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o just where you like,” replied her mother, languidly; “you will be stupid and vulgar whenever you emerge, therefore time or place is a matter of little moment. Take your own way, for my authority is quite set aside.”
Up rose Isabel, attentive only to the words which pronounced her release, and, bounding round the room, careless of remark, she rushed upstairs to make known her triumph.
“Thompson, Thompson! I am going to the race-ball in July. I am to go out with Anna Maria, and dance like mad! here goes!”
And Isabel began dancing round the nursery in the wildest spirits, imitating, to the best of her ability, Anna Maria’s elegant manner and step.
Thus was Lady Wetheral a second time defeated in the nearest wish of her heart; but her resentment only extended to keeping her bed for two days, during which she complained to Thompson of illness and excessively shocked feelings. On the third day, she was eagerly and agreeably employed in selecting a proper wardrobe for Isabel.
[29]
There could not be a more striking contrast than that which was displayed in the person and manners of the two elder sisters, and their effect upon society was equally distinct. Anna Maria concealed an irritable temper under an exterior peculiarly elegant, and manners strikingly gentle and fascinating: her popularity, therefore, was great, and her steps attended by admirers of both sex, who were drawn towards her by the force of extreme sweetness of manner. All men toasted the lovely Miss Wetheral, and all women confessed she was agreeable as she was charming, yet Anna Maria passed on her way without receiving offers from one sex, or forming a friendship with an individual of the other.
Isabel’s artless high spirits and warm heart was, on the other hand, misunderstood, and few did her justice in public. She danced too much, and laughed too loud, and gentlemen sought her often as an agreeable relief from the refined insipidity of her companions, which told against her in society. Lady Wetheral cautioned her in vain.
“I wish, Isabel, you would not jump so [30] high, and look so pleased with your partners; it is quite inelegant, and will make you disliked. No other young lady looks pleased, and the gentlemen get grinning and talking round you, to the exclusion of your sister and many others. Pray refrain.”
“It is my nature to be happy,” replied Isabel, laughing, “and my friends may out-talk me if they like. I only desire to chat and enjoy myself in peace.”
“For shame, Isabel! you are not aware how you create enemies by such conduct. I was ashamed to see you racing down the middle and up again, with Tom Pynsent, at Lady Spottiswoode’s carpet-dance. A young lady should never engross a gentleman’s attention so conspicuously.”
“Tom Pynsent amused me extremely, mamma: he was telling college stories, and off we capered without caring who remarked us.”
“You are remarkably vulgar and underbred, my dear,” resumed her mother, “and I have no hopes of your establishment. I am very much surprised at Anna Maria’s beauty [31] failing to elicit an offer; perhaps Julia may do better when she appears, but my hopes chiefly rest upon Clara. Her style of beauty is very magnificent.”
Isabel’s happy disposition received these shocks with inimitable good humour. She listened to daily remarks upon her want of elegance, and believed in her total exemption from the gifts which Nature had lavished upon her elder sister; but her mind scorned the idea of mourning over a useless grief. She cared not for extraneous advantages which could not reach the mind: she never entered a ball-room without a profusion of dancing engagements; and if she was liked and followed, even in the presence of her handsome sister, what did she care for mere beauty?
Lady Wetheral at last yielded the point, and allowed Isabel to choose her own mode of pleasing. Her taste turned with horror from her “unfortunate Isabel,” but she ceased to look at, or remark upon, her brusquerie. She told Thompson, “some men took odd fancies to healthy, fat-looking, smiling girls, and probably Isabel might please some old [32] rich widower or stupid retired bachelor, and marry at last: she would be a foil to her sisters, at any rate.”
Lady Wetheral was right: an odd, “retired bachelor” did admire Isabel precisely for her healthy, good-humoured looks; and, in process of time, he advanced, slowly and cautiously, to the attack; but his manner concealed the matter long to all eyes but those of her father. Lady Wetheral was blind to the very dénouement.
“I can’t imagine why that tiresome old Boscawen comes here every other morning, Sir John, sitting for hours and saying nothing: pray don’t ask him to stay dinner again—he makes me ill.”
“He is a great friend of mine, Gertrude: I like Boscawen.”
“I know you like unaccountable people, love; but he worries me to death, and he will sit at dinner between Anna Maria and Isabel. I don’t consider Isabel, but he keeps Tom Pynsent away from Anna Maria, and never enters into any sort of conversation.”
“He thinks more than he says, my dear.”
[33]
“I hate people who think: thinking makes every thing worse: luckily, I have quite given up thinking about Isabel, or her loud laugh would kill me.”
“Boscawen does not object to Isabel’s joyous laugh, Gertrude; he hopes to hear it in perpetuity.”
“I wish he would take her to himself, then,” replied his lady, gently yawning, and taking up a novel.
“Boscawen has proposed for Isabel,” said Sir John, seriously.
“How can you talk such nonsense, Sir John! if the old man proposes to any body, it will certainly be to Anna Maria. I saw he admired her exceedingly—so does every body: she is very captivating.”
“Boscawen has proposed for Isabel, however,” he returned; “and though he is too advanced in years for a young girl’s speculation, yet, if she could fancy him, I think she might be happy. I wish you to speak to your daughter upon the subject, Gertrude. If she has the slightest disinclination to Boscawen, [34] d