East Lynne | Page 8

wondrously gifted by nature,
not only in mind and person but in heart. She was as little like a
fashionable young lady as it was well possible to be, partly because she
had hitherto been secluded from the great world, partly from the care
bestowed upon her training. During the lifetime of her mother, she had
lived occasionally at East Lynne, but mostly at a larger seat of the earl's
in Wales, Mount Severn; since her mother's death, she had remained
entirely at Mount Severn, under the charge of a judicious governess, a
very small establishment being kept for them, and the earl paying them
impromptu and flying visits. Generous and benevolent she was, timid
and sensitive to a degree, gentle, and considerate to all. Do not cavil at
her being thus praised--admire and love her whilst you may, she is
worthy of it now, in her innocent girlhood; the time will come when
such praise would be misplaced. Could the fate that was to overtake his
child have been foreseen by the earl, he would have struck her down to
death, in his love, as she stood before him, rather than suffer her to
enter upon it.
CHAPTER II.
THE BROKEN CROSS.
Lady Isabel's carriage continued its way, and deposited her at the
residence of Mrs. Levison. Mrs. Levison was nearly eighty years of age,
and very severe in speech and manner, or, as Mrs. Vane expressed it,
"crabbed." She looked the image of impatience when Isabel entered,
with her cap pushed all awry, and pulling at the black satin gown, for
Mrs. Vane had kept her waiting dinner, and Isabel was keeping her
from her tea; and that does not agree with the aged, with their health or
with their temper.
"I fear I am late," exclaimed Lady Isabel, as she advanced to Mrs.
Levison; "but a gentleman dined with papa to-day, and it made us
rather longer at table."

"You are twenty-five minutes behind your time," cried the old lady
sharply, "and I want my tea. Emma, order it in."
Mrs. Vane rang the bell, and did as she was bid. She was a little woman
of six-and-twenty, very plain in face, but elegant in figure, very
accomplished, and vain to her fingers' ends. Her mother, who was dead,
had been Mrs. Levison's daughter, and her husband, Raymond Vane,
was presumptive heir to the earldom of Mount Severn.
"Won't you take that tippet off, child?" asked Mrs. Levison, who knew
nothing of the new-fashioned names for such articles, mantles, burnous,
and all the string of them; and Isabel threw it off and sat down by her.
"The tea is not made, grandmamma!" exclaimed Mrs. Vane, in an
accent of astonishment, as the servant appeared with the tray and the
silver urn. "You surely do not have it made in the room."
"Where should I have it made?" inquired Mrs. Levison.
"It is much more convenient to have it brought in, ready made," said
Mrs. Vane. "I dislike the /embarass/ of making it."
"Indeed!" was the reply of the old lady; "and get it slopped over in the
saucers, and as cold as milk! You always were lazy, Emma--and given
to use those French words. I'd rather stick a printed label on my
forehead, for my part, 'I speak French,' and let the world know it in that
way."
"Who makes tea for you in general?" asked Mrs. Vane, telegraphing a
contemptuous glance to Isabel behind her grandmother.
But the eyes of Lady Isabel fell timidly and a blush rose to her cheeks.
She did not like to appear to differ from Mrs. Vane, her senior, and her
father's guest, but her mind revolted at the bare idea of ingratitude or
ridicule cast on an aged parent.
"Harriet comes in and makes it for me," replied Mrs. Levison; "aye,
and sits down and takes it with me when I am alone, which is pretty

often. What do you say to that, Madame Emma--you, with your fine
notions?"
"Just as you please, of course, grandmamma."
"And there's the tea-caddy at your elbow, and the urn's fizzing away,
and if we are to have any tea to-night, it had better be made."
"I don't know how much to put in," grumbled Mrs. Vane, who had the
greatest horror of soiling her hands or her gloves; who, in short, had a
particular antipathy to doing anything useful.
"Shall I make it, dear Mrs. Levison?" said Isabel, rising with alacrity. "I
had used to make it quite as often as my governess at Mount Severn,
and I make it for papa."
"Do, child," replied the old lady. "You are worth ten of her."
Isabel laughed merrily, drew off her gloves, and sat down to the table;
and at that moment a young and elegant