# Ethel Churchill/Chapter 83

CHAPTER VII.
It matters not its history—Love has wings, Like lightning, swift and fatal; and it springs, Like a wild flower, where it is least expected; Existing whether cherished or rejected.
A mystery art thou!—thou mighty one! We speak thy name in beauty; yet we shun To say thou art our guest; for who will own His life thy empire, and his heart thy throne?
There was an absolute mixture of pique and disappointment as Lady Marchmont passed on; but they had scarcely reached the open lawn before she saw the stranger talking to Lady Mary Wortley Montague, who was smiling her very sweetest, and, worse, looking her very best. An ill-defined dislike, a little like jealousy, arose in Henrietta's mind; a little, however, mitigated by observing that the gentleman ​instantly caught sight of herself; and that, when not absolutely forced to look at his companion, he looked towards her. Suddenly. the two approached, and Lady Mary said, with a forced smile,—
"Will you allow me to present Sir George Evelyn to you?—the most accomplished coquet that ever
'Dealt destruction round the land On all he judged a foe;'
under which denomination he ranks all women."
"Poets excel in fiction," said Sir George, with a quiet, almost timid, manner, "and Lady Mary is a poet: but, as we never forgive being bored, let me entreat her to talk to Lady Marchmont of some more amusing subject than myself."
"I can assure you," continued Lady Mary, "you meet on equal terms; you cannot be worse than Lady Marchmont:—
'Her eyes, like suns, the rash beholders strike; But, like the sun, they shine on all alike,'
excepting her husband, of course."
​ Henrietta looked more vexed than the commonplace sneer needed, and which Sir George did not appear to hear. He was surrounded by some friends, all of whom seemed delighted to see him once mere in England. A turn in the walk shut him out; and Henrietta began to think what a tiresome thing a fête is, and to wonder that people ever gave them. She also began to enumerate the number of hours she should have to stay; and to think that it was very unreasonable, even in a prime minister, to give a breakfast, dinner, and tea-party, all in one day, to say nothing of the night itself being trenched upon by a ball. Lord Norbourne's attention, too, was more taken up than it ought to have been with the beauty of the fête on his arm; but, alas! he knew everybody, and everybody knew him; public characters must pay the penalty of greatness.
Henrietta was now all but surrounded by a mob of elderly gentlemen, ribanded and starred; and on the other side was the trunk of a huge cedar tree. Her prospects might have been more agreeable. However, the very cedar, ​which, in the first instance, she had ungraciously denominated "odious," improved upon acquaintance.
Not exactly like a hamadryad emerging from the trunk, but stepping very gracefully from behind it, Sir George Kingston made his appearance. "Desperate circumstances," exclaimed he, "justify desperate conduct. Poets lay it down as a rule, that deities are not to extricate a hero from his embarrassment unless there remain no human method of extricating him. Now, nothing short of a divinity can aid me. May I appeal to her aid?"
"At all events." replied Lady Marchmont, "my curiosity is engaged on your side; and if only one-half of what is said of women be true, that is quite enough to decide in your favour."
"I take you for my confidant at once." replied Sir George: "but, do you know that it will entail upon you, at least, ten minutes' patient listening?"
"I feel equal to the exertion," said Henrietta.
"Will you then allow me to offer you my arm? ​for. I frankly confess that my disclosure is meant for your ear alone.
Henrietta took his arm. but coloured as she did so; why she coloured, she could net have told herself. They turned into the next walk; and, in spite of both curiosity and confidence, they proceeded, for some distance, in perfect silence. It was very pleasant, however; and not the less so for a little touch of awkwardness. At last, Lady Marchmont arrived at the conclusion that something ought to be said; and, turning to her companion, exclaimed,—
"Let no one ever again talk of feminine impatience; but I really can be an angel no longer, so let me have the full benefit of all the ideas I have given you such ample time to collect."
He started as if from a reverie. "Lady Marchmont must be so much accustomed to have every thing forgotten when she is by, that she will pardon it quite as matter of habit," was the answer: "but I must not trespass ​too far on your forbearance. Miss Churchill is very intimate with you, is she not?"
Henrietta felt disappointed, though she could have given as little cause for her disappointment as for her previous blush.
"Miss Churchill is," replied she, "my most intimate friend."
"Perhaps, then," exclaimed Sir George, "you will save me a task to which my courage is not equal. Will you allow me to communicate to you the disagreeable mission which I have incautiously undertaken?"
"What is the matter?—yes; pray, tell me first," interrupted Henrietta, now all anxiety on Ethel's account.
"Miss Churchill is very beautiful?" asked he.
"The loveliest creature on which the sun ever shone!"
Sir George Kingston looked at his companion as if he did not quite agree with her; and, though he only looked his doubt, Henrietta felt the full compliment of the look; ​again she coloured, and said hastily,—"But do tell me. Ethel is as dear to me as a sister."
"Do not laugh at me," said her companion, in a low, earnest tone, "if I confess I cannot understand inconstancy in love. I told Trevanion I was the worst person in the world that he could employ: from me he must expect no defence of his conduct."
"Mr. Trevanion!" cried Lady Marchmont; "do only tell me that he is married, and I shall be eternally grateful to you."
"It is precisely," replied the other, "the fact of his marriage that I was about to communicate."
"You are the most charming person in the world. You are invested with a perfect halo of delight," exclaimed Henrietta. "Miss Churchill has some chimerical notion of honour in her head, but that is over now; your information does not leave a single obstacle in the way of the most perfect happiness that ever wound up a fairy tale. We must find ​Miss Churchill, and tell her; but I claim the privilege of being told all about it as we go."
"I may as well use Trevanion's own words," replied Sir George. "'I have no choice,' said he, gazing, despairingly, in the glass: 'one heart I must break. Now that of Miss Churchill being at a distance, and that of Mademoiselle de Nargis being at my side, the last is most important—I married this morning. Let my lovely Ethel know the fact as gently as possible: lay the blame on fate, not on my falsehood. Tell her, if she die, her memory will be enshrined in my heart.'"
"That certainly was a consolation," said Lady Marchmont. "The fact is, that the marriage between Mr. Trevanion and Miss Churchill was a family affair, arranged without the slightest regard to the young lady's feelings, which Mr. Trevanion well knew were interested by another."
A sudden turn in the walk brought them face to face with Lord Marchmont and Ethel, to whom the countess whispered a few words ​in a low voice. A flush of pleasure came over the listener's face.
"Trevanion," exclaimed Sir George, "might have spared all his anxiety on Miss Churchill's account. She looks as if the news were only too good to be true."