Lord Spoonbill was ushered into an apartment, the air of which was warm and fragrant: the warmth came from Newcastle, and the fragrancy from Bond street. At first entering the room his lordship saw not any one to whom his name could have been announced. The servant who had opened the door for him closed it immediately behind him, and he seemed to be in an empty apartment. By an instinct natural to an Englishman he advanced towards the fire-place, and there he presently saw on a sofa, the back of which was towards the door, his friend Erpingham reclining at full length, and having before him an open volume placed on a low table, which had been constructed and adapted for reading on a sofa. This was what Erpingham called “reading made easy.”

His lordship expressed by his looks some surprise that his friend should not rise from the sofa, and said, “Erpingham! are you unwell?”

“Ah! Spoonbill, is it you? Excuse my not rising to receive you; but the fact is, I have been trying for the last hour and a half to get into an easy position, and I have but just accomplished it, and if I move now I shall not be able to recover the position, and you know how wretched that sensation is. Well, how are the old materials?”

This last question referred to the health of the Earl and Countess of Smatterton; and it was a phrase which Erpingham had learned from Lord Spoonbill himself.

To this question Lord Spoonbill made the regular response, and continued, “How is it, Erpingham, that I never have the pleasure of seeing you unless I ride over to you?”

“Can’t say,” was the careless reply: “but,” continued the Epicurean, “I am not partial to mixed company. Now your house in town is too multitudinous for me.—But my Clarissa tells me that the Countess of Smatterton is going to astonish the whole world by introducing a new first-rate voice.”

For explanation, it may be enough to inform the reader that Clarissa held the same place in Mr Erpingham’s establishment as Lord Spoonbill wished Penelope to hold in his. His lordship therefore was not sorry that the subject should be thus introduced, and he replied:

“Exactly so. But we have our doubts whether the lady will, under present circumstances, assent to the arrangement: for when she came to London, it was as an orphan, but now her father has returned from India after a long, and, I suppose, a profitable absence. Mr Primrose, the father, is now on his way from Smatterton, and he has said in his letter to his daughter, that he is about to place her in a home of his own. So I fear we shall lose this star.”

Mr Erpingham did not lay anything very much to heart, and therefore he did not express any serious lamentation on this probable loss. He directed his remarks to other matters; and among other questions which he asked of Lord Spoonbill, alluding to the circumstances and events of his lordship’s life, he enquired: “And have you got rid of your dear little Ellen at last? You had a great deal of trouble with her, I think you told me some time ago.”

Lord Spoonbill was quite as profligate as his elegant friend, but he had not so successfully and completely neutralized all his feelings. Though his profligacy therefore was coarser than that of Erpingham, and though his lordship was not over gifted with sensibility, yet he was not so entirely and systematically heartless. To this question concerning poor Ellen he shook his head, and said:

“Why, yes; I was sorry for the poor thing too: she was very much in love with me at one time, I really believe.”

“Ay,” replied Erpingham, “that was bad. It is quite annoying to have a woman in love with one. I could not endure it. I make it a rule never to encourage anything of the kind. You were too much addicted to sentimentality when you were at Cambridge. I suspect now that you are more than half in love with this Miss Primrose. Is she pretty and silly?”

Lord Spoonbill frowned at the question, and did not answer it.

“Oh, well,” replied his friend, “I have no wish to be in your confidence. Pray don’t tell me any more of your secrets than you wish me to know. And if you are going to talk as much nonsense to me about Miss Primrose as you did two years ago about your ‘dear little Ellen,’ I must beg to be excused. Positively, Spoonbill, I have grown quite nervous of late.”

“I think,” replied his lordship, “you have grown quite provoking. I have no intention of boring your ears with any sentimentality, as you are pleased to call it.”

This being uttered in a petulant tone, and Erpingham not liking to take the trouble of replying in the same tone, contented himself with indolently saying:

“Well, well, don’t be angry. Say what you please. I will bear it very patiently.”

Lord Spoonbill having but little time to spare, and being very desirous of unburthening his mind to his friend, suffered this kind of careless half-apology to extract from him the secret of his attachment to Penelope. Erpingham listened as attentively as he could to the story, and when it was finished he yawned out, “Ah! sure! But what assistance can I give you?”

It was not very easy to answer that question. His lordship was more disposed indeed to ask questions than answer them, and therefore, instead of replying to the question of his friend, he said: “Now what would you advise me to do?”

“Make her an offer of a handsome establishment. I suppose she is violently in love with you.”

“I cannot be quite sure of that,” replied his lordship; “but I believe I am not quite disagreeable to her.”

“There is something in that,” replied Erpingham; “but not much. According to your account of this Miss Primrose, it should seem that she is of a good family, and perhaps the arrangement that you contemplate would not be acceded to.”

“That,” answered his lordship, “is what I most fear; and I will acknowledge to you that I am so far in love, that rather than lose her I would actually marry her.”

“Marry her,” exclaimed the Epicurean; “marry her! Impossible!” Saying this, Erpingham roused himself from his indolent lounging posture, and with much greater energy than he was accustomed to use, he said: “Spoonbill, I am not much in the habit of either giving or taking advice, but I will for once so far advise you as to say, that if you contemplate marrying Miss Primrose, you must not on any account whatever make her any other offer.”

“Why so?” replied his booby lordship, with a stare of awkward astonishment.

“Why so!” echoed his friend; “because, if the young lady has a proper sense of her own dignity, she will not accept an offer of marriage from one who has made her an offer of another description; and if she has not that sense of dignity, but merely makes a profitable market of your passion for her, she will despise you for a fond fool, and you, when your fondness is over, will look upon her as a cunning, artful baggage. I know nothing about Miss Primrose; but I am very sure that no woman is fit to be a wife who could ever forgive a proposal of a different description.”

The sagacious hereditary legislator could not understand this logic, and he stared at his friend as if he thought that he was crazy. “Bless my soul, Erpingham,” at length he said, “what nonsense you are talking. I really cannot understand you. What can be more natural and regular than to offer her marriage, if she will not accept me on any other terms. You talk about hating sentimentality; I am sure you are now talking as much sentimentality as any one need wish to hear.”

Erpingham had exerted himself so much by the two last speeches which he had made, as not to wish to continue the discussion, or to undergo any more blundering interrogations from his noble friend; he therefore began to resume his indolent attitude, and said, “Well, do as you like best, Spoonbill, only remember I did not refuse my advice when you asked it. Will you stop now and take your dinner with me?”

Lord Spoonbill was not any more disposed than his friend to carry on the discourse, and therefore declined the invitation to dine, and made the best of his way home again. As he rode homewards he attempted to think, but he found no small difficulty in that mental operation. There are some advertising schoolmasters who profess to teach their pupils to think; but as we were not educated in one of these thought-mongering seminaries, we cannot think how thinking can be taught. It may be possible, for the only impossibility in these days is to decide À priori that anything is impossible. But we do verily believe that, had Lord Spoonbill been at one of these establishments, he would have puzzled his preceptor as much as his preceptor would have puzzled him.

By the time that his lordship had arrived at home he had come to the conclusion of his thinking, and the result was, that he thought Erpingham to be quite an altered man; and he also thought that he would not follow the ridiculous advice which his friend had given him.

Penelope made her appearance at dinner, and looked, as Lord Spoonbill said, most divinely. How Lord Spoonbill should know what divine looks are, we cannot tell: perhaps he meant that Penelope looked like a parson. However Penelope might look at dinner, it is very certain that Lord Spoonbill looked very much at Penelope. But the young lady’s thoughts were so pleasingly and agreeably engaged, and her anticipations were so delightful, that everybody and everything appeared agreeable to her. It was very different with the Countess of Smatterton. Her anticipations were not very pleasant: her ladyship apprehended that the return of Mr Primrose to England would be the destruction of her prospects, as far as they related to Miss Primrose. Having already observed that the young lady had manifested some reluctance to the public exhibition of her musical talents, the Countess very naturally supposed that Mr Primrose would indulge an only child in whatever fancy she might take up.

It was unfortunate also for the Countess, that she could not easily suppress her feelings of displeasure or dissatisfaction when any of her favourite fancies were disappointed. Having already so far committed herself among her rival prodigy-fanciers as to make a kind of preliminary exhibition of her newly discovered wonder, her ladyship felt that it would be very mortifying indeed to make her appearance in town without fulfilling the high promises which she had made, and gratifying the expectations which she had raised.

It is mortifying to spend money for nothing; but it is infinitely more mortifying to be at the expense of a prodigious deal of condescension to answer at last no good or self-gratifying end. This was the loss and the mortification which the Countess of Smatterton now suffered, or at least anticipated. Instead therefore of the usual courteous manner which her ladyship had hitherto manifested towards the niece of the late rector of Smatterton, there was coldness, haughtiness, and silence. The Earl of Smatterton had not so quick a perception as the Countess, and he had not anticipated any disappointment in the return of Penelope’s father to England. His lordship still continued to sport the condescensions, and he did not take any notice whatever of her ladyship’s fit of ill-humour. When stupid men are henpecked they often receive more pity than they need, for they are very frequently insensible to many of the ill-humours of their mates.

Now, as the Countess was silent, an opportunity was offered for his lordship to talk. Happy would it be if all married people would talk only one at a time.

“And so, Miss Primrose,” thus spake the Earl of Smatterton, “I find that you expect shortly to see your father. It is a long while, I think, since you have seen him?”

“It is sixteen years, my lord,” answered Penelope.

“Sixteen years!” repeated his lordship: “you will hardly recollect him. The meeting, I dare say, will be very interesting. And may I ask, what time in the day you expect your father?”

“I fear it will be late in the day, my lord, for my father will not arrive in London till twelve or one o’clock. His letter tells me that he will call soon after that time at your lordship’s house in town, where he supposes I now am.”

“He will be disappointed at not finding you in town,” said Lord Smatterton.

There was much truth in this last remark of his lordship’s. The Earl was somewhat remarkable for the intense and unquestionable truth of many of his remarks. He was by no means given to what is called romancing. Indeed, so exquisitely and unquestionably true was this observation, that Penelope thought it needed not the corroboration of her assent, but that it must carry conviction to every mind. And so it did; and especially to the mind of the Countess, who immediately observed: “Perhaps it may be agreeable to Miss Primrose to go to town early to-morrow morning for the purpose of meeting her father.”

Her ladyship made this proposal because she had no desire to entertain Mr Primrose, and she thought that if Penelope was to be taken from her patronage at all, the sooner it was done the better. What prodigious lies patrons and patronesses do tell when they profess to have no other object in view than the welfare and happiness of those whom they patronise. The Countess of Smatterton had been pleasing herself with the thought that she should be the talk of the season, as producing and exhibiting such a prodigy as Miss Primrose; and her ladyship, who was very partial to thanks, had been enjoying the anticipation of Penelope’s overpowering gratitude for such distinguished and desirable patronage. But when all these pleasant and agreeable speculations seemed to burst like a bubble, then was her ladyship very angry and morose; and it was her wish to let Penelope know how deeply the disappointment was felt. There were no words however which her ladyship could use expressive of her feelings, and at the same time reproachful to Miss Primrose. It was not Penelope’s fault that her father, after an absence of sixteen years, was now returned to England; nor would it have been proper and just ground of rebuke that the young lady should be pleased at the thought of seeing her father again, and be ready to yield herself to his direction in preference to undergoing the precarious patronage of the great.

Lady Smatterton was not the less ill-humoured because she had no just ground on which she might utter the language of expostulation and reproof to Penelope, but on the contrary her anger was greater: for had there been an opportunity of indulging in language of reproach, that very circumstance would have been a relief and consolation. It was not therefore with a very agreeable intonation nor with the accompaniment of the most gracious of all possible looks that her ladyship proposed that Penelope should go to town to meet her father. But the poor girl being happy in her own thoughts, and unconscious of anything done or said by her that could be offensive to the Countess, was quite unobservant of the harshness of her ladyship’s manner, and thought only of the substantial kindness of the proposal. To the suggestion of the Countess Penelope therefore replied with grateful and pleasurable vivacity:

“Your ladyship is extremely kind; and, if it is not giving too much trouble, I should certainly be happy to take the earliest opportunity of meeting my father.”

“It will be giving no trouble,” hastily and sharply replied her ladyship; “there are coaches to town almost every hour. They will tell you in the housekeeper’s room what time the first coach goes.”

Some high-spirited young ladies would have been mightily indignant at a reference from a nobleman’s table to the housekeeper’s room and stage-coaches. But Penelope was not so high-spirited; she was so completely occupied with the thought of an early meeting with her father, that nothing else was able to obtain possession of her mind.

A momentary pause followed the last observation of the Countess; and then, in his own peculiarly majestic manner, the Earl of Smatterton said, “I am of opinion that it is not quite proper and suitable for a young lady to travel in a stage alone and unprotected.”

With exquisite, and as if premeditated, promptitude Lord Spoonbill replied, “Certainly not; but there will be no necessity for Miss Primrose going alone or in the stage-coach at all. I shall drive up to town tomorrow morning, and if the young lady will accept of a seat in my gig, I shall be most happy in her company.”

Hereupon a general family frowning took place. The Countess frowned at the Earl, his lordship frowned at Lord Spoonbill, and Lord Spoonbill frowned at the Countess; and if Penelope had not been too polite she would have laughed at all three. Lord Spoonbill, however, in spite of frowns, determined to have his own way, and seeing that Penelope was desirous of going to town, insisted on accompanying her.

The Countess was next puzzled how to part with Miss Primrose; whether as concluding that the young lady would not return to her and adopt the profession which had been recommended by her ladyship, or as admitting the probability that Mr Primrose would not object to the public employment of his daughter’s musical talents. For with all her ladyship’s alarm at the return of Mr Primrose to England, it had not yet appeared that his return would interfere with her ladyship’s schemes. The probability however was, that when there was no pecuniary necessity for the exercise of these talents, they would not be cultivated for public display.

Before the Countess parted from Penelope for the night, her ladyship said, “Miss Primrose, as I presume that your father may not object to the profession which I have chosen for you, may I ask when it will be convenient for you to take lessons previous to your public appearance: for it is now time to think of that matter? Of course you know that I have engaged a preceptor for you?”

The Countess of Smatterton had more fears than hopes on the subject, and as for Penelope herself, she had taken it for granted that the return of her father would of course release her from dependence on strangers, and consequently render all professional employment unnecessary. She was therefore startled at the question, but with tolerable promptitude and presence of mind, replied:

“I am grateful for your ladyship’s kindness. But, till I have seen my father, it is impossible to say when I can begin to apply myself to the instruction so kindly provided. I will return as soon as——”

The Countess understood this sentence, and answered with rather more asperity than became a kind and condescending patron: “You need not trouble yourself to return to me, Miss Primrose, unless you please to accept of the instruction that I have provided for you. If I confer favours I expect to choose what favours I shall confer.”

Penelope made no reply, for her heart was full, and she thought of Mrs Greendale; but, under all this, the joy at the thought of her father’s return kept her spirits from sinking.