The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 217: what you’re looking at

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

Her hair was of a rieh auburn, which wantoned in a thousand glossy and shining ringlets upon her shoulders, and gave her so youthful an appearance that, when it was thus arranged, she seemed to have ecarcely reached her thirtieth year. Her eyes were Jarge and of a deep hazel hue,—sometimes languish- ing and tender—at others lustrous with an over- whelming light,—sometimes with love beaming in every glance—at others flashing with the natural but fatent haughtiness of a proud disposition. Her complexion was of the purest white, save where on each plump and well-rounded cheek it blushed into the rose’s hue; and her lips, full but not thick, were of the brightest coral. Her teeth were small, beautifully white, and faultlessly even; and, when she laughed, it appeared as if they were musical pearls that thus sent forth a delicious, soft, and silvery sound. Her figure was on a large acale, but admirably proportioned, the fulness of the bust setting off the wasp-like symmetry of the waist: her arms were robust, but stainlessly white and exquisitely rounded, —and the graceful majesty of her walk indicated the fine and well-modelled length of limb which im- parted to her gait its classic elegance and statuesque dignity. Such was Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire—the idol of that sphere of fashion over which she presided with unquestioned sway, and from which she received all the blandishments of flattery and all the homage of worabip and devotion. Throwing herself upon a sofa with the ease and familiarity ef one who knew and felt that she was in the abode of an intimate friend, the brilliant Duchess waited until Lady Desborough made her appear- ance; and when the latter entered the reom after a few minutes’ delay, their greeting was reciprocally cordial. “ Dearest Georgiana,” eaid the Countess, “ I am delighted to see you. It is an age since we lag. met.” ‘“ Nearly six months, Eleanor,” responded the Duchess of Devonshire. ‘‘ My tour in Scotland has been protracted’ beyond my original expectg, tions: but at length, behold me once more in happy London. I only returned with his Grace last even- ing—and my first visit is paid to you.” “Your friendship, dear Georgiana, is most soothing and consolatory to me,” said the Countess of Des- borough, an involuntary sigh escaping her bosom. “Heavens! you are unhappy,” exclaimed the Duchess of Devonshire, taking Eleanor’s hand and pressing it affectionately. “Tell me, my beloved friend—what is the matter with you?—wherefore do you sigh ?” “Oh! it is nothing — nothing, I can assure you,” answered the Countess, hastily. “ Rut I have been somewhat indisposed to-day — a partial head- ache——”" “ My dearest Eleanor, this excuse would pass cur- rent with a mere acquaintance,” interrupted her Grace; “ but not with a sincere—a very sincere friend. Recollect Eleanor, we have known each other since our childhood, I might almost say—notwithstanding there is a difference of ten years between my age and yours. Therefore, as an elder sister do I speak to you—for as a sister I love you, Eleanor.” “ How can I sufficiently testify my gratitude for. these generous expressions ?"’ exclaimed the Countess of Desborough. “ By making me the confidant of your secret sor- THER MYSTERIES. row,” was the prompt answer: “for a eccret sorrow am I assured that you cherish. Bat imagine not for an instant, Eleanor, that a base and contemptible | feeling of curiosity urges me thus to address you | Intimate as I have been with you—devoted in our friendship as we are towards each other—this is the first time that I have ever ventured to touch upon so delicate a topic. Often and often have I beheld you pensive — thoughtful— melancholy—unhappy : and I have longed to throw my arms round your neck, and implore you to confide your sorrows to me, that [ might sympathise and console. Six years have now passed since you became the Countess of Desborough—and I know that the alliance which you have formed has not ensured your felicity. Nay—this much is no secret with the world gene- rally: but the cause is unsuspected—unknown—be- yond all power of conjecture. To me, I confess, it is the greatest of mysteries: for the noble earl, your husband, appears to possess every qualification adapted to render your existence a paradise and win your best affections. Tell me, then, dearest E!eanor —tell your sincerest and most attached friend the source of your sorrow. Perhaps I may be enabled to counsel and advise: at all events I am certain to sympathise with ycu and offer such consolation as it may be in my power to impart.” “The world, then, is aware that his lordship and | myself dwell not together in the sweet harmony of ' matrimonial bliss?” said the Countess of Desborough, casting down her looks, while a deep carnation suf- fused her clear olive cheeks. “Such is indeed the case, Eleanor,” returned Georgiana. “But, understand me well—the world attributes no blame to you—your reputation is un- ' sullied—scandal has never dared to whisper a syllable agains* you,” ° “Oh! it would be cruel indeed if it were other- wise!’ exclaimed Eleanor, with a degree of bitter- ness which surprised her friend. —_— “But pray let us - change the conversation—let us pass to some other | topic. ° “Have you no faith in friendship?" asced the Duchess of Devonshire, in a gentle tone of reproach : “can you not conceive that by unbosoming yourself to me, you will be consoled and comforted? Or do you fancy that the giddy whirl of pleasure and fash- ionable dissipation has rendered me so thvuroughly heartless ——" “Oh! no—no!’ interrupted the Countess, shocked by the cruel suspicion thus implied; “I know that you are everything kind — generous — afféction- ate ———” “Then you will trust me?—you will confide in me?” said Georgiana, her tone assuming the tender- ness of the most unfeigned friendship. “You do not require from my lips the assurance that your secret, whatever it may be, will rest as a sacred deposit in my bosom—never, never to be revealed.” “I know not what to say!” exclaimed Eleanor, clasping her hands in asudden paroxysm of anguish, while a tear rolled down each blushing cheek. “I am bewildered, Georgiana—I am uncertain how to act! Your kindness prompts me to unbosom my- self without reserve : but, on the other hand, feelings which I cannot explain——” “Oh! you are indeed unhappy, my sweet friend interrupted her Grace; “and yet you hesitate te allow me the means of sympathising with you! Eleanor, this is cruel—this is unjust—for you are COMIC OO© SS t ¢ co