# Ethel Churchill/Chapter 63

CHAPTER XXVIII.
A PROJECT.
The sun was setting o'er the sea,  A beautiful and summer sun; Crimson and bright, as if not night,  But rather day had just begun: That lighted sky, that lighted sea, They spoke of Love and Hope to me.
I thought how Love, I thought how Hope,  O'er the horizon of my heart Had pour'd their light like yonder sun;  Like yon sun, only to depart: Alas! that ever suns should set, Or Hope grow cold, or Love forget!
"I see no remedy!" exclaimed Henrietta, who had hurried to Ethel on the first intelligence of this new misfortune, "but a direct application to Sir Robert Walpole. I have tried every method to induce Lord Marchmont ​to exert himself, but in vain. I have reasoned, flattered, even cried; but all of no use. But for a husband, one should never know how disagreeable people can be."
"Hush, my dearest Henrietta!" exclaimed Ethel.
"Ah! it is of no use finding fault with what I say; it is the truth."
"Which," interrupted her friend, "is not to be spoken at all times."
"Well, well," replied Henrietta, half laughing, "have your own way; which, by the by, is what you quiet people always contrive to get in some way or other."
"I have so much of my own way," replied Ethel, with a smile.
"Only with me," returned the other, laughing; "and, as it is a luxury, you make the most of it. But I'll tell you what my plan is: I shall take you, to-morrow, to Chelsea, and see if we cannot obtain an interview with Sir Robert himself, and then you can plead your own cause."
"But what could I say?" exclaimed Ethel, ​turning pale at the bare mention of such a scheme."
"Say! why, my dear, you need only look," cried Henrietta: "not but what you may very well find plenty to say. You can tell him that your grandmother is just a silly old lady, who will never do any one any harm but herself. You can also ask him to behead Mr. Trevanion if ever he sets foot in England again."
"Will you never be serious?" interrupted her listener.
"I am too sad to be serious," replied Lady Marchmont: "do you know what that mood is when you would rather dwell upon anything but your own thoughts? I am always the most seemingly lively when I am the least so in reality; and I talk nonsense when I have not courage to talk sense. I make a noise, like children, because I am frightened at finding myself in the dark—that worst of darkness, the darkness of the heart."
"This from you!" exclaimed Ethel; "you, the brilliant, the flattered———"
​ "All very true," interrupted Henrietta: "but not the happy. Nature and fortune are at variance with me: the one meant me to be much better than I actually am. Every day I see more clearly the worthlessness and the vacancy of the life that I lead: my heart is chilled and hardened, and my mind frets itself. It is a dreadful feeling that of knowing you are not loved as you could love, and as you deserve to be loved; to know that all your highest and best qualities———"
"It is a dreadful thing," replied Ethel, with a shudder that she could not repress: her heart had gone back to its own early dream, and dwelt the more heavily on its present desolation.
Real feeling is shy of expression; and neither of the friends had courage to speak of what was nearest the heart of either. Henrietta did like to talk of Lord Marchmont, and to own how utterly she had been mistaken in believing that rank and wealth sufficed to make a happy marriage: she shamed to say how she craved for affection ​and sympathy. Ethel, on her part, was equally reluctant to speak of Norbourne Courtenaye; and this silence was aided by Henrietta, who, from a feeling of delicacy, did not like to speak of Constance. How much, even in the most confidential intercourse, is kept back! the dearest of friends know each other but little.
"But," continued Lady Marchmont, "let us speak seriously of my project; believe me, it is a good one. There, you need not say we think all projects good that originate in ourselves, I have said it for you."
"I really," exclaimed Ethel, "was not going to say any thing of the kind."
"Well, it is something to be prepared: it is what you must be to-morrow."
"But what possible influence can I have with Sir Robert?"
"Oh, a pretty woman always has influence; and they say that the all-powerful minister is as open to the charms of a pair of beaux yeux as any one."
"I shall feel so frightened, and so silly!"
​ "Never mind the last; only, instead of fear, have hope. Sir Robert is a widower, who knows what effect you may produce?"
"I have no ambition for such a conquest."
"That is because you are not yet come to a full use of your understanding. Universal conquest should be the motto of our sex. Every woman should try to make every man she sees in love with her."
"And what is she to do with all these lovers when she has them?"
"Why, not much; it is not every person who can be made useful: still, there they are if you want them. To make a man in love with you gives an instant hold on his vanity; and with that, you can do any thing. Vanity is the real lever with which Archimedes said he could move the earth; so, try what you can effect with Sir Robert."
"I fear that will not be much," replied Ethel, with a disconsolate air.
"At all events, look your very best; and I shall call for you about twelve. Remember, the most perfect toilet; men do not understand ​the detail of dress, but they appreciate the result. I shall go to bed, and dream all night that I am prime minister instead of Sir Robert."
She staid for no answer, but left Ethel all fear and hesitation; which, however, merged in the conviction that, though she might not be able to do any thing for her grandmother, at least she ought to try her utmost; and she had great confidence in her friend. Henrietta, like all persons of active mind and lively imagination, exercised great influence over all about her. It was difficult to resist both her warmth and her kindliness; the one carried you along with her, the other made it quite ungrateful not to be so carried.