# The Semi-attached Couple/Chapter 20

CHAPTER XX
"Law! Mrs. Nelson and Mrs. Hunt," said Mrs. Tomkinson, when this riding party set off, "do make haste to look at our folks—here, put your heads out, but don't let them be seen for all the world."
"Well, what a many!" said Mrs. Hunt, who was the original Betsy of the Douglas young ladies, but called Hunt on her travels. Her manners were not quite equal to her position. "Well, what a sight of company, to be sure; and what a show of horses!"
"Mrs. Hunt," said Mrs. Nelson, who was prim, and considered rather pompous in her own set, "I must trouble you not to squeedge my sleeve."
"There's another window," said Mrs. Tomkinson; "you go there, Mrs. Hunt; you can see quite as well. She's shocking uncouth, Mrs. Nelson," she added, as Betsy bustled off to a distant window.
"She squeedges, certainly, and pushes about too much; but she has had no time to learn manners. Rome was not built in a day. There's your lady getting on her horse, Mrs. Tomkinson."
"Yes, and your young lord a-helping of her; and there's the old lord helping Miss Forrester; and there's them Smiths!"
"Who are they, Mrs. Tomkinson?"
"The heavens above only know, Mrs. Nelson; there is such a tribe of Smiths in this world. I see Miss Douglas goes with your young lady in the bruche. Between ​ourselves, Mrs. Nelson, what's the meaning of this fancy for the Douglases?"
"I have not been consulted, Mrs. Tomkinson; but my lady's as full of fancies as an egg's full of meat. I can't rightly account for it, except, to be sure, that it is lonesome for her now all the young ladies is gone. However, the girl's pretty, and civil enough."
"Well, and if there ain't my lord and Lady Portmore driving off by theirselves! I do declare, if I was my lady I would not stand that. Do you know, Mrs. Nelson, now that there Betsy don't hear us—do you know, I can't tell what to think with any certainty of my lord. He don't stand high in my good books by any means."
"I am sorry to hear you say so," said Mrs. Nelson, in her primmest manner, "for of course a person's servants is the best judges; but I am sure my lady has no idea that anything is amiss."
"Oh, and my lady makes no complaints; but still, you know, if one has eyes one must see what's under one's nose; and my lady has not half the fine sperrits she had."
"She feels strange, poor young thing, I dare say, at first."
"Yes; but ma'am, I'm sure it's more than that. My lord has one of the most naggingest tempers it's possible to see; and it's my belief he frets and worrets her ladyship till she wishes herself back at her old home again. And as for that Lady Portmore, if all's true as I hear, she's not one as I should choose to see driving about in a curricle with my husband."
"What do they say of her?" said Mrs. Nelson; "those Portmores have never come much in my way."
"Oh, I heard enough of her when I lived chambermaid with the Stuarts: they say she has no more respect for Lord Portmore than she has for the hearth-broom; and that all she is at from morning to night is to catch up admirers; and she don't care for other people's husbands ​being other people's husbands, but likes all the better to make them follow her. And that is just the sort of lady who says poor servants ain't to have any followers at all, not even to keep company. I have no patience with her; and if I was my lady, I should look after her pretty sharp with my lord."
"These are early days for subspicions, Mrs. Tomkinson," answered Mrs. Nelson, dogmatically; "and I hope your lady will never have cause for any."
"I hope so, too, ma'am; but I don't quite like my lord"; and so they parted.
One of the odd channels scooped out by Lady Portmore's restless vanity was a persuasion that she was the world's universal confidante; and she would enter into long arguments to prove that she must necessarily have foreknown any piece of intelligence or gossip that was imparted to her. Like all very vain people, she was contradictory; and this, added to her pretensions to universal knowledge, rendered her conversation a glorious mass of inconsistencies.
"I have heaps of news," she said one morning when she came down to breakfast. "I dote upon letters, particularly from clever people, though it is a sad thing for me, having the reputation of a good letter-writer to keep up. You know there is no vanity in saying so, for my letters are very original."
"Particularly so," said Ernest, "for they always seem to me to consist of rows of rather crooked lines, without either vowels or consonants."
Lady Portmore gave him a look which meant to imply to the company at large that Ernest was committing a little indiscretion by letting out that she corresponded with him. She put on an air of pretty confusion, and said, "Pray what do you know about my letters?" and then went on:
"But now for my news. One of my great favourites is going to be married—Charles Wyndham."
​"Yes, here is an account of the wedding in the paper," said Lady Teviot.
"What, already! Well, I have shown my discretion. I take you all to witness I never said he was going to be married?"
"Did you know it?" said Ernest.
"Of course I did, because the Wyndhams are my second cousins—at least, we are connected somehow; but now I have another piece of news about Reginald Stuart."
Lord Beaufort could not resist a look at Mary. She seemed quite calm.
"I am so vexed about Stuart, as you may well guess. He is such a dear creature, and he has actually gone off to Scotland with that dancing girl, Pauline Le Gay. I am sorry for him, and still more for myself. It will put me into such an awkward position as to visiting her. He is actually married by this time."
"I doubt it," said Lord Teviot, quietly.
"I wish I could," said Lady Portmore, with a deep sigh; "but there is no use keeping his secret any longer."
"Not the least, unless you mean to let him have the pleasure of telling it himself. He will be here to-day."
"Stuart here! Then he is coming at last. I thought he would—I made such a point of it; but he will marry that horrid girl at last, you will see."
"There is one strong reason against it."
"You would not think so if you were in his confidence," said Lady Portmore, most mysteriously.
"To a certain degree I am," said Lord Teviot, "for he tells me here 'That fool Reid has actually carried the Paulina off to Scotland, and took the precaution to change his name for fear of pursuit, though who was to run after them except her dancing-master remains a mystery. However, he has cleared me of the odium of being supposed to ​courtiser la belle Pauline. Now, Lady Portmore, are you satisfied?"
"Yes, but not at all surprised. I remember Reid applauded her so in that stupid ballet, 'Rose d'Amour,' that I said he must be in love with her. Mary, you were with me that night; you must remember it."
"Was I?" said Mary, with an air of doubt; "I do not recollect——"
"Oh, but I did indeed; I always foresee these things. I am so glad I persuaded Reginald Stuart to come here, out of the way of that girl. Mary, my love," she said, lowering her voice, and affecting great interest of manner, "have you a headache? you look pale this morning."
"Oh no, pray don't have the headache, Mary," said Helen, indignant at this instance of Lady Portmore's want of tact. "I beg that both my young ladies," she added, smiling at Eliza, "will look their very best, for there will be a large party to amuse, to say nothing of Colonel Stuart."
"I can promise to take some of that trouble off your hands, young ladies," said Lady Portmore, in a tone of pique. "Colonel Stuart comes on my invitation." It was an unlucky morning for her. She had been vexed by the total failure of her letters and her news; and when her vanity was in a state of mortification, she became more than usually untact. She complimented Helen on her dress, and asked if it were Teviot's taste—"but I am sure it is, for he used to complain of your style of dress as too simple before he knew you well, so I must congratulate you on the improvements he has made: you are tirée à quatre épingles this morning." This pleasant speech made three people uncomfortable. Helen did not like to hear that Lord Teviot had ever found fault with her,—Lady Eskdale was hurt that it was supposed she had dressed her daughter ill,—and Lord Teviot did not choose it to be supposed that he had made Lady Portmore his confidante, and that on the ​very important point of his wife's dress. Then she tried a little sportive condescension, in the shape of a joke to Eliza on Lord Beaufort's attentions; and that made Eliza colour till the tears came into her eyes, as, in the primitiveness and innocence of her home education, she looked upon love and lovers as sacred mysteries never to be profaned by a jest; and, moreover, expected that Eskdale Castle would fall down at the mere idea of Lord Beaufort's condescending to admire her. Lady Portmore finished by what she thought a noble touch of magnanimity. Taking Mary's hand, and saying in an audible whisper, "You must forgive me, my love, if I distressed you by what I said of Colonel Stuart. You know how thoughtless I am; but we won't allude to that history any more. Pray say you forgive me." What a woman! and what a fine quality, what an absolute virtue Tact is. Lady Portmore never had a grain of it—a misfortune that fell more heavily on her friends than on herself.