Ellen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress — page 112: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ELLEN PERCY; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN ACTRESS. . Having thus spoken, the Duchess rose from her seat; and advancing towards Lady Mangold, she said, “I must insist, aunt, that you do not inter- fere any more in this matter.” “Oh, very well! do as you like, my dear!” ex- claimed Lady Mangold, with concentrated rage. © You may repent your obstinacy in rejecting my advice when it is too late. If poor dear Lord Mangold were alive-———” The Duchess evidently did not wish to hear what his lordship would have said or done were he still in the land of the living; and again address- ing herself to me, she besought that I would un- dertake the duties suggested. I had overheard the words she so firmly and even peremptorily ad- dressed to her aunt; and I reflected that it would not be either generous or just on my part to visit upon her Grace the indignation with which the insulting conduct of her frivolous old relative had inspired me. I therefore resolved to treat Lady . Mangold with the contempt she deserved; and I acceded to the propositions of the Duchess. “My son, the Marquis of Dalrymple,’ con- tinued her Grace, “is very anxious to take a part in these projected theatricals. I am sorry he is not here he left us only a few moments before your arrival 2 At this instant the door opened; and that same young gentleman entered whom I had previously met upon the stairs. I have already said that he was exceedingly handsome. His figure was tall and slender: his hair was of a rick brown: his eyes were of a fine sparkling hazel. There was an expression of candour and frankness in his countenance, which subdued or softened the some- what haughty style of his masculine beauty: for he had a short upper lip, curving as it were with a natural pride—and his entire profile might be termed aristocratic. His voice was musical—his manners were urbane and prepossessing. He had a happy laugh, and was evidently as yet unspoilt by those parasitical adulations which invariably surround the youthful scions of high titled fami- lies. “This is Miss Trafford, Herbert,” said the Duchess as he entered the room; “and this, Miss Trafford, is my son the Marquis of Dalrymple, of whom I was just speaking to you.” I rose from my seat: the youne Marquis ad- dressed me with as much courtesy as he could pos- sibly have shown towards any lady belonging to his own sphere; and there was moreover a certain respectful diffidence, almost amounting to bashful- ness, in his bearing towards me. We sat dis- cussing the contemplated theatricals, while Lady Mangold went on fanning herself to such a degree that it seemed as if it were only by this process she avoided falling back ina fit. I noticed that from time to time the Marquis of Dalrymple flung upon her a look of ineffable disgust: but the Duchess no longer seemed to be conscious of her presence. While deliberating upon the pieces that were to be performed, and arranging certain casts of characters, it became necessary to refer to one of Shakspere’s plays; and the young Marquis hastened from the room to fetch the required volume from the library. Scarcely had the door closed behind him, when a domestic entered to announce to the Duchess that some lady of rank 99 had just called and would not detain her Grace more than a few minutes. The Duchess desired me to excuse her; and she issued from the room. Lady Mangold did not seem immediately to per- ceive that she was thus left alone with me: she was rocking herself to and fro, and using her fan as vigorously as ever. But all of a sudden she started up, exclaiming with a sort of shriek, “Gracious! to think that they should have left me here with this person! If poor dear Lord Mangold were alive a She however stopped short; for it would seem that she never got further than the few first words of that ejaculatory sentence relative to her defunct spouse. I spoke not a syllable; for I had made up my mind to treat her with the contempt she deserved. She was making her way towards the door, when a thought evidently struck her. She halted—she reflected for a moment—and then she retraced her steps towards me, a complete change having taken place in her demeanour. She was now endeavouring to wreathe her wrinkled coun- tenance into smiles; and she said, “‘ Well, after all, Miss Trafford, I do think I have been a little too severe with you—and I hope you will forgive me,” “TI can assure your ladyship,’ I answered, gravely and somewhat coldly, “ that your conduct was not calculated to inspire so strong a feeling as a lasting resentment.” “Well, that is kind of you!” she cried, not fathoming the tincture of irony that pervaded my response. “ Let me see P—there is to be an after- piece, in which a goddess is to appear Did I not hear you say so P” “ Such is the arrangement, my lady,” I rejoined. “Tt is a piece founded on the heathen mytho- “To be sure!” she exclaimed; “and Venus is to appear. But you have not as yet arranged who is to personate Venus; and I was thinking In- deed, if poor dear Lord Mangold were alive But however, I was thinking, I say, that as there must be a Venus—and as neither her Grace nor Herbert I mean the Marquis of Dalrymple— have decided who should personate the character— but as i¢ seemed to be understood that it is to bea lady , “ And not an actress,” I interjected, with a cer- tain degree of scornful irony. * Well, you know, my dear Miss Trafford, it is an arrangement made by her Grace ; and you your- self agreed to it.” “‘ Because there are no artistic qualifications re- quired in reference to that character,’ I observed. “The Goddess of Beauty will merely make her ap- pearance at the back of the stage ie * Exactly so! Amidst clouds, and attended by a host of little Cupids !” exclaimed Lady Mangold. “Now, as you, Miss Trafford, are the superinten- dent—directress—manageress—or whatever the title be—your word is law; and of course what- ever you suggest must be done. I should not like to hint it myself to the Duchess—but you can pro= pose it as if i¢ were quite an inspiration of your wn you understand what I mean and if poor dear Lord Mangold were alive “ Indeed I do not understand your ladyship,’” I said, though not without a suspicion of the asto- nishing extent to which her silly conceit and vanity were on the point of reaching. ? CORNIECLOO ‘Ss Com