“Why not, Mr. Legge?—Anne Mordaunt is as sweet a girl as there is in the colony, and is very respectably connected. They even say the Mordaunts are of a high family at home. Mary Wallace told me that Herman Mordaunt and Sir Henry Bulstrode are themselves related; and you know, my dear, how intimate the Mordaunts and the Wallaces are?”
“Not I;—I know nothing of their intimacies, though I dare say it may be all true. Mordaunt’s father was an English gentleman of some family, I have always heard, though he was as poor as a church-mouse, when he married one of our Dutch heiresses; and as for Herman Mordaunt himself, he proved he had not lost the instinct by marrying another, though she did not happen to be Dutch. Here comes Anneke to inherit it all, and I’ll answer for it that care is had that she shall marry an heir.”
“Well, Mr. Bulstrode is an heir, and the eldest son of a baronet. I am always pleased when one of our girls makes a good connection at home, for it does the colony credit. It is an excellent thing, Corny, to have our interest well sustained at home—especially before the Privy Council, they tell me.”
“Well, I am not,” answered my uncle. “I think it more to the credit of the colony for its young women to take up with its young men, and its young men with its young women. I wish Anne Mordaunt had been substituted for the Hon. Ballyshannon to-night. She would have made a thousand times better ‘virtuous Marcia.”
“You surely would not have had a young lady of respectability appear in public, in this way, Mr. Legge.”
My uncle said something to this, for he seldom let “Jane” get the better of it for want of an answer; but as I left the box, I did not hear his reply. It seemed then to be settled, in the minds of most persons, that Bulstrode was to marry Anneke! I cannot describe the new shock this opinion gave me; but it seemed to make me more fully sensible of the depth of the impression that had been made on myself, in the intercourse of a single week. The effect was such that I did not return to the party I had left, but sought a seat in a distant part of the theatre, though one in which I could distinctly see those I had abandoned.
The Beaux Stratagem soon commenced, and Bulstrode was again seen in the character of Scrub. Those who were most familiar with the stage, pronounced his playing to be excellent—far better in the footman than in the Roman Senator. The play itself struck me as being as broad and coarse as could be tolerated; but as it had a reputation at home, where it had a great name, our matrons did not dare to object to it. I was glad to see the smiles soon disappear from Anneke’s face, however, and to discover that she found no pleasure in scenes so unsuited to her sex and years. The short, quick glances that were exchanged between Anneke and Mary Wallace, did not escape me, and the manner in which they both rose, as soon as the curtain dropped, told quite plainly the haste they were in to quit the theatre. I reached their box-door in time to assist them through the crowd.
Not a word was said by any of us, until we reached the street, where two or three of Miss Mordaunt’s female friends became loud in the expression of their satisfaction. Neither Anneke nor Mary Wallace said anything, and so well did I understand the nature of their feelings, that I made no allusion whatever to the farce. As for the others, they did but chime in with what appeared to be the common opinion, and were to be pitied rather than condemned. It was perhaps the more excusable in them to imagine such a play right, inasmuch as they must have known it was much extolled at home, a fact that gave any custom a certain privilege in the colonies. A mother country has much of the same responsibility as a natural mother, herself, since its opinions and example are apt to be quoted in the one case by the dependant, in justification of its own opinions and conduct, as it is by the natural offspring in the other.
I fancy, notwithstanding, this sort of responsibility gives the ministers or people of England very little trouble, since I never could discover any sensitiveness to their duties on this score. We all went in at Herman Mordaunt’s, after walking to the house as we had walked from it, and were made to take a light supper, including some delicious chocolate. Just as we sat down to table, Bulstrode joined us, to receive the praises he had earned, and to enjoy his triumph. He got a seat directly opposite to mine, on Anneke’s left hand, and soon began to converse.
“In the first place,” he cried, “you must all admit that Tom Harris did wonders to-night as Miss Marcia Cato. I had my own trouble with the rogue, for there is no precedent for a tipsy Marcia; but we managed to keep him straight, and that was the nicest part of my management, let me assure you.”
“Yes,” observed Herman Mordaunt, drily; “I should think keeping Tom Harris straight, after dinner, an exploit of no little difficulty, but a task that would demand a very judicious management, indeed.”
“You were pleased to express your satisfaction with the performance of Cato, Miss Mordaunt,” said Bulstrode, in a very deferential and solicitous manner; “but I question if the entertainment gave you as much pleasure?”
“It certainly did not. Had the representation ended with the first piece, I am afraid I should too much regret that we are without a regular stage; but the farce will take off much of the keenness of such regrets.”
“I fear I understand you, cousin Anne, and greatly regret that we did not make another choice,” returned Bulstrode, with a humility that was not usual in his manner, even when addressing Anneke Mordaunt; “but I can assure you the play has great vogue at home; and the character of Scrub, in particular, has usually been a prodigious favourite. I see by your look, however, that enough has been said; but after having done so much to amuse this good company, to-night, I shall feel authorised to call on every lady present, at least for a song, as soon as the proper moment arrives. Perhaps I have a right to add, a sentiment, and a toast.”
And songs, and toasts, and sentiments, we had, as usual, the moment we had done eating. It was, and indeed is, rather more usual to indulge in this innocent gaiety after supper, than after dinner, with us; and that night everybody entered into the feeling of the moment with spirit. Herman Mordaunt gave “Miss Markham,” as he had done at dinner, and this with an air so determined, as to prove no one else would ever be got out of him.
“There is a compact between Miss Markham and myself, to toast each other for the remainder of our lives,” cried the master of the house, laughing; “and we are each too honest ever to violate it.”
“But Miss Mordaunt is under no such engagement,” put in a certain Mr. Benson, who had manifested much interest in the beautiful young mistress of the house throughout the day; “and I trust we shall not be put off by any such excuse from her.”
“It is not in rule to ask two of the same race for toasts in succession,” answered Herman Mordaunt. “There is Mr. Bulstrode dying to give us another English belle.”
“With all my heart,” said Bulstrode, gaily. “This time it shall be Lady Betty Boddington.”
“Married or single, Bulstrode?” inquired Billings, as I thought with some little point.
“No matter which, so long as she be a beauty and a toast. I believe it is now my privilege to call on a lady, and I beg a gentleman from Miss Wallace.”
There had been an expression of pained surprise, at the trifling between Billings and Bulstrode, in Anneke’s sweet countenance; for, in the simplicity of our provincial habits, we of the colonies did not think it exactly in rule for the single to toast the married, or vice versa; but the instant her friend was thus called on, it changed for a look of gentle concern. Mary Wallace manifested no concern, however, but gave “Mr. Francis Fordham.”
“Ay, Frank Fordham, with all my heart,” cried Herman Mordaunt. “I hope he will return to his native country as straight-forward, honest, and good as he left it.”
“Mr. Fordham is then abroad?” inquired