must be so. I felt 
 so sure Anne Grey was the sweetest tempered 
 being in the world. I never had seen the 
 slightest symptom of sulkiness or jealousy in 
 lier, though I have known her all my life ; and 
 towards Charlotte Daventry, in particular, I 
 have always seen every mark of consideration.'' 
 " You must take care to let the world know 
 this Lady Dcwton for I can assure you. you have
 
 ANNE GREY. 256 
 
 been named as circulating a story that was not 
 quite correct. People were rather amused — 
 excuse my saying so — you know what I mean." 
 " Oh certainly," said her ladyship, colouring 
 and biting her lip. 
 
 " People were rather amused," he conti- 
 nued, " at your having been duped by such a 
 story. With all your opportunities of judging 
 for yourself, that you should have been so com- 
 pletely deceived." 
 
 " Ah ! thank you, Mr. Temple, you are very 
 kind. Indeed I hated to think such a thing 
 was true. Indeed I never believed it, and it 
 was rather unjust to suppose I did." 
 
 " Very unjust indeed," rejoined he. " But the 
 world you know, Lady Dowton — the world is 
 so scandalous ! and you must take care and 
 refute all that it believed you to have said. 
 But I quite forgot that I w^as to walk with Mr. 
 Grey," said he, jumping up. " I have been so
 
 256 ANNE GREY. 
 
 agreeably led into forgetfulness," — bowing to 
 Lady Dowton, and Lady Dowton never felt 
 quite so happy before as at such a compliment 
 from Mr. Temple ; and he left the room. 
 
 "Yes! bravo Mr. Temple," said he to him- 
 self. " Vou are a clever fellow, let the world 
 say what it will. But I must know more I If 
 Miss Foley said true, and she never would say 
 what was not true ! But Lady Dowton repeated 
 it. Pshaw ! why believe it for a moment ? but 
 it shall be proved, now or presently." 
 
 " Mr. Grey," said he, approaching Mr. Grey, 
 " I have been looking every where for you. 
 Lady Dowton's agreeableness," — he smiled, an I 
 Mr. Grey smiled, — " Lady Dowton's agreeable- 
 ness must be my excuse." 
 
 " A very lame one I fear," said Mr. Grey. 
 "Ah! well, ne-ver mind. Excuses are al- 
 ways good for nothing — never supposed to be 
 worth anything. There would be no such word 
 in our language if they were."
 
 ANNE GREY. '257 
 
 That evening Edward Temple devoted him- 
 self to Charlotte Daventry. He shewed less 
 attention than usual to her cousin. Yes, he was 
 very attentive to Charlotte, and Anne thought 
 there was something very empresste in his 
 manner to her. Charlotte never looked so well, 
 so nearly beautiful. Nay, Anne thought there 
 was something so much superior even to beauty 
 in her appearance. 
 
 " Can it be?" thought she. " He spoke very 
 strangely about her ; he expresses such interest, 
 and — " she thought for a moment — " and yet 
 at times he speaks almost slightingly of her. 
 Perhaps he wishes to blind me by his manner." 
 She felt a little twinge, and tried, as she had 
 done the first evening of his arrival at Weston, 
 not to care about it, and not to look at Charlotte 
 and him. 
 
 It was true that his manner was peculiarly 
 attentive to Charlotte Daventry. A vain girl
 
 258 ANNE GREY. 
 
 might even have read something more in it ; 
 but Charlotte Daventry we know was not vain. 
 She believed he loved her cousin, and this must 
 have saved her from any flattering illusions ; 
 though she might well have been justified for 
 entertaining such. Yes — we grieve to say it ! 
 Edward Temple, by his manner that evening, 
 laid himself open to the charge of fickleness. 
 But do not let us censure him too hastily. We 
 will not blame him yet ; we are only sorry that 
 Anne Grey should have felt that it was so neces- 
 sary for her peace of mind not to look that way 
 oftener than she could avoid. 
 
 " He is gained !" said Charlotte Daventry to 
 herself in her own room, as her eyes sparkled 
 with triumph and delight, " He is gained ! — 
 that tear — that meek, touching rebuke ! — that 
 little self-denying retirement, have effected what 
 there was cause to despair of! Yes — it was but 
 a chance ! It required the nicest exercise of skill
 
 ANNE GHEY. 259 
 
 — but it has succeeded. Anne Grey, — sigh, 
 blush and pine !" She smiled proudly, and then 
 she sighed again with a softer emotion. 
 
 " What a charm there is in music !" said 
 Edward Temple to Charlotte Daventry, the 
 next morning after listening to a song of Anne's. 
 
 Charlotte looked at him, and saw the enthu- 
 siasm of his admiration beaming in his counte- 
 nance. Was it the song or the singer ? Music 
 or the performer which called forth that enthu- 
 siasm? the next minute was calculated to satisfy 
 any one that although it vvas the song, and not 
 the singer — music, and not the performer, which 
 caused the enthusiasm, it would be easy for the 
 song; and the music to transfer the enthusiasm 
 to the singer and the performer. 
 
 " Music is quite a passion with me," said he. 
 " I could love any one let them be old and ugly 
 and disagreeable as — what shall I say, Miss 
 Daventry? — the oldest and ugliest and most
 
 260 ANNE GREY. 
 
 disagreeable person you know — I could love 
 them with all my heart if they played and sung 
 well. My first question would be, if I were 
 thinking of enquiring for a wife — 'is she a good 
 musician ? and that question satisfactorily an- 
 swered, all the others ivould follow of course. 
 She might have beauty, agreeableness — all those 
 thousand and one charms every unmai-ried 
 woman is possessed of as a matter of course. 
 They would be pleasant additions, certainly ; 
 but I should care very little about them. Do not 
 you agree with me ? Do not you feel that you 
 never could fall in love with a woman who could 
 not charm you by her voice or her fingers. Ah ! 
 I forgot, you cannot fancy yourself in love with 
 a woman at all— and a man ! we only listen to 
 music. We seldom give proof of our talent and 
 souls for music but in listenins:, — I am sure vou 
 play and sing to perfection, Miss Daventry," 
 added he.
 
 ANNE GREY. 261 
 
 "What shall 1 say after hearing such an 
 opinion on the subject," said Charlotte, looking 
 archly at him. " I will neither say yes, or no," 
 continued she, after pretending to think for a 
 moment. " I dare not say no, and I must not 
 say yes." 
 
 " The only thing left for you then," said 
 he, " is to allow me to decide for myself — but, 
 meantime, I will venture to say ' Yes' for you 
 without any proof." 
 
 " Thank you," said Charlotte, laughing. 
 
 " You consent then," said he. " You will 
 let me hear you ?" 
 
 " No — not now— perhaps some time : not 
 now." 
 
 She looked at Anne and Mrs. Grey, who 
 were in the room; and said, with some confu- 
 sion, and rather eagerly, " This is all nonsense. 
 You know it was all nonsense, I was only 
 in joke about my playing. You know, my 
 Aunt and cousin will tell you I cannot play at
 
 262 ANNE GREY. 
 
 all. Yes indeed, Mr. Temple," getting anxious, 
 as she saw him look incredulous. " Yes, 
 indeed, if you will ask they will tell you — but 
 I had rather you should not say anything 
 about it." 
 
 " Your cousin and Mrs. Grey will say," 
 said he, " but will you let rae ask yourself? 
 I know you cannot say what is not true ?" 
 
 " Oh well ! never mind," said Charlotte, 
 hurriedly, and seeming really alarmed. 
 " Never mind asking any one. You shall hear 
 me some time — only not now. 1 never play," 
 
 she added quickly, " before my cousin, or , 
 
 it is so difficult — so foolish for that — " she 
 seemed confused — got up, — and, as if vexed and 
 annoyed at herself, walked away to another 
 part of the room, took up a book and, seating 
 lierself on a sofa, began to read very intently, 
 whilst concealing her face with the book. 
 Edward Temple smiled. " Pretty piece of 
 acting ! She will 7iot play."
 
 ANNE GREY. 263 
 
 " How delightful it is," said he, turning 
 to a clever, entertaining Mrs. Fuller, who was 
 of the party at Weston. " Row delightful it 
 is to have something left to the imagination ! 
 How convenient too, to have an imagination to 
 leave anything to !" 
 
 " And this is apropos of whatV said Mrs. 
 Fuller. 
 
 " That I leave to i/our imagination, Mrs. 
 Fuller," said he. " Do not believe, or imagine 
 (I should say), that I invoked imagination for 
 nothing." 
 
 That next morning, Mr. Temple persuaded 
 Charlotte Daventry to sit down to the piano- 
 forte. No one but Mrs. Cunningham was in 
 the room, and Mrs. Cunningham did not know 
 one tune from another. 
 
 Charlotte Daventry touched the instru- 
 ment. Could any one doubt her powers of 
 performance ? Edward Temple started. She
 
 2U 
 
 ANNE GREY. 
 
 went on ! How spirited ! How graceful ! How 
 expressive ! Could it be ? — She stopped and 
 blushed, as she saw the effect produced by her 
 performance. 
 
 " One more," said Edward Temple, be- 
 seechingl3\ " Pray do not stop !" 
 
 She hesitated a moment, and then once 
 more her hands were on the instrument. She 
 began softly, but her enthusiasm led her on. 
 Her soul was in the music. She played the 
 air of a song. It was a beautiful air — a plain- 
 tive, touching air. 
 
 " Oh ! will you not sing it?" said he ; and 
 Charlotte forgot her alarm, and sung. There 
 was an impassioned richness in her voice — in her 
 manner of singing — such as enchained, and cap- 
 tivated the senses of the listener. It was a 
 style of singing unlike the generality of that 
 which is heard in private society. It was a 
 style which perhaps we should be unwilling to
 
 ANNE GREY. 265 
 
 hear, beautiful, though it was, from a sister, 
 a daughter, or a wife. 
 
 Edward Temple was surprised, and capti- 
 vated with it, spite of himself. He listened in 
 breathless fascination, as she continued, and 
 it was not till the voice was silent and the 
 music ceased — not till the rich expressive burst 
 of melody had died away, that he could think 
 who it was that was singing, and what was the 
 tale that singing told — not till she ceased could 
 he say to himself, "Is it possible? Is Anne 
 Grey deceitful ?" 
 
 Charlotte Daventry stopped ; she saw his 
 eyes fixed on her with inquisitive eagerness ; — ■ 
 saw that Mi-s. Cunningham had left the room : 
 all her former alarm returned. She closed 
 
 the instrument hastily — said, " How foolish 
 
 how childish !" and, as Mr. Temple began to 
 express his lively admiration of her perform- 
 
 VOL. II. N
 
 266 ANNE GREY. 
 
 ance — his wonder she had not performed be- 
 fore — she slopped him : 
 
 " Mr. Temple, I am going to ask a favour. 
 You will think me verv strange" — and she 
 blushed, and seemed as if she felt with natural 
 modesty, the awkwardness of what she was 
 about to say. " You will think me very 
 strange, or weak — or — but 1 must pay the 
 penalty of my folly" — she blushed more deeply. 
 " I am going to ask a favour. I believe that 
 no gentleman," she laid some slight stress on 
 the word — " would refuse to grant it, or would 
 endeavour to pry into my reason for asking it. 
 I have confidence in your generosity, Mr. 
 Temple," she continued, seriously. " 1 am 
 ashamed to have obliged myself to put it to 
 the test — to make myself appear in so ridicu- 
 lous a light. The favour I have to ask is that 
 you will not mention to any one having heard 
 me play. It is a trifle to ask," she said, smiling
 
 ANNE GREY. 267 
 
 *' and probably you will wonder, or laugh at 
 the seriousness of my manner. But it cannot 
 be helped ! — Will you grant my request V 
 
 " Yes, certainly," said he. " I do not 
 understand it, but you need not be afraid on 
 that account, that I shall treat it lightly." 
 
 " Thank you! thank you !" said Charlotte 
 Daventry, looking at him with modest gra- 
 titude. 
 
 Edward Temple was surprised, and as she 
 quietly walked out of the room, he felt more 
 completely puzzled than he had allowed him- 
 self to be for some time. " I would give a 
 good deal, she had played like a miss at a 
 boarding shool," said he, to himself. 
 
 " Not proposed yet I" said Charlotte, to 
 Anne, as they sat together before dressing time 
 in Anne's room. '* Not proposed yet ! But, 
 dear Anne, why does he not 1 He is certainly 
 
 enough in love !" 
 
 n2
 
 268 AXN'E GREY. 
 
 " Nay, Charlotte, do not say that. I am 
 not in the least surprised at his not proposing. 
 I do not suppose he has any idea of doing so. 
 Ko more idea of proposing to me than to 
 you." 
 
 " Ah ! but when he talked to me so much 
 about you," said Charlotte, not noticing Anne's 
 confused manner as she uttered the last words ; 
 " and when he is so constantly shew^ing his 
 preference for you, I see a very good reason 
 for being surprised that he has not yet pro- 
 posed." 
 
 " To tell you the truth, Chai-lotte," obsei'ved 
 Anne, " I am afraid to think about it. I have 
 at last discovered my own weakness, and I fear 
 I may have cause to regret that I ever gave 
 way to it. I do not deny that Mr. Temple has 
 certainly shewn me great attention — his man- 
 ner has at times — but still," said she, after a 
 slight pause, " he may not mean anything.
 
 ANNE GREY. 269 
 
 He is a man of the world. I am so miused to 
 the manners of the world, that 1 may be de- 
 ceived by a manner which would be looked 
 on as meaning nothing to those who are 
 accustomed to it." 
 
 " Nay, Anne, excuse me for laughing at 
 such a serious, pretty, modest speech," said 
 Charlotte, gaily ; " but I must hope that Mr, 
 Temple does not accustom many of the young- 
 ladies of his acquaintance to such a manner 
 and such attentions, as those he bestows on 
 you. No, no ! 1 am no judge of the manners of 
 the world, but even I can judge so far as this 
 — that no man of the world, or )iot of the 
 world can pay such attentions to any woman, 
 as Mr. Temple does to you, without meaning 
 something, or its being evident he ought to 
 mean something by them." 
 
 " You are a good comforter and flatterer,'* 
 said Anne. " But there is Watson come to put
 
 270 ANNE GREY. 
 
 a stop to the chance of my being laughed at 
 or flattered any more ;" and Anne turned with 
 a sigh to the contemplation of the gown in 
 Watson's hand, and the duties of the toilette, 
 and her sigh might be supposed to arise from a 
 reflection on the vanities of life. No one could 
 tell whether she sighed because she saw an 
 image of vanity in a pretty gown, and a smart 
 lady's-maid, or because she did not see very 
 clearly whether the attentions of a man of the 
 world meant the same thing as those of other 
 men. 
 
 Mr. Temple's visit at Weston vvas at length 
 at an end, and if Anne ever asked herself that 
 question, she could never satisfactorily reply to 
 it. Mr. Temple left Weston ; and, if he had 
 not been a man of the world, Anne would have 
 said he left it with a heart not untouched : he 
 left Weston with evident regret, and even 
 Anne Grey, diffident as she was, would have
 
 ANNE GREY. 271 
 
 been forced to believe, had he not been a man 
 of the world, that that regret was caused by 
 bidding her adieu. 
 
 She found the first days after his departure 
 hang very heavy. She had lo scold herself, 
 to be really very angry with herself, to form 
 many very good resolutions, more excellent 
 each time they were broken. She firmly re- 
 solved never to think of Mr. Temple; steadily 
 determined not to let him engross too much 
 of her thoughts ; but Anne felt guilty of being 
 in love ! She owned to herself that she liked 
 Mr. Temple, — that the fact of his liking her 
 or not was no longer one of indifference to her. 
 She certainly might, with very little vanity, be- 
 lieve that he liked her. He had shewn every 
 symptom of it. He had said everything to make 
 her suppose so. The only reason for doubting it 
 was the very simple and self-evident fact of his 
 being Edward Temple ! It seems strange that
 
 272 ANNE GREY. 
 
 this, of which no one could be ignorant, should 
 be a reason for doubting; — yet so it was ! 
 ' Edward Temple,' stood in Anne's mind for 
 something so superior to all others that her 
 diffidence took alarm when she thought that 
 it was he whom she believed capable of enter- 
 taining a preference for her. His manner to 
 her, said ' I love you, Anne Grey ;' but his 
 name, his reputation in the world, — in Anne's 
 own estimation, — his talents, — all that was 
 expressed and understood by those words, 
 ' Edward Temple' said, you must be flattering 
 yourself with false and presumi)tuous hopes. 
 It was thus the matter stood in Anne's 
 heart, and she felt guilty of being in love — 
 positively guilty, for Anne Grey was not con- 
 ceited; so she determined to think of him only 
 as a motive to improvement. Improvement ! 
 for the sake of rendering herself worthy to be 
 loved by him! Amiable deceit! Anne Grey,
 
 ANNE GREV. 273 
 
 you are a heroine after all ! Forget Edward 
 Temple when you are more than perfe«;t. 
 Forget him when you think yourself perfect, 
 and then Mr. Temple do not fear that you will 
 ever be forgotten ! 
 
 >r 5
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Let any one, who can, decide whether it i^ 
 more a proof of" being amiable to love or to be 
 loved ? We all have said of many of our ac- 
 quaintance, they must be amiable for they are 
 so nmch loved ; and we all have said of many 
 others, they must be amiable for they love so 
 warmly. In both there seems a proof of merit, 
 but who shall decide which is the greatei- ? Still 
 more, who can decide which is most agreeable ? 
 Perhaps they are closely united ; for to be 
 loved and not to love ! where is the cbarm of
 
 A>'NE GREY. 
 
 275 
 
 that? and to love and not to be loved! — Oh! 
 who may not guess or know that misery ? To 
 love, with the fond clinging love of a child, and 
 to meet a parent's cold and careless eye ! To 
 love with the warmth and sympathy of a sister, 
 and to meet no tenderness, no confidence in 
 return! To love with a parent's watchful, anxi- 
 ous, undying love, and to meet ingratitude, care- 
 lessness, contempt! To love with a woman's 
 fond, devoted, trembling, constant love, and to 
 read in the look and tone of him beloved, that 
 worse than serpent's sting — indifterence ! To 
 love and to be loved are indeed intimately 
 blended ; the pleasure of one consists in the 
 pleasure of the other ; but not so the merit. 
 The merit of the one consists perhaps in the 
 absence of the other. It is easy to love when 
 we are loved ; but where there is coldness and 
 indifference to meet our aflection — then to love 
 is indeed a merit
 
 276 ANNE GREY. 
 
 Anne's affection for Charlotte had very much 
 encreased of late. Slie had always pitied and 
 wished to love her ; but now she had no longer 
 occasion to think of doing so as a duty. She 
 really regarded her with sincere affection. She 
 saw with pleasure the gradual improvement 
 in her mind and manners. She was no longer 
 the awkward, ignorant, wondering girl, whose 
 warm affections and lively intellectual powers 
 had lain half dormant for want of culture. She 
 liad learnt to think as well as to feel. She had 
 learnt, or rathei" she was beginning to learn, to 
 sometimes deliberate before she acted or spoke. 
 She could not always quite controul her lively 
 imagination, her warm impetuous feelings; but 
 still there was some controul ; before, there had 
 been none. 
 
 Anne saw how much she must have been 
 neglected from the rapid improvement she 
 made. She was astonished at the powers of her
 
 ANNE GRKY. 277 
 
 mind as they were gradually developed, and 
 still more charmed with the simplicity, the 
 modesty, the naivete, and ingenuousness of 
 feeling, manner, and sentiment allied to such 
 powers. Charlotte Daventry was the most 
 teachable person that ever existed. She was 
 both eager and able to learn. She felt her own 
 ignorance, and she seemed grateful to any who 
 would give her instruction. She was only too 
 desponding and diffident of her own abilities. 
 She looked up to her cousins as immeasurably 
 superior to herself, and if Anne had been vain, 
 she might easily have been flattered by Char- 
 lotte Daventry's admiration of her talents and 
 attainments. As it was, she only thought that 
 Charlotte's warm affection made her considera- 
 bly overrate her merits, and whilst her vanity 
 was unflattered, her heart was touched, and she 
 loved Charlotte the better, for the warmth of 
 attachment which her flatterins; view of her 
 character displayed.
 
 278 ANNE GREY. 
 
 She was indeed an object of the most heart- 
 felt mterest to Anne ; and her pity, her interest 
 and affection were daily encreased as she saw 
 what Charlotte might have been, but for the 
 mismanagement and neglect of a fond, but 
 selfish and unamiable father. Since Sophy's 
 marriage she had become more intimate with 
 her real character than before, when Charlotte, 
 with characteristic amiability, had hesitated to 
 advance her claims on the regard and affection 
 of either. Whilst the two sisters remained to- 
 gether, they were all-sufficient to each other. 
 With the sensitive intelligence of a generous 
 mind she probably feared to impair that inti- 
 mate communion of thought and feeling which 
 existed between them, and which the interfe- 
 rence of a third person could not fail to 
 interrupt. 
 
 Anne saw that Charlotte was still reserved 
 and diffident about herself, and that, excepting
 
 ANNE GREY. 279 
 
 to those she really loved, and whom she felt 
 really loved her, she had the same light, care- 
 less manner as heretofore. But to Anne she 
 revealed her feelings ; and, perhaps, without 
 being aware that she had any stores of mind to 
 unfold, she did gradually unfold them to 
 Anne. Yet there was something that Anne 
 could scarcely understand in her character. 
 She was still wild and foolish at times, display- 
 ing strange bursts of emotion, aud then almost 
 heartless levity. She was always right and 
 sensible when she had time to consider ; but it 
 seemed that, from the long want of controul, her 
 impulses were often too strong for hei" reason : 
 her mind, too uncultivated, at times run riot, 
 and she indulged in folly, for which her more 
 sober judgment must afterwards have reproved 
 her. She was at one time like a child — at ano- 
 ther like a woman of sense and judgment. 
 Anne watched her with almost painful in-
 
 280 ANNE GREY. 
 
 terest : her character seemed like a difficult 
 enisrma. Sometimes she believed that she had 
 read it ; that she thoroughly understood it : 
 and then some trifling circumstance occurred, 
 and she was thrown completely wrong once 
 more. The enigma was more dark than ever. 
 
 Anne felt that Charlotte confided every 
 thought and feeling to her, and she gave her, in 
 return, sincere confiding affection. No wonder 
 Charlotte Daventry improved! none but Anne 
 Grey could be ignorant why she should be 
 likely to do so. None but her could think so 
 lightly of that sense and judgment which were 
 given for her use ; given as the writer of valua- 
 fible books gives his wisdom and his know- 
 ledge to the world : a free gift, to be used by all, 
 and profited by — neither forced, nor bestowed 
 against the wnll ; but freely and unreservedly ; 
 to be looked to and consulted when inclination 
 prompts, or necessity calls for their assistance ;
 
 ANNE GREY. 281 
 
 laying none under a sense of obligation ; but 
 writing, as he could not but write, what was 
 wisdom and knowledge. It was thus with the 
 sense, the judgment, and good principles of 
 Anne Grey. They lay in the book of her heart 
 and mind ; and those wlio chose to read that 
 book might read instruction there. 
 
 And did Charlotte Davenrry read that book I 
 Did she turn the pages, and with anxious care, 
 search for profit, and instruction, and riches to 
 be found in them ? Yes, she did look into that 
 book ! She searched with eager, watchful scru- 
 tiny. She read each page — pondered — read 
 and read again. She knew that unpretending 
 open book ; each line, and word and letter ; it 
 was simple — easy to be read. Was it so easy to 
 profit by it ? to apply the lessons inculcated 
 there? or was it more easy to turn those lessons 
 to evil ? to turn them to their own and others' de- 
 struction ? The improvement in Charlotte Da-
 
 282 ANNE GREY. 
 
 ventry, which Anne watched with delight and 
 interest, would have seemed to prove that she 
 at least had read them aright, and that she had 
 profited by her intimate knowledge of the heart 
 and feelings and sentiments of Anne Grey. 
 
 Soon after the period of Mr. Temple's first 
 visit to Weston, William Grey, who had been 
 absent for about a fortnight, returned home. 
 
 William Grey was not apt to make confi- 
 dences. He was not perhaps reserved in dispo- 
 sition. He did not keep facts and feelings to 
 himself, because he thought it good policy to do 
 so, but he seldom mentioned anything about 
 his own feelings or affairs, because it was a 
 trouble to do so, and he did not consider any 
 one much worth taking the trouble for. 
 
 According to this sensible view of the use 
 and advantages of unreserve, William Grey had 
 never told any of his family that he had been in 
 love with Jane Graham, and that he had been
 
 ANNE GREY. 283 
 
 vexed at hearing from Lady Dowton that she 
 was going to be married. This however was 
 really the case, but what could he have gained 
 had he mentioned it I Only the bore of hearing 
 them say "how sorry," or " how glad" they 
 were. They would not have prevented Jane 
 Graham from falling in love with any other 
 person, or have made her fall in love with him : 
 so he said nothing about it, and this wise re- 
 serve obliges us to recapitulate for him all that 
 otherwise might have been learned in the more 
 agreeable mode of conversation. 
 
 The fact was he had met Miss Jane Graham 
 in Cheshire about two years before, during a 
 visit to some of his friends in that county. He 
 admired her, and I suppose I may say she ad- 
 mired him — that is, by mutual consent they sat 
 together, talked together, walked together, rode 
 together, and made love together : in short it 
 was a flirtation. When William Grey was safely
 
 284 ANNE GREif. 
 
 out of the house, he said to himself, " What a 
 pretty girl Jane Graham is!" and when Jane 
 Graham began to flirt with the next admirer 
 that fell in her way, she said " He is not so 
 agreeable as Mr. William Grey." 
 
 William Grey just thought enough of Jane 
 Graham to make him consider Cheshire a very 
 pleasant county, and he resolved to visit it again 
 the next year, having seen her in town during 
 the Spring. Jane Graham was still unmarried 
 — still pretty — still agreeable, and still ready to 
 flirt with William Grey ; and at last, by dint of 
 remaining several days in the same house toge- 
 ther, by dint of riding together in the morning, 
 and sitting together in the evening ; by dint of 
 William's listening to Jane's singing, and Jane's 
 listening to the hints of her female friends that 
 " Mr. Grey was certainly a great admirer of 
 hers;" it so happened that William Grey and 
 Jane Graham did fall in love with one another.
 
 ANNE GREY. 285 
 
 She was a pretty, lively, and accomplished girl, 
 one of the acknowledged belles of the county, 
 good-tempered, well-disposed, and, in the lan- 
 guage of some of her admirers, had " plenty of 
 spirit and no nonsense about her I " would have 
 no idea of not taking her own part, yet not in 
 the least masculine, and, though she believed 
 that no girl could possibly be so foolish as to 
 fall in love with any man who was not twice 
 as much in love with her, still she thoug-ht it 
 very possible to be in love, supposing the per- 
 son for whom she w as to entertain ' la belle 
 passion ' was sufficiently enamoured and agreea- 
 ble, had a good fortune, and was approved of 
 by all the county, as well as her father and 
 mother. 
 
 William Gi'ey left Cheshire all but the ac- 
 knowledged lover of Jane Graham, and w ith a 
 tolerably positive assurance on her part that 
 whatever love he chose to bestow was recipro- 
 cated in the proper degree by her.
 
 286 ANNE GREY. 
 
 The next thins; William heard of her was 
 from Lady Dowton — that she was going to be 
 married. His indignation at such a report for 
 some time kept him very sensibly from making 
 any effort to ascertain its truth. The papers 
 were silent on the subject, and at last he felt 
 a curiosity to visit Cheshire once more. He 
 went ; the story of Jane Graham was untrue — 
 he proposed — was accepted — meant to write 
 and tell his father every day, but every day 
 delayed doing so — fortunately, as it happened, 
 for it would have been a great deal of trouble 
 for nothing. 
 
 For some days after his proposal, William 
 thought himself very happy. But William was 
 accustomed to consider self as the first object, 
 and he could not exactly understand why a 
 woman who was in love with him should ex- 
 pect to be more considered and attended to 
 than him. He was careless — she was angry —
 
 ANNE GREY. 287 
 
 a quarrel ensued. It was made up once, and 
 William, who really loved her, thought he 
 had been to blame, and tried to be more atten- 
 tive and think less of self. 
 
 But though Jane loved William, as she was 
 a girl of spirit, she felt persuaded from his 
 former carelessness that she ought to keep him 
 in order, and make him properly attentive to 
 her ; consequently she became very exigeante 
 and very tiresome — was ready to quarrel at the 
 smallest appearance of negligence or indifference, 
 • though she might have known, by this time, 
 that it was in appearance only. She tried Wil- 
 liam too much ; he could not completely over- 
 come his usual character ; he thought she could 
 not really love him, or she would not be so punc- 
 tilious about trifles — he was hurt and offended : 
 she thought it right to shew her dignity and 
 be offended too. A more serious quarrel than 
 the last ensued. To assert her independence
 
 •288 ANNE GREV. 
 
 she began to flirt with an old admirer. Wil- 
 liam's indio'nation knew no bounds. His feel- 
 ings were wounded. He declared that she 
 could never have loved him, to be tlius guilty of 
 flirting with another person. All his good and 
 bad feelings were roused. He really loved her, 
 and she really loved him, but neither could 
 give way — neither could confess that they were 
 in the wi'ong; and they parted, proudly inti- 
 matino; to one another that the en<2ao;enient 
 must be considered at an end, and William 
 Grey returned home, for the first time in his 
 life, fairly out of spirits. 
 
 Anne quickly perceived it, and Charlotte 
 Daventry, kind-hearted girl, no less quickly. 
 
 " Poor William is sadly out of spirits," 
 said she to Anne. " He is so cross, which is 
 a sure sign." 
 
 " He is certainly out of spirits," said Anne. 
 
 " He is more sarcastic than usual in his
 
 ANNE GREY. 289 
 
 invective against our sex," rejoined Charlotte. 
 " He never thought us such a set of simpletons 
 before," continued she. 
 
 "I do not think William is a likely person 
 to be in love," said Anne doubtfully. 
 
 " Nous verrons I " thought Charlotte Da- 
 ventry, and she said, "Oh, no!" Anne was 
 silent, and Charlotte Daventry formed a reso- 
 lution and adhered to it. 
 
 In a few days William Grey entrusted his 
 griefs to her. Charlotte's kind, considerate 
 manner, and unobtrusive attention, won confi- 
 dence even from him. Charlotte saved him 
 the trouble of any effort to tell what he felt. 
 It all came naturally. He really could not 
 help telling her. In short he never before had 
 had the same occasion to make a confidante : 
 he never had suffered so much before. William 
 Grey had a warm heart — he had strong aff'ec- 
 tions, and if self had not interfered, he would 
 
 VOL. II. o
 
 290 ANNE GREY. 
 
 have been a particularly amiable person : had 
 it. not been for self, he would have been the 
 kindest, warmest, most affectionate friend — 
 the most constant and devoted lover. For 
 a time, he suffered a great deal from Jane 
 Graham's conduct towards him, but he found 
 so much comfort in talkingr to Charlotte Da- 
 ventrvabout the affair, that he almost began 
 to forget why he wanted comforting. At length 
 the papers reminded him. 
 
 One morning Mrs. Grey having duly looked 
 at the newspaper, began by way of amusement 
 to herself and others, a doubtful one, perhaps, 
 to read a part of it aloud. " The lady of the 
 Rev. James Richards of a son," " At the Rec- 
 tory, Westwood, the lady of the Rev. Timothy 
 Hopkins, of twins, a son and a daughter." 
 
 " Bless me ! how people do go on ! " inter- 
 larded Mrs. Grey. 
 
 " The lady of Josiah Parkins, of a daughter
 
 ANNE GREY. 291 
 
 Still born." " By the Rev. Joseph Wood, Mark 
 Anthony, eldest son of Mark Anthony Peter 
 Giles, Esq., of Brayvvood, Co. Kent, to Sarah 
 Amelia Jane, eldest daughter of John Jones, 
 Esq., of Rose-bower Cottage near Bristol," 
 
 " Oh, yes! marriages, I see," observed Mrs. 
 Grey again. " On Wednesday last at St, 
 George's, Hanover Square, Frederic John 
 Goldby, Esq., eldest son of Sir Frederic John 
 Goldby, Bart., to Jane Caroline, second daugh- 
 ter of Arthur Graham, Esq." William sud- 
 denly got up and left the room. 
 
 " Is any thing the matter with William ?" 
 said Mr. Grey. 
 
 " I don't know," said Mrs. Grey. 
 
 " Oh ! dear no," said Charlotte," I dare say 
 not. I know he was going to look at a dog- 
 that was coming for him this morning, and I 
 dare say, he only just remembered it." Mr, 
 Grey resumed his book. Anne was not in the 
 
 o2
 
 292 ANNE GREY. 
 
 room. Mrs. Grey finished the list of marriages 
 and huriied through the deaths. These she 
 read to herself, except when she came to that 
 of a very old friend, and then, in an animated 
 voice, as if cheered and excited hy the intelli- 
 gence, she read it aloud for the benefit of 
 IV] r. Grey. 
 
 " Ah ! only think ! I have known him as 
 long as I have known anything ; but J have 
 not seen him these twenty years. Well, my 
 dear, perhaps you will like to look at the 
 paper," laying it near Mr. Grey. " That's a 
 vpry amusing paper, Mr. Grey — always full 
 of news :" and Mrs. Grey settled herself, more 
 comfortably than usual, to her work. 
 
 Charlotte shortly after left the room. She 
 found William in his study. He was pacing 
 backwards and forwards. He stopped as she 
 entered — he expected to see her. 
 
 " Did you hear it ?" said he, "Oh! I am 
 
 J
 
 ANNE GREY. 293 
 
 a miserable fellow ! It was too bad — too cold — 
 too heartless ! — so soon ! " and William leaned 
 against the mantel piece and shaded his face to 
 conceal his emotion. " Well, it is all over 
 now ! " said he, rousing himself, after some 
 minutes' silence. " It can't be helped, and I 
 have had a good escape : — but Jane Graham ! 
 Can it be — so hearlless — so deceitful! — I did not 
 think it ! Aye, you pity me, Charlotte," said 
 he, looking at her whilst the tear glistened in 
 his eye. " You are very kind to me, Charlotte. 
 I knew you would feel for me ;" and Charlotte 
 shewed by her kind, compassionate voice and 
 manner, that she did so. 
 
 " I was obliged to run away, to prevent 
 their seeing my distress," continued William, 
 " when ray mother read out that odious para- 
 graph, spelling it word by word ; and I knew 
 the next thing would be, " You know Miss 
 Graham, do not you, William?" so I got away
 
 294 ANNE GREY. 
 
 before it came to that! But they did not 
 perceive, I hope — they did not remark any- 
 thing;?" lookino; at Charlotte. 
 
 " Oh ! my uncle said something, but I soon 
 turned it off — I said, I thought you were gone 
 to look at a dog, and he was satisfied." 
 
 "Aye, thank you — you are a good soul, 
 Charlotte : you never tattle. 1 would not have 
 all the world knowing this — and all of them 
 coming and plaguing one to death with their 
 pity, or their ill-natured remarks. No, not 
 even one of my own family. It is ten to one 
 if they did not run daggers through one every 
 day by their blundering compassion. From 
 Anne, to be sure, there is little danger of that : 
 she is the least of a blunderer 1 ever saw. 
 But one is enough — yon know all — ^I would 
 have told her, as I have told you, but she never 
 asked me, and it is all as well ! You know how 
 to do one good, but I never should have told
 
 ANNE GREY. 295 
 
 you if you had not half found it out yourself, 
 and saved me the trouble. You are a good 
 girl, Charlotte — and God knows!" said he, 
 remembering himself and Jane Graham ' that 
 was' again; "God knows, I want comfort 
 now ! " and Charlotte administered the comfort 
 so well, that in a short time he was again in 
 danger of forgetting why he wanted comforting. 
 In short, William was not a sort of man to 
 fret very long over the loss of a mistress whom 
 he had loved ever so much. Had it interfered 
 with his every-day comfort — had her being 
 married to another involved the loss of his 
 breakfast, dinner, or supper — ^the loss of his 
 arm-chair, or the absence of the book he wanted 
 to read ; had it made any one about him dis- 
 obliging, or too silent, or too talkative, or 
 too grave, or too gay — then William would 
 never have recovered his disappointment — he 
 would have Avorn the willow to this day, and
 
 296 ANNE GREY. 
 
 might have gone into an atrophy, or a decline, 
 or a nervous fever on tlie strength of it ; but 
 as Jane Graham's marriage did not materially 
 interfere with the continuance of all his per- 
 sonal comforts, his health was unimpaired. Had 
 the affliction under which he suffered been a 
 scolding, disagreeable wife, instead of the loss 
 of a wife, he would never have got over it. 
 That would have spoken forcibly to his feelings 
 every day of his life. It would have been bore 
 interminable, and William hated to be bored ; 
 but the loss of the affections of a girl with 
 whom he was in love was a very different 
 thino-, and he soon forgot to care much whether 
 Jane Graham were married or single. 
 
 However he did not so easily forget Charlotte 
 Daventry's kindness. She had begun by com- 
 forting him when he was unhappy. He now 
 found that she was just as essential to his com- 
 fort when he was happy.
 
 ANNE GREY. 297 
 
 He liked her, and not unfrequently said to 
 Anne, " What a nice girl Charlotte was," and 
 " how amazingly she was improved." He often 
 asked Anne whether she did not think Charlotte 
 looked exceedingly handsome. He sometimes 
 asked her whether she had ever made a sim- 
 pleton of herself and been in love. He oftt-ut 
 said to Anne, " You don't do that half so well 
 as Charlotte does," when others might have 
 seen but little difference, and that little in 
 Anne's favour. 
 
 In short, (is any one prepared for what is 
 to follow?) William Grey at the end of a few 
 weeks after Jane Graham's marriage found 
 himself in the pleasant, or unpleasant, condi- 
 tion of falling in love, and with no other than 
 his good cousin Charlotte Daventry. Every 
 one will say " Nothing more natural ! more 
 common-place! " for love, or hate, is a neces- 
 sary consequence of that blessed tie of cousin- 
 
 o 5
 
 298 ANNE GREY. 
 
 hood, where from childhood we have not been 
 brought up together; cutting teeth, holiday 
 visits, and school-boy jokes, may prove unfail- 
 ing safeguards ; but William Grey had none 
 of these, and he chose, or rather he did not 
 choose, for he could not help it, he chanced to 
 fix upon love. 
 
 He became seriously in love with Charlotte 
 Daventry. Anne saw the rise of the passion. 
 She saw Charlotte totally unconscious of it — 
 feeling and speaking of WiMiam with fond 
 affection, but with a sister's love. 
 
 No I Charlotte Daventry was certainly not 
 in love, nor the least aware that William Grey 
 was in love with her. There was no one she 
 was so fond of as William, no one for whom 
 she had such readv smiles, but alas ! she had 
 always smiles — she had no frowns — acme of 
 a lover's \('ishes — frowns ! She had no grave 
 looks, no half averted eyes, no blushes. No !
 
 ANNE GREY. 
 
 299 
 
 William Grey, unhapp)^ man ! could not call a 
 single frown his own, and he was in despair-. 
 He was desperately in love : Charlotte Daven- 
 try had a power over his heart that no other 
 woman had ever yet attained. Anne saw with 
 sorrow the real state of the case, but was un- 
 willins: to reveal to Charlotte, who remained 
 in happy ignorance, the real nature of Wil- 
 liam's feelings towards her. Anne loved her 
 the better for it: still, it was very vexatious, 
 for Charlotte unconsciously did all she could to 
 encrease his passion. UiiconscioKslj/, for it was 
 merely by her shew of fondness, of sisterly af- 
 fection and attention to William, and the unre- 
 served display of all the graces and charms 
 of her mind and heart. 
 
 Oh, it was a sad thing! a provoking thing! 
 It would have given her such real pleasure, 
 such delight, to have William and Charlotte 
 so fond of one another, if there had not been
 
 300 ANNE GREY. 
 
 love in the case ! but she knew that love 
 could not be a happy one ; she thought it un- 
 likely that Charlotte shoukl return his passion, 
 and it would never be approved by her parents. 
 It was very annoying : Anne sighed over it very 
 often, when she saw poor William looking so 
 miserable, and jealous, and so much in love ; 
 and Charlotte looking so innocent, and fasci- 
 nating, and smiling. 
 
 What was to be done ? Anne did not know. 
 She was very son-y, but, indeed, it could not 
 be helped. 
 
 It could not be helped! Comfortable words! 
 The Italian " dolce far niente" expresses but 
 the counterpart of the comfortable quiescence 
 conveyed in those English words " It can't be 
 helped." How many idle hearts have been 
 lulled into repose, after a gentle shove from the 
 spirit of activity and trouble, by those soothing 
 words " It can't be helped ! " How many a
 
 ANNE GREY. 301 
 
 twinging conscience touched by the troublesome 
 spirit of remorse, as it views the poor victim 
 hurrying on to the destruction that might have 
 been averted, is soothed by that quieting sen- 
 tence "It can't be helped ! " How many an 
 awkward footman who throws the contents of 
 the soup-plate on the silky coat of the favou- 
 rite lap-dog, consoles himself with those words, 
 " It can't be helped ! " How many a pretty 
 coquette, whose bright eyes have caused a duel 
 and loss of limb to some unfortunate hero, con- 
 soles herself with those cheering words " It 
 can't be helped ! " How many — but who does 
 not know how many — who has not said to 
 himself in an indolent, a self-consoling, or a 
 self-upbraiding mood, with a comfortable shrug, 
 a conscience-quieting pull of the chair to the 
 cheering vicinity of the fire — who has not said 
 to himself at such moments " It can't be 
 helped ? "
 
 302 ANNE GREY. 
 
 What sensible man, or woman, will fret 
 about that which cannot be helped? Whether 
 it might have been helped is not the question, 
 Jt cannot, or we wish to believe it cannot be 
 helped now, and we bless our English ingenuity 
 for devising such a balm to wounded consci- 
 ences or hearts as those iew, simple, inelegant 
 words. So Anne Grey tried to comfort herself, 
 as all the world have comforted themselves 
 before her. by saying " It can't be helped !"
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 All the party from Weston were invited to 
 Cliatterton, and Anne thought with pleasure of 
 the visit. It is difficult to say what pleasure 
 means. Pleasure bears a different sense to every 
 different person. Pleasure to a country Miss 
 just ' come out,' means ' a race ball, and so 
 many partners that she is danced till she can 
 hardly stand.' Pleasure to an aspirant after 
 fashion means ' a card for Devonshire House, 
 or a nod from Lady .' Pleasure to a
 
 304 ANNE GREY. 
 
 scbool-boy means ' tying a string to his school- 
 fellow's toe when he is asleep, and pulling it 
 till he awakes him.' Pleasure to a man of an 
 enquiring mind means ' a toad inside a stone, 
 or a beetle running with its head off.' Plea- 
 sure to a man of taste means ' a first rate 
 artiste, and a good dinner.' Pleasure to a 
 labouring man means ' doing nothing.' Plea- 
 sure to a fine lady means ' having something 
 to do to drive away the time.' Pleasure to an 
 antiquarian means ' an illegible inscription.' 
 Pleasure to a connoisseur means ' a dark, invi- 
 sible, very fine picture.' Pleasure to a philo- 
 sopher, a modern philosopher, a young philo- 
 sopher, means ' liking nothing, despising every 
 thing, and proving every one a simpleton ex- 
 cept himself.' Pleasure to a beggar means 
 ' a sovereign by mistake, instead of a shilling.' 
 Pleasure to a sailor ' a fresh breeze and a sight 
 of land.' Pleasure to the afflicted 'a tear.'
 
 ANNE GREY. 305 
 
 Pleasure to the sweetest of all tempers ' the 
 last word in an argument.' Pleasure to the 
 social, ' the human face divine ! ' Pleasure to 
 the morose, ' I shan't see a soul for the next 
 six months.' Pleasure to an author ' the last 
 page of his manuscript — bliss inexpressible — 
 'Finis.' Pleasure to all, to every one in their 
 own way, and that way a different one. 
 
 How then define pleasure ? It is indefinable ! 
 Who can say where it is ? what it is ? A whole 
 college of wise men will not define it. They 
 all may say, ' I am pleased,' ' I have been 
 pleased ;' but alas ! their pleasure is not the 
 same as others' pleasure. " Is tliat pleasure?" the 
 ninety and nine say to the one exception, " That 
 is not pleasure ;" a,nd the ninety and nine all 
 say what pleasure is ; and the ninety and nine 
 all hold up their hands in astonishment at the 
 pleasure of the other ninety and eight. In the 
 multitude of hearts, and souls, and feelings, in
 
 306 ANNE GREY. 
 
 the world, there are not two hearts, and souls, 
 and feelings, which will confess pleasure to be 
 one and the same thing. There may be broad 
 resemblances, but there are shades of difference 
 in all. 
 
 What then was Anne Grey's pleasure ? How 
 dare we speak of it ! write of it ! It is a dan- 
 gerous word. If it even existed, how momen- 
 tary ! hoAv passing ! before it is yet well written 
 — before the ink is dry — it is vanished ! Like 
 the lightning's flash, or the rainbow's tints, or 
 the April shower, or the infant's tear, or the 
 meteor in the sky, or the bubble in the stream 
 — it is gone ! What then were the ingredients 
 of pleasure held out to Anne Grey in a visit to 
 Chatterton ? .She did not dislike Mrs. Foley, 
 she was anxious to be liked by Miss Foley, and 
 she already liked Mr. George Foley ; and more 
 than all these, she was not sorry to leave home 
 on account of William and Charlotte, as she
 
 ANNE GREY. 307 
 
 hoped some little change might be of advan- 
 tage to them. These were her prospects of 
 pleasure in a visit to Chatterton. Perhaps 
 they implied rather more negative, than posi- 
 tive enjoyment ; and this alas ! is too often the 
 meaning of the term. It is pleasure to escape 
 from pain. 
 
 Anne then looked forward with pleasure to 
 the visit to Chatterton, for she had no great 
 faith in William's constancy, when less boldly 
 defended by circumstances than in the present 
 instance. Circumstances now had befriended 
 it : like the warm and delicate bed of cotton 
 wool, guarding the brittle trinket which safely 
 travels through the jars and tumults of the 
 road, enveloped in its nurturing and concealing 
 folds, circumstances had guarded William 
 Grey's constancy from the chance of injury. 
 
 Anne hoped the visit to Chatterton might 
 give the wished for collision. Some very
 
 308 ANNE GREY. 
 
 pretty face, slie hoped might there be seen, or 
 some more lano-uishino; softness than Char- 
 lotte's — but no ! that would not do for Wil- 
 liam. It must be some pretty, lively, clever 
 person. Aime had her exactly in her mind. 
 Isabella Foley was too quiet, and a little too 
 sentimental. William certainly liked her —he 
 endured her, and never left his comfortable 
 chair when she went near. Still Anne feared 
 she would not do, and she anxiously looked 
 round the drawing-room at Cliatterton, the 
 first evening, to see if there was any one who 
 mio;ht do better. 
 
 Yes, exactly I the very beau ideal of Anne's 
 imagination was there ! A Miss Ferrars, who 
 was very pretty, liv^ely and sensible. A girl 
 whom every one knew, and William had heard 
 of, but never before seen; he had once said, 
 ' I should like to know that girl ;' ' I am sure 
 I should like her.' Anne's eyes brightened as she
 
 ANNE GREY. 309 
 
 perceived her. She glanced at William as 
 Miss Ferrars' name was mentioned, within 
 liis hearing;. But no! William was eagerly 
 watching Charlotte Daventry. 
 
 Charlotte was seated at a table ; Fi-ank 
 Crawford, who had returned to Chatterton that 
 morning, was standing by her, half leaning over 
 her chair ; and Charlotte was half smiling ; 
 one moment throwing up her large expressive 
 eyes at him, filled with intelligence and anima- 
 tion, then letting them fall again, as the blush 
 slightly tinged her face. It was radiant ani- 
 mation — it was pretty, touching confusion. 
 William Grey might hear Miss Ferrars' name; 
 he might be aware that she was in the room, 
 but Anne saw it was of no importance to him 
 if he did. She turned away with a sigh. She 
 feared that the visit to Chatterton from which 
 she hoped so much would be worse than use- 
 less ; for there was Charlotte Daventry with a
 
 310 ANNE GREY. 
 
 lover, to excite William's jealousy, and thus 
 keep up his passion for her. 
 
 Anne wondered, with even a little vexation, 
 what could have made Frank Crawford come 
 to Chatterton so very soon again. To be sure 
 it was tolerably evident why he had. His 
 admiration for Charlotte could scarcely be un- 
 observed. Charlotte herself was partly aware 
 of it. She had mentioned it to Anne — said he 
 was agreeable, but a sort of person no woman 
 would ever thing of marrying, should he even 
 be inclined to put her thoughts in that way to 
 the test ; she liked talking to him, and she 
 should go on talking to him. 
 
 Anne said, "For shame, Charlotte! Don't 
 you know you are encouraging him by that ; 
 that you are indulging a little spirit of flir- 
 tation?" 
 
 " Oh, no indeed !" said Charlotte : " it would 
 seem absurd that I should give up talking to
 
 ANNE GREY. 311 
 
 him, if you knew how very little there is in 
 it ! It would be giving him encouragement, to 
 change my manner. But I will try not to talk 
 nery much to him. You shall see, when we 
 go lo Chatterton, Anne. But somehow, I do 
 not know how — I always do what is natural. 
 If I am inclined to talk to any one, I never 
 think about it. I cannot feel all those reserves. 
 I know I should be looking awkward, and 
 constrained all day, if 1 thought about my 
 manner." 
 
 " Well then," said Anne, " do not think 
 about it, Charlotte dear. I believe jou are 
 right, and never was there a girl with less of 
 the spirit of coquetry than you." 
 
 " Very well, then I will not think about 
 Mr. Frank Crawford," said Charlotte. " I will 
 just talk to him if he talks to me, or if I 
 happen to sit near him, or if I happen to think 
 of anything I wished to say to him. I am glad
 
 312 ANNE GREY. 
 
 you say it does not signify, because I know I 
 should have felt so awkward when he spoke to 
 me, if I had fancied I ought not to talk to 
 him." 
 
 " Yes, that would never have done," said 
 Anne, " so do not ' fash' yourself about Mr. 
 Frank Crawford," added she laughing. " Let 
 him take his chance, he is pretty well able to 
 take care of himself." 
 
 " Yes, indeed!" said Charlotte, joining in 
 her laugh ; and she darted out of the room 
 humming the air of a song. 
 
 "Happy girl!" thought Anne. "I never 
 saw any one so free from nonsense and affec- 
 tation. I do not wonder at William's liking 
 her ! " 
 
 In vain was Miss Ferrars everything that 
 was agreeable during that visit. William would 
 not see or feel it. He said she was — he be- 
 lieved, he knew that she was ' a very nice
 
 ANNE GREY. 313 
 
 gii-r — ' very agreeable' — but it was evident that 
 he knew nothing about it. He was intent on 
 Charlotte Daventry. He was very low — very 
 jealous of Frank Crawford. "He hated the 
 fellow!" and he said so once before Charlotte. 
 
 " Hate Mr. Crawford !" said she, with a 
 look of surprise. " My dear William !" 
 
 William coloured up. There was a mixture 
 of feelings about tlie " Hate Frank Crawford," 
 and the " My dear William;" but the " Hate 
 Frank Crawford," predominated. 
 
 " Nay, you need not tell me you do not 
 hate him," said he pettishly, and he got up 
 and walked out of the room. 
 
 Charlotte Daventry was seated with her 
 back towards Anne, and her eyes followed Wil- 
 liam. She smiled as the door closed — it was a 
 bright triumphant smile, but she turned to Anne 
 with a vexed, sorrowful look. 
 
 " What is the matter with William, Anne?" 
 
 VOL. II. p
 
 314 ANNE GREY. 
 
 " I don't know," said Anne. She did know, 
 and perhaps she should not have said she did 
 not ; but ' I don't know' is easily said, and 
 means nothino-. 
 
 "Well, nor I," said Charlotte, " nor why he 
 hates Mr. Crawford." 
 
 "Oh! but I do!" said she, after a pause. 
 Anne started. 
 
 " But I do ! Mr. Foley said Frank Crawford 
 had killed mere birds on the moors last year 
 than William. He said he was a better shot. 
 1 don't understand these things, but I remember 
 William looked angry at the time, and that's it I 
 so it is!" and Charlotte, with a satisfied, merry 
 air, ran off to look for a book of drawings that 
 Mrs. Foley wanted to see, leaving Anne to be 
 annoyed and to think by herself. 
 
 "Jealous of Frank Crawford's address! of 
 Frank Crawford's success ! Yes, indeed," said 
 Charlotte Daventry to herself, with a briglit
 
 ANNE GREY. 31 
 
 O 
 
 smile, as she found the book she wanted. 
 " Jealous of his success in something more im- 
 portant than the death of a bird ! Not less light 
 and airy, and difficult to attain — not less ready to 
 fly away than the poor little downy bird, is tiie 
 possession of which he is jealous. No ! light, 
 deluding, fluttering thing ! 'Tis this you are 
 jealous of ! The pretty phantom — the pretty 
 nothing, a woman's love ! It may be yours — 
 theirs — any one's. It is worth having." 
 
 Charlotte Daventry walked off" with her 
 book, with a light and bounding step : she went 
 to look for Mrs. Foley in her morning sitting- 
 room. 
 
 " All gone but you, Mr. Crawford !" said 
 she, as she entered the room, and saw no one 
 but Frank Crawford sitting there. " All gone 
 but you !" as she shut the door and seated Iier- 
 self on the low chair by the fire-side. 
 
 '^ Yes, and if you had known it, I suppose I 
 
 p2
 
 316 ANNE GREY. 
 
 should not have been honoured by your com- 
 pany," said Frank Crawford, in a slight tone of 
 pique, getting up and placing himself near her. 
 
 " That is a very pretty, indignant tone, Mr. 
 Crawford. It is a pity you do not reserve it for 
 Miss Ferrars, or your cousin," said she, with an 
 arch smile. 
 
 " 1 wish to heaven!" — began Frank Craw- 
 ford with vehemence. 
 
 "Do not wish anything to heaven, Mr. 
 Crawford, in so loud a voice," said Charlotte 
 interrupting him. " Moreover, do not wish any- 
 thing to heaven, till you know what you have 
 to wish for." 
 
 She paused — her eyes were turned half- 
 reproachfully, half sadly, towards him for an 
 instant, then cast on the ground. Frank Craw- 
 ford started up, and came and leant over the 
 back of her chair. 
 
 Charlotte looked at him, — one short look ;
 
 4 
 
 ANNE GREY. 31 
 
 then averting her face to conceal the blush 
 which was stealing over it, she half covered it 
 with one hand, and extended the other towards 
 him. 
 
 Crawford seized the hand, and she allowed 
 it to be retained for a few minutes ; but then, as 
 he fondly urged its detention, she, with more 
 firmness, drew it away, and said, in a gentle 
 voice, "This is folly, Mr. Crawford — but I will 
 excuse it. I have but too much need !" and her 
 eyes were once more averted ; she sighed, and 
 added in a scarce audible voice : " but too 
 much need, where the folly is mutual." 
 
 Low as that voice was, Frank Crawford 
 heard its gentlest tunes. He listened with 
 rapture. 
 
 " You say it is mutual," said he, eagerly. 
 " Now, have I any thing to fear — anything to 
 wish, but for one thing?" and he intently gazed 
 on her face. " Let me hope that I may claim
 
 318 ANNE GREY. 
 
 this hand," and lie once more seized her hand ; 
 " let me hope I may claim it as my own. You 
 have said, once at least, that the love was 
 mutual." 
 
 Charlotte Daventry looked proudly towards 
 him for a moment, and snatched away her 
 hand. 
 
 " Do not torture me thus. Miss Daventry! 
 Is there to be no end to this suspense? Will 
 you never let me hope ? Let me but look for- 
 ward to the day when I may call you mine ! 
 Dispose of me as you will ; but say that you will 
 acknowledge me as your lover !" — 
 
 " Mr. Crawford," said Charlotte, interrupt- 
 ing him, " you will make me afraid of ever 
 being kind to you in future. You forget to 
 Avhom you are speaking. Do you think that 
 Charlotte Daventry is a woman to acknowledge 
 any man for her lover! To be bound to any 
 man, for a day — or for life I" She looked coldly 
 towards him.
 
 ANNE GREY. 319 
 
 " No, no ! I will not be bound ; not even by 
 the silken tie of public engagement — not even 
 by the more airy bond of private engagement. 
 1 will not be bound to any man ; and if I were, 
 do you think it would be on so short atrial? 
 Do you think, because, for these few short 
 months, you have seemed, what it is so easy for 
 any one to seem — that your reward is so soon to 
 be gained? I will not bid you despair, Mr, 
 
 Crawford " she turned her eyes for a 
 
 moment with all their touching tenderness 
 towards him — 
 
 " No ! time, perseverance — I will own that 
 I may be won in time ; but do not think that it 
 may be the easy work of a day. That a few 
 sighs, a few tender words, can so easily work the 
 effect they do on most women. No, Mr. Craw- 
 ford, you have deceived yourself. I am not 
 one of the herd of credulous, simple girls to 
 whom you have been accustomed. An easy
 
 320 ANNE GREY. 
 
 dupe to fond words, and sighs, and lovers' follies. 
 1 am not so easily won. I love ray liberty. I 
 am young. Yes, Mr. Crawford, I am young — 
 some think I have attractions, though heaven 
 knows what they are ; and I am not going to 
 throw away such advantages, real or imaginary, 
 before the teens are well passed, in making the 
 good, neglected, patient wife : — No ! time and 
 perseverance may work wonders. Yes, even on 
 Charlotte Daventry, where" — she paused for a 
 moment, " where there is already," she turned 
 with soft expressive eyes once more towards 
 him, " where there is already much," she 
 paused again" — " to encourage hope, I would 
 say. But — " and the low deep tenderness of 
 her voice was chanoed — she resumed her 
 lively tone, her lively look : — " Good-bye, Mr. 
 Crawford," said she, and quickly rising, walked 
 out of the room. 
 
 END OF VOL. II.
 
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