Volume Ii Part 21 (1/2)
Whilst fate and Mr. Pringle were thus labouring in one quarter of the town to bring Mrs. Barnaby into notice, she was herself not idle in another in her exertions to produce the same effect. The sale-room, to which the experienced Miss Morrison led her, was already full when they entered it; but the little difficulty which preceded their obtaining seats was rather favourable to them than otherwise; for, as if on purpose to display the sagacity of that lady's prognostications, two of the gentlemen who had made part of their company at breakfast, not only made room for them, but appeared well disposed to enter into conversation, and to offer every attention they could desire.
”Mr. Griffiths, if I mistake not,” said Miss Morrison, bowing to one of them; ”I hope you have been quite well, sir, since we met last year....
Give me leave to introduce, Mr. Griffiths, Mrs. Barnaby.”
”I am happy to make your acquaintance,” said the gentleman, bowing low.
”Your young friend whom I saw with you this morning is not here ... is she?”
”No, sir,” replied Mrs. Barnaby, in the most amiable tone imaginable; ”the dear girl is pursuing her morning studies at home.”
”Introduce me, Griffiths,” whispered his companion.
”Mr. Patterson, Mrs. Barnaby; Mr. Patterson, Miss Morrison,” and a very social degree of intimacy appeared to be immediately established.
”Oh! what a lovely vase!” exclaimed Mrs. Barnaby. ”What an elegant set of candle-sticks!” cried Miss Morrison, as the auctioneer brought forward the articles to be bid for, which being followed by a variety of interesting observations on nearly all the people, and nearly all the goods displayed before them, afforded Mrs. Barnaby such an opportunity of being energetic and animated, that more than one eye-gla.s.s was turned towards her, producing that reciprocity of cause and effect which it is so interesting to trace; for the more the gentlemen and ladies looked at her, the more Mrs. Barnaby talked and laughed, and the more Mrs. Barnaby talked and laughed, the more the gentlemen and ladies looked at her.
Flattered, fluttered, and delighted beyond measure, the eyes of the widow wandered to every quarter of the room; and for some time every quarter of the room appeared equally interesting to her; but at length her attention was attracted by the almost fixed stare of an individual who stood in the midst of a knot of gentlemen at some distance, but nearly opposite to the place she occupied.
”Can you tell me, sir, who that tall, stout gentleman is in the green frock-coat, with lace and ta.s.sels?... That one who is looking this way with an eye-gla.s.s.”
”The gentleman with red hair?” returned Mr. Patterson, to whom the question was addressed.
”Yes, that one, rather sandy, but a very fine-looking man.”
”That is Lord Mucklebury, Mrs. Barnaby.... He is a great amateur of beauty; and upon my word he seems exceedingly taken with some fair object or other in this part of the room.”
The sight of land after a long voyage is delightful ... rest is delightful after labour, food after fasting; but it may be doubted if either of these joys could bear comparison with the emotion that now swelled the bosom of Mrs. Barnaby. This was the first time, to the best of her knowledge and belief, that she had ever been looked at by a lord at all ... and what a look it was!... No pa.s.sing glance, no slight unmeaning regard, directed first to one and then to another beauty, but a long, steady, direct, and unshrinking stare, such as might have made many women leave the room, but which caused the heart of Mrs. Barnaby to palpitate with a degree of ecstasy which she had never felt before--no, not even when the most admired officer of a new battalion first fixed his looks upon her in former days, and advanced in the eyes of all the girls to ask her to dance; ... for no Lord _anything_ had ever done so; and thus, the fulness of her new-born joy, while it had the vigorous maturity of ripened age, glowed also with the early brightness of youth.
It might indeed have been said of Mrs. Barnaby at that moment, that, ”like Mrs. Malaprop and the orange-tree, she bore blossom and fruit at once.”
One proof of the youthful freshness of her emotion was the very nave manner in which it was betrayed. She could not sit still ... her eyes rose and fell ... her head turned and twisted ... her reticule opened and shut ... and the happy man who set all this going must have had much less experience than my Lord Mucklebury, if he had not immediately perceived the effect of himself and his eye-gla.s.s.
Could Mrs. Barnaby have known at that moment the influence produced by the presence of Miss Morrison, she would have wished her a thousand fathoms deep in the ocean; for certain it is, that nothing but her well-known little quizzical air of unquestionable Cheltenham respectability, prevented the n.o.ble lord from crossing the room, and amusing himself, without the ceremony of an introduction, in conversing with the sensitive lady, whose bright eyes and bright rouge had drawn his attention to her. As it was, however, he thought he had better not, and contented himself by turning to his ever-useful friend Captain Singleton, and saying in a tone, the familiarity of which failed not to make up for its imperiousness, ”Singleton!... go and find out who that great woman is in the green satin and pink feathers ... there's a good fellow.”
Mrs. Barnaby did not hear the words, but she saw the mission as plainly as my Lord Mucklebury saw her, and her heart thereupon began to beat so violently, that she had no breath left to demand the sympathy of her friend under circ.u.mstances so pregnant with interest. But though she hardly knew where she was, nor what she did, she still retained sufficient presence of mind to mark how the obedient envoy addressed himself (and, alas! in vain) first to one lounger, and then to another, who all replied by a shake of the head, which said with terrible distinctness, ”I don't know.”
”Gracious heaven, how provoking!” murmured Mrs. Barnaby, as she pressed her delicately-gloved hand upon her heart to still its beating.... ”He will leave the room without finding out my name!”... Had she been only a few hours longer acquainted with Mr. Patterson, it is highly probable she would have desired him, if asked by the little gentleman in black, so actively making his way through the crowd, what her name was, just to have the kindness to mention that it was Barnaby. But though very civil, Mr. Patterson was rather ceremonious; and the unsuccessful messenger had returned to his lord, and delivered all the shakes of the head which he had received condensed into one, before she could resolve on so frank a mode of proceeding. For a few moments longer, however, the amused n.o.bleman continued his fascinating gaze; and then, giving a signal with his eye to Singleton that it was his pleasure to move, that active personage cleared the way before him; and the fat viscount, with his hands in his waistcoat-pockets, stalked out of the room, but not without turning his head, and giving one bold, final, open-eyed, steady look at the agitated widow.
”That man is my fate!” she softly whispered to her soul, as the last frog on the hinder part of his coat has pa.s.sed from her eye; ... and then, like the tender convolvolus when the sunbeam that reached it has pa.s.sed away, she drooped and faded till she looked more like a sleeping picture of Mrs. Barnaby than Mrs. Barnaby herself.
”Do you not find the room very close, Miss Morrison?” said she, after enduring for a minute or two the sort of vacuum that seemed to weigh upon her senses.
”_Poing do too_,” replied Miss Morrison, speaking through her nose, which was one method by which she was wont to convey the true Parisian accent, when she desired that it should be particularly perfect....
”_Poing do too_, Mrs. Barnaby, ... however, I am quite ready to go if you like it, for I don't think I shall buy anything this morning, and I don't see many acquaintance here.”
Mrs. Barnaby immediately rose; the two civil gentlemen made way for them, and the widow, followed by her friend, walked out a more pensive, though not, perhaps, a less happy woman, than when she walked in.
CHAPTER XIV.
A CHELTENHAM BALL.--AN INTRODUCTION.--A CONQUEST.