The Seamstress; or, The White Slave of England — page 21: what you’re looking at

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

thy ne a Se Oe 14. THE SEAMSTRESS. became terrified lest the observation of passers-by | position which she feared might have proved or gazers from the windows should be attracted. Cruelly embarrassed how to act, and covered with confusion, the maiden felt her presence of mind abandoning her: but at this very moment the intervention of a third party rescued Virginia from the painful awkwardness of her position, and recalled the young gentleman to a sense of pro- priety. “ Charles—Charles—I am surprised at you!” ex- claimed a middle-aged gentleman who had just entered Grosvenor Square from the nearest street. “In the broad daylight—before the very windows too—and a young creature whose appearance alone should protect her against insult!” “Mr. Lavenham!” ejaculated the young stranger, raising his eyes from Virginia’s countenance, and meeting the reproving looks of one whom he evi- dently dared not treat with disrespect: for all the fervour of mien and manner which he had ex- hibited towards the seamstress now changed in a] moment into mingled shameand contrition. ‘“‘ This young person, sir,” he observed, “ will do me the justice to admit that I said nothing to insult her. I am incapable of such an action!” “And yet, Charles,’ replied Mr. Lavenham mildly, “there is no one reason why you are justi- fied in forcing yourself upon the notice of this young creature—whereas there are a thousand reasons why you should not. Come—take my arm, Miss; and I will see you in safety away from this neighbourhood.” These last words were addressed to Virginia, who mechanically accepted the protection which was proffered with a species of paternal kindness 2s well as with an unaffected bluntness of tone and manner ;—and her middle-aged companion, with- out taking any farther notice of the young gen- ' tleman, escorted the seamstress out of the Square, into the nearest street, with as much respect and attention as if she had been a lady of title carrying an elegant reticule in her hand instead of a mil- Jiner’s box. The occurrence had taken place so promptly that Virginia had not an instant for reflection ere she thus found herself supported on the arm of a gen- tleman concerning whom she knew nothing more than that the elegant young stranger had addressed him by the name of Lavenham. But when she threw a hasty and timid look at the companion whom circumstances had thus given her, she could experience no other sentiment than one of mingled gratitude, respect, and confidence: for Mr. Laven- ham was evidently aman moving in the superior ranks of life—his countenance wore an expression ef affability mingled with a settled melancholy— and in his appearance were united the polish of good breeding, the commanding power of intellect, and the benevolence of a truly compassionate soul. Gradually as the conviction penetrated into the maiden’s mind that she—the poor humble seam- stress, carrying a milliner’s box in her hand—was walking in one of the most fashionable quarters of the West End, supported on the arm of one whom her own refined discrimination signalized as a gentleman of good social standing—gradually as this conviction settled in her mind, we say, did she perceive, or fancy that she perceived, the necessity irksome to him even from the very first. She accordingly began to murmur some words of thanks for his kindness, making at the same time a motion as if she were about to withdraw her arm: but cutting her short with a species of blunt and frank benevolence, and tucking up her arm again in his own, Mr. Lavenham said, “Iam not ashamed of walking with you, if youare not ashamed of walking with me. But whither are you going?” “To Madame Duplessy’s in Great Castle Street, sir,’ was the response. ** Ah! the fashionable milliner?” exclaimed Mr. Lavenham: then, after a few moments’ pause, he said, “Did you ever see that young gentleman before ?—I mean the one who was persecuting you with his nonsense just now ?” “T never saw him before, sir,” replied Virginia. * And you do not eyen know who he is, perhaps ?” continued Mr. Lavenham. “T have not the slightest knowledge of him,” re- joined the seamstress. * But suppose I had not come up just at that moment,” observed her companion, eyeing her fixedly from beneath his brows,—‘‘should you not have ended by looking more favourably upon so handsome a youth? Come, speak the truth, my dear—and I shall think all the better of you for your sincerity.” ““Had you not treated me so kindly, sir,” an- swered Virginia, in a low tone of mingled reproach and emotion, “I should zow think that you also were disposed to insult me. Ah! sir, it is a hard thing that because one is poor, no credit will be given for rectitude of conduct—no faith put in vir- tuous intentions!’—and the maiden burst into tears. “ Don’t cry—don’t cry, my dear!” ejaculated Mr. Lavenham. ‘“ Pooh! nonsense—I did not mean to vex you! And now, by Jove! 1 feel a tear trickling down my own cheek,’ he added, as he passed his silk handkerchief rapidly over his countenance. “Well, I would rather have your indignant grief as an answer to the question I put to yon, thana mere yerbal protestation which might as well be faise as true. What is your name, Miss?” “Virginia Mordaunt,” was the reply. «A sweet name—a very sweet name!” observed Mr. Lavenham. “ You must not be offended with me for saying so: I am old enough to be your father. And you belong to Madame Duplessy’s? Now, my dear young lady,” he continued, his tone suddenly becoming serious and eyen solemn,—“do let me beseech you to cling to that love of integrity and that appreciation of a godd character which at present constitute the basis of your virtue. You are young—you are well-looking—you are de- pendent, no doubt, upon your labour for your bread; and London abounds in temptations. I speak to you, my dear, as if I were your father: for, some- how or another, I feel an interest in you. Think of my advice therefore; and although you may be poor, you will succeed in compelling the world to give you credit for that rectitude of conduct and those virtuous intentions of which you have spoken, And now, good bye, Miss Mordaunt. I shall not forget you—nor shall I lose sight of you.” ' With these words, the middle-aged gentleman of releasing him as speedily as possible from a| wrung the hand of the youthful seamstress with a EOMIGdoOO