“She is a gem of inestimable price, and most
warmly attached to you. And if this property
is to be bought, of course the money will be a great
thing.”
“Money is always comfortable.”
“Of course it is, and then there is nothing
to be desired. If I had named the girl that I
would have wished you to love, it would been Caroline
Penge.” She need hardly have said this as
she had in fact been naming the girl for the last
three or four months. The news was soon spread
about the country and the fashionable world; and everybody
was pleased,—except the Trefoil family.
Arabella’s Success
When Arabella Trefoil got back to Portugal Street
after her visit to Rufford, she was ill. The
effort she had made, the unaccustomed labour, and
the necessity of holding herself aloft before the man
who had rejected her, were together more than her strength
could bear, and she was taken up to bed in a fainting
condition. It was not till the next morning that
she was able even to open the letter which contained
the news of John Morton’s legacy. When she
had read the letter and realized the contents, she
took to weeping in a fashion very unlike her usual
habits. She was still in bed, and there she remained
for two or three days, during which she had time to
think of her past life,—and to think also
a little of the future. Old Mrs. Green came to
her once or twice a day, but she was necessarily left
to the nursing of her own maid. Every evening
Mounser Green called and sent up tender enquiries;
but in all this there was very little to comfort her.
There she lay with the letter in her hand, thinking
that the only man who had endeavoured to be of service
to her was he whom she had treated with unexampled
perfidy. Other men had petted her, had amused
themselves with her, and then thrown her over, had
lied to her and laughed at her, till she had been
taught to think that a man was a heartless, cruel,
slippery animal, made indeed to be caught occasionally,
but in the catching of which infinite skill was wanted,
and in which infinite skill might be thrown away.
But this man had been true to her to the last in spite
of her treachery!
She knew that she was heartless herself, and that
she belonged to a heartless world;—but
she knew also that there was a world of women who
were not heartless. Such women had looked down
upon her as from a great height, but she in return
had been able to ridicule them. They had chosen
their part, and she had chosen hers,—and
had thought that she might climb to the glory of wealth
and rank, while they would have to marry hard-working
clergymen and briefless barristers. She had often
been called upon to vindicate to herself the part
she had chosen, and had always done so by magnifying
in her own mind the sin of the men with whom she had
to deal. At this moment she thought that Lord
Rufford had treated her villainously, whereas her
