Lady St. Aubyn had received so little pleasure from visiting London the preceding winter, that she earnestly requested not to remove from the Castle till after Christmas, when Laura entreated her to spend a month or six weeks there after her marriage, and wished, as the Countess had not yet been presented, that ceremony might take place when she was herself introduced: Lord and Lady Delamore were also expected to be in London at that time, and Ellen promised herself great pleasure from becoming acquainted with her. It was therefore determined, that she should meet Sir Edward, and Laura (who would then be Lady Leicester), in town the beginning of February, and remain quietly in the country till that time, where she would have leisure to fulfil those maternal duties she had voluntarily taken upon herself, and from the due exercise of which her sweet child grew, and improved every day.

Before they left the Castle, the young heir was christened with all due splendor. Sir William Cecil and Sir Edward Leicester, Lady Juliana and Miss Cecil, were sponsors. The christening suit of fine Brussels lace for the infant, over white satin, and a similar dress for the fair mother, were the gift of Lady Juliana; the other sponsors were also very liberal in their presents to their godson.

The hilarity attending this ceremony was not confined within the walls of the Castle, where, however, all the genteeler part of the neighbourhood were elegantly entertained, while all the poorer sort were most hospitably regaled under some temporary buildings and marquees erected for the purpose in the park, where immense fires dispelled the coldness of winter, at the same time that they served to dress the provisions intended to regale the crowd assembled round them. Each family was also liberally supplied with bread, meat, clothing, and money, according to its numbers and their respective wants; and as Lady St. Aubyn and Miss Cecil, attended by Bayfield and Jane, did not themselves disdain to visit the cottages, and see what was really requisite for the comfort of their inhabitants, every thing was ordered with intelligence and regularity, and imposition almost totally prevented.

Mrs. Neville, the poor officer's widow mentioned before, had for some time been settled as manager of the Schools of Industry, and other useful institutions, which Lady St. Aubyn had set on foot during the summer: her eldest daughter was gone to "that bourne from which no traveller returns;" but the others, healthy and happy, were in training for such situations as they seemed calculated to fill. Mrs. Neville was also very useful in distributing the gifts to the poor, and the preparations for their entertainment.

A grand display of fireworks finished the amusements of the evening, for St. Aubyn observed that was the only species of mere entertainment which all ranks and ages could partake of; and in the present instance, he wished not only to benefit, but to gratify all his neighbours.

Miss Alton and Mrs. Dawkins were amongst the company received at the Castle, and so delighted were they with the young heir, so charmed with the splendour and elegance of the repast, that, contrary to usual custom, no lamentations or tender sympathetic sighs disturbed the gaiety of the day.

Soon after this grand fÊte, the whole family set out for London; and Lady St. Aubyn, not satisfied with any superintendent of her nursery but Mrs. Bayfield, begged she might go with them, and be removed entirely from the more fatiguing post she had hitherto filled.

Jane, now called Mrs. Williamson, having been for some time under Mrs. Bayfield's direction, was placed in her vacant department, and another, somewhat more fashionable, lady's woman engaged to attend the Countess.

In London they met the new married pair, and the bride's fair sister, Lady Delamore, whose extraordinary beauty excited Ellen's admiration, while her likeness to the sweet departed Juliet involuntarily claimed her affection.

With such very agreeable friends, and under the respectable protection of Lady Juliana, Lady St. Aubyn found London a very different scene from what it had appeared to her the year before: she now possessed also a greater degree of confidence in herself, and having no longer any thing to fear, the gloomy hints of St. Aubyn, and her consequent dread, being for ever explained and removed, she felt a more cheerful flow of spirits, and enjoyed the amusements which were so amply in her power: yet still those spirits were softened by the most retiring delicacy; and those amusements, partaken with moderation and decorum. Still her high character stood unblemished, and even elevated in the public opinion; and the splendour of her beauty, which every one thought but now come to its full perfection, attracted none but respectful admirers.

The St. Aubyns frequently saw Lord de Montfort, who had purchased a house in town, and was living in very high style, though still under the direction of Mr. O'Brien, but evidently choosing to be more his own master than he had been in Spain, to which country he seemed at present to have no thoughts of returning; his grandfather's will having left him free to choose his own residence, though he was under a necessity of visiting Spain at least once in two years.

To Lord St. Aubyn he was polite, though distant: strangers could not have perceived any thing in his manner indicative of dislike or resentment; but those who knew what had passed, could at times discover a particular cast of his eye, a certain tone in speaking to the Earl, which marked a recollection, at least, of former enmity, and were by St. Aubyn hardly to be endured.

To Ellen he at all times shewed an attention so devoted, and his expressive eyes displayed so much admiration, that some of those who witnessed them began to fancy they had discovered the cause of that gloom which still overshadowed him, and had, from the time of his first arrival, excited the remarks of every one, and made him the object of the insipid jests and witless railleries of those who could conceive no cause but love for the dejection of a young man who could scarcely count the thousands which swelled his rent-roll.

For of the pure, though enthusiastic attachment he felt for Ellen, such minds could form no idea.

One evening, at the play, whither Lady St. Aubyn went with a large party, amongst whom were Lady Meredith and several gentlemen in her train, they saw in the box opposite to theirs Lord de Montfort leaning against the side of it, in his usual state of gloomy apathy—his eyes half closed, his fine hair disordered, and his whole person expressing a sort of desolation, which waked emotions of pity in Ellen's gentle heart: she could not see him without compassion, he appeared so completely an insulated being, and even in the very morning of life, so totally without any kind connection or affectionate friend to soothe his melancholy—that melancholy, of which she so well knew the original cause, that, as she looked towards him, she could not forbear a sigh; and the sorrow she really felt appeared in her expressive countenance.

Lady Meredith, who had been attentively watching her with a degree of malice, of which Ellen had not supposed her capable, now gently touched Lady St. Aubyn with her fan, and said—

"Upon my word, my dear, I could in pity to the love-sick woe-begone De Montfort have almost wished he could have seen that soft look, and heard that tender sigh: no doubt it would have gone a great way towards rendering him a more cheering object, and that I am sure we should all have rejoiced in, for at present he really casts a gloom over all our amusements."

"I do not understand you," said Ellen, with surprize.

"Indeed!" replied Lady Meredith: "I hardly supposed you would have carried affectation so far. Here, Hamilton," added she, laughing and turning to the gentleman next her, "Lady St. Aubyn cannot imagine why her pity and a very kind look should have any effect on Lord de Montfort."

"Pity and a gentle look from so much beauty," replied Sir James Hamilton, with affected gravity, "must certainly have a most powerful effect on the heart of any man—assuredly still more on that of one so devoted as De Montfort's appears to be."

"I know not, Sir," said Ellen, with modest grace, yet with spirit, "if I am to consider this as a specimen of that fashionable sort of wit which you call quizzing or hoaxing. Are not these the elegant terms of the day? But I am willing to think it no more, as I am convinced you cannot seriously lose sight of the respect you owe me as a married woman, so far as to imagine Lord de Montfort can feel, or I permit, a greater degree of attachment than his long connection with Lord St. Aubyn may well account for."

Then turning to St. Aubyn, she said in a gay tone—

"Help me, my Lord, to convince Lady Meredith that Lord de Montfort has really not fallen violently in love with me: how far he may entertain such a sentiment for her, I will not pretend to say."

St. Aubyn laughed, and said—

"For his own sake, Ellen, I hope he has not been so improvident as to dispose of his heart in your favour; though I should be happy to hear he had selected any fair one at liberty to reward his passion."

This well-timed appeal to her husband, and the unembarrassed manner with which both had spoken, effectually silenced those who hoped to have extracted much amusement from the confusion of the timid and delicate Ellen.

Presently afterwards, on meeting her eyes, De Montfort's seemed lighted up with pleasure, and quitting his box, he came to that where she sat. St. Aubyn seeing a little smile still playing on the countenances of Lady Meredith and some of her gay friends, determined to shew his perfect confidence in his wife, turned round to him, and said—

"De Montfort, how are you? I am quite glad you found us out, for nothing is more stupid than being at the play without a party. We have plenty of room: go and sit between Lady Meredith and Lady St. Aubyn; I am sure I shall make you happy by placing you there, they are both such favourites: we have just been disputing which of them you preferred."

"You did me great honour," replied Edmund, "in speaking of me at all."

"St. Aubyn only jests," said Ellen: "we were not, I assure you, debating on the subject."

"No, indeed," replied Lady Meredith, laughing, "that question may be easily settled: we were all unanimously agreed, I assure you, my Lord."

Edmund, not exactly liking the turn of her countenance, was going to reply with some warmth, and probably might, with that chivalric gallantry which marked his character, have openly avowed, what he undoubtedly thought, that Ellen was the first and most admirable of women, if she had not stopt him by saying—

"Oh, pray Lord De Montfort, let Lady Meredith enjoy the diversion she is seeking: she has been in a teasing humour the whole evening."

"Pray, Lady Meredith," said Lady Juliana, with a grave air, "let us have no more of this rattle: Lady St. Aubyn is not fashionable enough to wish to be the favourite of any man but her husband."

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" cried Lady Meredith, "do not let us make a serious business of it. Be assured, my dear Lady St. Aubyn, I had no intention of getting you a grave lecture: though really," she added, in a low tone, "I was quite in hopes you were going to be a little like other people, and not be kept in awe any longer by that starched specimen of old maidenism. You cannot think, my dear, how much a little flirting would improve your beauty: then it gives an air of ease and fashion, which, entre nous, is the only thing you want to make you quite enchanting."

Ellen only smiled at this rattle, but with an air so little encouraging, she soon put an end to it; yet, to one less fixed in principle, Lady Meredith would have been a dangerous companion; and certain it is, more women are ruined by listening to precepts of this nature, half in earnest, half in jest, accompanied by a sort of persiflage which few can withstand, than even by the wiles of men: against these a woman of virtue is on her guard; but she listens without fear to a female older than herself, and whom she thinks better versed in the ways of the world, till insensibly she adopts the same sentiments, and acquires that hateful worldly tone which affects to laugh at every thing serious and praiseworthy.

Ellen, however, was not so easily misled: her natural penetration detected the fallacy; and all the shafts of Lady Meredith's ridicule fell, by her, unheeded.

On the way home, Lady Juliana inveighed bitterly against the flirting manners and ill-judged raillery of Lady Meredith, who, she said, instead of improving as she grew older, was every year worse and worse, and was enough to spoil the conduct of a whole nation of women.

"Pray, my dear," said she, "don't you be led by her nonsense: I hope she will not persuade you to follow her example. Indeed, nephew, I wondered at you for placing that odd, wild-looking young De Montfort next my niece: he does not please me at all."

In short, the old lady was so thoroughly out of humour, that they were very glad to set her down at her own house.

Two or three days after this, Lord de Montfort took leave of the St. Aubyns, before he left London, on his way with a party of young men to see Oxford and Cambridge, and afterwards to go to the Lakes, not meaning to be again in London till September. He carried with him the most exalted opinion of Lady St. Aubyn, but he thought of her rather as an angel than a woman, and was devoted to her with a purity of attachment inconceivable by the worldly-minded.