When a lady finds herself a second time alone with a gentleman who has once addressed her on an interesting topic, but whose address has not been altogether pleasant and agreeable, the lady’s situation is by no means enviable. It is more distressing still when, in the recollection of the young lady, there are yet lingering the faint relics of brighter and better hopes.

This was the situation of Penelope when Lord Spoonbill called upon her. Mr Primrose was not within: business demanded his attention in the City, and there he was likely to be detained some hours. The young lord, with well feigned seriousness, expressed his regret that he should be so unfortunate as not to meet with Mr Primrose, and he added that he would call again if Mr Primrose was likely soon to return. When however he heard that Penelope did not expect her father till dinner-time, he was more pleased with the information than he professed to be. Miss Primrose very respectfully enquired after the Earl and Countess of Smatterton; and, in replying to those enquiries, Lord Spoonbill took the opportunity of hinting that her ladyship felt somewhat anxious to know whether the return of Mr Primrose to England had induced Penelope to relinquish the thought of that profession which she had recently contemplated, and for which immediate preparation became otherwise necessary and important.

In reply to this enquiry, Penelope informed his lordship that her father had expressed himself decidedly of opinion that such pursuit would not be agreeable to himself or necessary for his daughter. Lord Spoonbill cared little for the disappointment, except that it would be in the way of his schemes, and render the arrangement which he meditated rather more difficult of execution. So far as expectation was concerned, he was prepared for this event; but he was not prepared with any plan that he might immediately pursue.

After the common-place talk was finished, his lordship thought that he ought to take his leave; but he was reluctant to go, and he did not know how to stay. Penelope also wished him gone, for she was afraid of a renewal of an unpleasant topic. The young lady also took no particular pains to conceal that wish, and his lordship was not quite so flat as not to discern that his presence was not very acceptable. In truth, his situation was grievously perplexing, and a wiser man than he would have been at a loss in such circumstances how to act. It was clear to him that Penelope had not quite forgotten Robert Darnley; it was also obvious that Lord Spoonbill was not yet essential to the happiness of Miss Primrose; he most earnestly desired to render himself agreeable to Miss Primrose, and he very well knew that nothing could be more agreeable than that he should take his leave; but that would not have been agreeable to himself; and greatly as he desired to do anything that might recommend him to the approbation of Miss Primrose, he was equally desirous of avoiding anything that might be disagreeable or unpleasant to himself.

Lord Spoonbill is not to be regarded in this instance as differing so very widely from the rest of the world. Other lovers frequently have the same ideas on the subject of the mutual accommodation of themselves and their adored ones. And if, after this observation, any individual of the gentler sex should be deceived by professions and protestations of disinterestedness, the fault will be hers and not ours.

In this embarrassing situation in which Lord Spoonbill was placed, it occurred to his most fertile imagination that it might greatly forward his designs upon Penelope, if, by any means, he could contrive to bring the young lady to think unhandsomely of Robert Darnley. It certainly would not do for his lordship to make any direct allusion to this young gentleman; for it was hardly supposed by Miss Primrose that there existed in the mind of his lordship any knowledge of the acquaintance between her and the son of the rector of Neverden; and such was his lordship’s clumsiness in the management of his irregularities, that he was even fearful of the most indirect allusion to Robert Darnley, lest, in making that allusion, he might betray himself.

At length it came into his lordship’s most sagacious head that, although it might be hazardous to make any allusion to Neverden, there could not be much risk incurred by enquiring after Mrs Greendale, therefore he ventured to ask, as if for want of something else to say, if Miss Primrose had lately heard from Smatterton, and in making this enquiry he endeavoured to watch the countenance of the young lady most narrowly, in order to observe whether the mention of Smatterton produced any deep emotion as connected with Neverden. Penelope answered with perfect composure, and informed the hereditary legislator that Mrs Greendale had not written to her since her departure from Smatterton.

After mentioning Mrs Greendale, his lordship proceeded to some more common talk, merely and obviously to delay his departure; and he manifested in this kind of talk that he had a great wish to recur to that topic which he had introduced on the morning of Mr Primrose’s meeting with his daughter. But if it was evident to Penelope that such was his lordship’s wish, it was quite as evident to his lordship that the young lady was equally uneasy under the apprehension, and dreaded the repetition of a discussion which at its first introduction had so distressed her thoughts.

And now it would have been absolutely and uncontrollably necessary for Lord Spoonbill to take his leave, and he must have taken his leave, not knowing when or how he might find Penelope again, had it not been for one of those unexpected and extraordinary accidents which often change the aspect of a whole life. This accident was neither more nor less than the sudden return of Mr Primrose to his hotel.

By the expression of Mr Primrose’s countenance, which seldom indeed concealed or belied the emotions of his mind, it was visible that some calamity had befallen him, or at least that something had occurred to discompose him. It might not be anything very serious; Penelope hoped it was not; for, during the short time that she had been with her father she had had abundant occasion of observing that such was the susceptibility of his feelings, that the expressions of joy and sorrow were soon excited, and that by a very slight and trifling occurrence.

But it was soon manifest that it was no trivial circumstance that oppressed the spirits of her father in the present instance. When he entered the apartment he scarcely noticed his daughter or Lord Spoonbill. He took the former by the hand, and to the latter he slightly bowed; and this was his only recognition of them, for he did not open his lips, and he scarcely directed his looks towards them. His lips were closely compressed, as if he feared that by opening them he should betray or give way to stronger expressions of grief than might well become him. He sat himself down upon a chair and looked listlessly out into the street, moving neither feature nor muscle, except that the vibration of his eyelids was more rapid than usual.

Lord Spoonbill was now at a loss whether to offer his sympathy or to take his departure. He could not, with any great propriety, leave the room without taking some notice of Mr Primrose; but such was the expression of the poor man’s countenance, that it seemed that merely to speak to him in the most common-place manner imaginable would be to distress his feelings, and to burst open that flood of grief which he seemed to endeavour to restrain. Directing therefore an enquiring look to Penelope, and again turning towards Mr Primrose, his lordship, by these looks and the movements which accompanied them, intimated an intention of departing, if his presence were a restraint. Seeing that Mr Primrose kept his position, and that no change was made in his features, his lordship was just whispering to Penelope that he was sorry to see her father under such depression, and that it might be agreeable that he should leave them, Mr Primrose hastily started up and said;

“I beg your pardon, Lord Spoonbill, for my rudeness, but I have met with a shock this morning that has completely subdued me.”

At this speech, Penelope caught her father’s hand with tender eagerness, and asked, as well as her feelings would allow, what was the nature of the misfortune that he had met with. Most tenderly, and with a tone which reached even the heart of Lord Spoonbill, Mr Primrose said;

“My dear, dear child, you are a dependent again, and God knows how soon you may be an orphan indeed.”

Before Penelope could speak, and indeed before she well comprehended her father’s meaning, the distressed man directed his speech to Lord Spoonbill, saying;

“Could you believe it possible, my lord, that such deliberate villains should exist in a Christian country, as to take from a man the little property which he had been toiling for years to accumulate, to take what they knew they never could restore. Those villains suffered me, but ten days ago, to deposit my all in their hands, and now they have stopped payment; and from all that I can hear in the City, I am not likely to receive above one shilling in the pound, and I may wait months, or perhaps years, for that.”

It may be in the recollection of the reader, that Lord Spoonbill was described in an early part of this narrative as being unduly and indecently pleased to hear of the illness of Dr Greendale, as exulting in the thought that the decease of that worthy, kind-hearted man would afford his lordship a more convenient opportunity of pursuing his schemes against the peace and innocence of Penelope Primrose. It will not therefore appear very surprizing if that same hereditary legislator should regard the present calamity of Mr Primrose as an agreeable circumstance to himself, and as greatly favouring his designs. There was however, in the contemplation of this misfortune of the father of Penelope, a desire also on the part of his lordship to contribute towards its alleviation. Lord Spoonbill was a profligate, and he was a mean, contemptible fellow; but he was not a devil incarnate, delighting in mischief or wickedness purely for its own sake. He wished Mr Primrose no ill, he had no desire to inflict any injuries or to give pain to any one, but he loved himself, and he pursued his own plans for his own pleasure, and he was pleased with whatever gave him promise or hope of success, even though that very circumstance should be the death or injury of another.

Seeing, therefore, that in the present circumstances there was something which afforded him promise, he was pleased, and being pleased he very kindly sympathised with Mr Primrose, and expressed a wish that matters might not be quite so bad as was expected.

Mr Primrose took his lordship’s sympathy very kindly, and his mind was soothed by it; and with rather more self-possession than might have been expected, he replied; “For myself, I care but little; but it is mortifying, after so long an absence from my native land, and after so much toil and perseverance for the sake of my own and only child, to find that all the fruit of that toil is swept away at once.”

Penelope, who had been overwhelmed by the suddenness of the intelligence, had scarcely spoken; but now assuming with great success a calmness and resolvedness of manner, said to her father:

“If that be all the calamity, my dear father, it is easily remedied. The Countess of Smatterton has been kind enough to promise me her high patronage, and to facilitate my efforts towards providing an independency, and Lord Spoonbill has but this moment, just before you returned, been enquiring whether or not I design to continue my preparation for that pursuit.”

“No, no, my Penelope, that is an occupation which I am sure can never suit your taste. I will not on any account consent to that. How can I bear to think of my own child exerting and wasting her strength to amuse the public, and to see her standing before a promiscuous and unfeeling multitude, exposed to the rudeness and insolence of loudly expressed disapprobation and extempore criticism?”

“Nay, my good sir,” said Lord Spoonbill in his pleasantest manner; “there is no danger, and there need be no fear, that Miss Primrose will ever incur disapprobation; whatever loud expressions there may be, will be expressions of applause and delight.”

“And that,” rejoined Mr Primrose, “is almost as bad. To stand up before a multitude and beg for their applause, even if the applause be gained, is to my feelings humiliating. To a female it is more painful still. I cannot brook the idea of being dependent on a multitude, a capricious mass of, perhaps, gross and indiscriminating individuals.”

Lord Spoonbill was so much delighted with the probability of Miss Primrose’s return to the condescending and discriminating patronage of the Countess of Smatterton, that the anticipation made him more than usually eloquent and logical; and there was something also in the manner of Mr Primrose that excited the hereditary legislator to use his utmost powers of persuasion. He therefore thus pursued the subject:

“But, sir, it is not merely in that profession which Miss Primrose contemplates, that the public takes the liberty of expressing its opinion. The highest personage in the kingdom is not exempt from expressions of public censure or public applause; and when a nobleman in the House of Peers, or a gentleman in the House of Commons, rises and expresses his sentiments on any question of policy, the public takes the liberty to express, and sometimes very loudly and rudely, an opinion of the merits or demerits of such speech.”

“Yes, my lord, you are talking very plausibly; but you must feel that there is a wide difference between the two cases. You cannot by such arguments cheat me out of my feelings. I thought it a calamity when I heard that my child meditated that profession, and I was delighted that it was in my power to save her from such a painful publicity.”

It was not perhaps quite consistent with the strictest veracity when Penelope, interrupting her father, said: “Indeed, my dear father, you quite misunderstand me, if you think that I should feel any unpleasant sensations in that publicity.”

Mr Primrose saw clearly enough the motive of that speech; and he began to wish that this discussion had not taken place in the presence of a third person; and Lord Spoonbill saw that this feeling oppressed the poor man. With a degree of propriety and delicacy therefore, which he could readily assume when it suited his purpose, he concluded his visit by saying:

“Well, Mr Primrose, I will not intrude upon you any longer for the present; and I can only say, that I hope you will not find the affairs of your banker quite so bad as you expect; but if you should, then I will venture to say that the Earl of Smatterton will not forget a near relative of the late respected Dr Greendale. Our family will be in town in a few days, and I shall be most happy then to repeat my call. And should Miss Primrose still persist in wishing to adopt the musical profession, a patroness and every possible assistance will not be wanting.”

In this there was much kindness, and Mr Primrose was accordingly pleased with the young lord, and forgot for a moment that he had ever heard any stories to his discredit. And, when the father and daughter were left alone, they entered into long and serious talk concerning their respective prospects.

Mr Primrose was not left absolutely pennyless by the stopping of his banker; but the greater part of his property was gone if, as report stated, the house should be only able to pay one shilling in the pound. Indeed, upon the supposition of a much larger dividend, the property, which would then remain to Mr Primrose, would be but a very narrow and scanty independence. He had not made so very large a fortune in India as some persons are said to have accumulated; but, as soon as he had acquired what he thought a respectable competence, he returned to England to have as much as possible the enjoyment of his daughter’s company, and those pleasures which none but a native land is capable of affording.

When he had stated to Penelope as accurately and fully as possible the various particulars relative to his property, and mentioned the sources from whence the rumours came concerning the incompetency of his banker, the young lady very composedly expressed her readiness to avail herself of the proffered patronage of the Countess of Smatterton. There appeared so much sincerity and cheerfulness in the proposal, that Mr Primrose felt himself considerably relieved: and not only did there appear sincerity in the language used by Penelope, but there really was what there appeared to be. For reluctant as she might have been to engage in such a profession merely for the gratification of a patroness, she felt very differently when she thought that she might thereby be an assistance to her father.

Hurt as Mr Primrose’s feelings, or pride, might have been at the thought of receiving assistance from his own daughter, whom he had hoped to place in a state of independence, and mortified as he might be at the prospect of the young lady making a public appearance, yet he had but little to say to the repeated enquiry which Penelope made in answer to all his objections; for invariably his remarks were followed by the question—“What else can be done?”

It was too late for Mr Primrose to return to India; and the patronage or interest which once had favoured him now existed for him no longer. He had not been brought up to any profession whereby he might gain a livelihood in England, and he had been accustomed to a style of living which rendered daily bread a more expensive article to him than to those of humbler prospects.

A very distressing and heart-rending scene may be drawn of human suffering from the lowest and most abject of the children of penury and destitution. But we have our doubts whether the bitterest and keenest sense of suffering is really in that class. The poor gentleman suffers mentally, and while the beggar who lives on casual charity has an occasional luxury in a full meal, he, whose poverty must be hidden but cannot be unknown, is labouring under an unremitting and incessant pressure; and it is this that wastes away the body to a mere shadow and bows down the spirit to the earth. They are cruel and unfeeling indeed, who mock such misery as this. We envy not the talent which can draw mirth from a source so painful.