# Ethel Churchill/Chapter 78

CHAPTER II.
RANELAGH.
I did not wish to see his face,  I knew it could not be; Though a look had not altered there,  What once it was to me.
Since last we met, a fairy spell  Had been from each removed; How strange it is that those can change,  Who were so much beloved!
It is a bitter thing to know  The heart's enchantment o'er; But 'tis more bitter still to feel  It can be charmed no more!
"So I hear," said Lady Mary, "that, 'severe in youthful beauty,' you have driven another of your lovers to despair; but it really was too bad to hand over all Lord Portsea's hearts and darts to Mrs. Fane, persuading her that she was the rightful owner of the scented scroll."
​ "I am sure," replied Lady Marchmont, "that she was delighted to receive it. I hate to have things wasted, and it was utterly wasted on me; but you are wrong as to the hero of the billet; it was placed in my bouquet by Lord Harvey."
"Lord Harvey!" exclaimed the other, with an expression of anger she could not at once disguise. The fact was, that, for some time past, Lady Mary Wortley had considered Lord Harvey as her own especial property. Now, nothing is more provoking to a woman than a lover's infidelity; it is a wrong which leaves her without even the satisfaction of revenge. His very infidelity shows that she has lost her power; and without power, where is revenge? A sneer is some comfort; and, fate be praised! there is always a good-natured friend to repeat it. "Well," said she, "Lord Harvey is doing his best to find if there be a 'yes' in the world. It would require—what is that rule in arithmetic? ah!—long division, to reckon up the number of refusals he has had this season! However, I suppose, ​
'Though I miss the sweet possessing,  'Tis a pleasure to adore; Hope, the wretch's only blessing,  May in time procure me more.'"
"I cannot," returned Lady Marchmont, "answer by your next verse:—
'Constant courtship may obtain her,  When both wit and merit fail; And the lucky minute gain her,  Fate and fancy will prevail.'
There is to me that insipidity about Lord Harvey, which always belongs to the forced and artificial. He takes as much pains to make up a character as Lady Clevedon does to make up her face!"
Lady Mary turned pettishly away; no woman likes anybody but herself to depreciate a lover; it is personally an ill compliment. But Lady Marchmont had little time to speculate on the causes of Lady Mary's petulance; for, at that moment, she felt Miss Churchill's clasp on her arm tighter, while the slight frame she supported trembled with agitation. Her quick eye detected the cause in a moment; ​Mr. Courtenaye had just entered the room, though he had not as yet perceived them. Indeed, the position in which Ethel stood effectually screened her from observation; and Henrietta thought she could not do better than stand as they were, thus giving her companion time to recover her outward composure.
In the meantime, Mr. Courtenaye had caught sight of the countess, and came eagerly forward to speak. She was delighted to renew the acquaintance; for, in her own mind, she had already arranged to what it was to lead. The crowd, which had been collecting for the last hour, had now become exceedingly dense, and a sudden movement forcing Lady Marchmont forward, separated her from her friend. Norbourne did not see her face, but saw that a young woman was placed in a very embarrassing situation; offered, or rather drew her arm within his own. She was so situated, that it was impossible to refuse; the crowd still pressed upon them; their eyes met, and to both it seemed like a dream. Neither even attempted speaking; but, though Norbourne ​felt the arm he held tremble, Ethel was more composed than her once lover. She had pride and indignation to sustain her, while he was divided between embarrassment and an overpowering sensation of delight at meeting again. The face was intentionally averted, but there was the same sweet profile, and the long lash of the downcast eye lay golden on a cheek crimson with emotion. They reached the door before he summoned resolution to speak; but, just as the words rose from his heart to his lip, Ethel, by a sudden effort, caught Lady Marchmont's arm, and whispered, "For God's sake, let us go home!" Henrietta saw her uncontrollable emotion, and instantly complied with her wish: Courtenaye handed them to the carriage.
How long, that night, did the light touch of Ethel's little hand linger in his own! He felt anxious, but happy; he had seen her, and every thing seemed possible; she would, she must, forgive him. But Ethel sought her own room with a bitter and burning heart: she gave way to a burst of passionate tears.
​ "What!" exclaimed she, "am I still so weak? How I despise myself!"
She rose, and paced the room impatiently; pride, love, and the bitter sense of injury, contending together. Again she resumed her seat; again gave way to weeping, that brought no relief.
"Oh that," cried Ethel, wringing her hands, "I may never, never see him again!"