Chapter 36 - Page 2

masculine; but they had the freedom of high rank, mingled with a good deal
of the ease of fashionable life. Mrs. Wilson noticed, moreover, in her
conduct to Chatterton, a something exceeding the interest of ordinary
communications in their situation, which might possibly have been
attributed more to feeling than to manner. It is certain, one of the
surest methods to drive Emily from his thoughts, was to dwell on the
perfections of some other lady; and Lady Harriet was so constantly before
him in his visit into Westmore land, so soothing, so evidently pleased
with his presence, that the baron made rapid advances in attaining his
object.

He had alluded, in his letter to Emily, to the obligation he was under to
the services of Denbigh, in erasing his unfortunate partiality for her:
but what those services were, we are unable to say, unless they were the
usual arguments of the plainest good sense, enforced in the singularly
insinuating and kind manner which distinguished that gentleman. In fact,
Lord Chatterton was not formed by nature to love long, deprived of hope,
or to resist long the flattery of a preference from such a woman as
Harriet Denbigh.

On the other hand, Derwent was warm in his encomiums on Emily to all but
herself; and Mrs. Wilson again thought it prudent to examine into the
state of her feelings, in order to discover if there was any danger of his
unremitted efforts drawing Emily into a connexion that neither her
religion nor prudence could wholly approve.

Derwent was a man of the world--a Christian only in name; and the cautious
widow determined to withdraw in season, should she find grounds for her
apprehensions.

About ten days after the departure of the Dowager and her companions, Lady
Harriet exclaimed, in one of her morning visits--

"Lady Moseley! I have now hopes of presenting to you soon the most
polished man in the United Kingdom!"

"As a husband! Lady Harriet?" inquired the other, with a smile.

"Oh, no! only as a cousin, a second cousin! madam!" replied Lady Harriet,
blushing a little, and looking in the opposite direction to the one in
which Chatterton was placed.

"But his name? You forget our curiosity! What is his name?" cried Mrs.
Wilson, entering into the trifling for the moment.

"Pendennyss, to be sure, my dear madam: whom else can I mean?"

"And you expect the earl at Bath?" Mrs. Wilson eagerly inquired.

"He has given us such hopes, and Derwent has written him to-day, pressing
the journey."

"You will be disappointed, I am afraid, sister," said the duke.
"Pendennyss has become so fond of Wales of late, that it is difficult to
get