第28章

"And miserable, perhaps, in a year," said Charlotte;"it is fortunate for him that he is a man, by your tale, or his wealth might purchase misery for him.""Oh! no one can be miserable that is well married,"cried Maria; "Heigho! the idea of old-maidism is too shocking to think about!""Why does not Mr. Delafield get married, then, if marriage be so very desirable?" said Miss Henly, smiling at the customary rattle of her companion:

"he can easily get a wife, you say?"

{rattle = trivial chatter}

"It is the difficulty of choosing--there are so many attentive to him--""Maria!"

"Mercy! I beg pardon of female delicacy!--but since the young man has returned from his travels, he has been so much--much courted--nay, by the old people, I mean--and the girls beckon him about so--and it's Mr. Delafield, have you read Salmagundi?--and, Mr. Delafield, have you seen Cooke?--and, Mr.

Delafield, do you think we shall have war?--and have you seen Bonaparte? And, in short, Mr.

Delafield, with his handsome person, and three hundred thousand dollars, has been so much of all-in-all to the ladies, that the man has never time to choose a wife!"{Salmagundi = a series of comic essays (1819-1820) by New York City writer James Kirke Paulding (1778-1860), emulating an earlier series by Washington Irving and others; Cooke = probably Thomas Potter Cooke (1786-1864), a noted English actor; Bonaparte = Napoleon Bonaparte died on St.

Helena in 1821}

"I really wonder that you never took the office upon yourself," said Charlotte, busied in throwing aside her coat and gloves; "you appear to have so much interest in the gentleman.""Oh! I did, a month since--the moment that he landed.""Indeed! and who was it?"

"Myself."

"And have you told him of your choice?" asked the other, laughing.

"Not with my tongue: but with my eyes, a thousand times--and with all that unspeakable language that female invention can supply:--I go where he goes--if I see him in the street behind me, I move slowly and with dignity; still he passes me--if before me, Iam in a hurry--but{"}--

"You pass him?" interrupted Charlotte, amused with her companion's humour.

"Exactly--we never keep an equal pace; this is the first time that he has walked with me since he returned from abroad--and for this honour I am clearly indebted to yourself.""To me, Maria?" said Charlotte, in surprise.

"To none other--he talked to me, but he looked at you. Ah! he knows by instinct that you are an only child--and I do believe that the wretch knows that Ihave twelve brothers and sisters--but you had better take him, Charlotte; he is worth twenty George Mortons--at least, in money.""What have the merits of George Morton and Mr.

Delafield to do with each other?" said Charlotte, removing her hat, and exhibiting a head of hair that opportunely fell in rich profusion over her shoulders, so as to conceal the unusual flush on her, ordinarily, pale cheek.

This concluded the conversation; for Charlotte instantly left the room, and was occupied for some time in giving such orders as her office of assistant in housekeeping to her mother rendered necessary.

Charlotte Henly was the only child that had been left from six who were born to her parents, the others having died in their infancy. The deaths of the rest of their children had occasioned the affection of her parents to center in the last of their offspring with more than common warmth; and the tenderness of their love was heightened by the extraordinary qualities of their child. Possessed of an abundance of the goods of this world, these doating parents were looking around with intense anxiety, among their acquaintance, and watching for the choice that was to determine the worldly happiness of their daughter.

Charlotte was but seventeen, yet the customs of the country, and the temptations of her expected wealth, together with her own attractions, had already placed her within the notice of the world.

But no symptom of that incipient affection which was to govern her life, could either of her parents ever discover; and in the exhibitions of her attachments, there was nothing to be seen but that quiet and regulated esteem, which grows out of association and good sense, and which is so obviously different from the restless and varying emotions that are said to belong to the passion of love.

Maria Osgood was a distant relative, and an early associate, who, although as different from her cousin in appearance and character as black is from white, was still dear to the latter, both from habit and her unconquerable good nature.

George Morton, the youth of whom such honourable mention has been made, was the son of a gentleman who had long resided in the next dwelling to Mr. Henly in the city, and who also possessed a country house near his own villa.