Little did I imagine, my dear Mother, when I sent off my last letter,
that the delightful perturbation of spirits I was then in would undergo so
speedy, so melancholy a reverse. I never can sufficiently regret that I
wrote to you at all. Yet who could have foreseen what has happened? My dear
mother, every hope which made me so happy only two hours ago has vanished.
The quarrel between Lady Susan and Reginald is made up, and we are all as
we were before. One point only is gained. Sir James Martin is dismissed.
What are we now to look forward to? I am indeed disappointed; Reginald was
all but gone, his horse was ordered and all but brought to the door; who
would not have felt safe? For half an hour I was in momentary expectation
of his departure. After I had sent off my letter to you, I went to Mr.
Vernon, and sat with him in his room talking over the whole matter, and
then determined to look for Frederica, whom I had not seen since breakfast.
I met her on the stairs, and saw that she was crying. "My dear aunt," said
she, "he is going--Mr. De Courcy is going, and it is all my fault. I am
afraid you will be very angry with me. but indeed I had no idea it would
end so." "My love," I replied, "do not think it necessary to apologize to
me on that account. I shall feel myself under an obligation to anyone who
is the means of sending my brother home, because," recollecting myself, "I
know my father wants very much to see him. But what is it you have done to
occasion all this?" She blushed deeply as she answered: "I was so unhappy
about Sir James that I could not help--I have done something very wrong, I
know; but you have not an idea of the misery I have been in: and mamma had
ordered me never to speak to you or my uncle about it, and--" "You
therefore spoke to my brother to engage his interference," said I, to save
her the explanation. "No, but I wrote to him--I did indeed, I got up this
morning before it was light, and was two hours about it; and when my letter
was done I thought I never should have courage to give it. After breakfast
however, as I was going to my room, I met him in the passage, and then, as
I knew that everything must depend on that moment, I forced myself to give
it. He was so good as to take it immediately. I dared not look at him, and
ran away directly. I was in such a fright I could hardly breathe. My dear
aunt, you do not know how miserable I have been." "Frederica" said I,
"you ought to have told me all your distresses. You would have found in me
a friend always ready to assist you. Do you think that your uncle or I
should not have espoused your cause as warmly as my brother?" "Indeed, I
did not doubt your kindness," said she, colouring again, "but I thought Mr.
De Courcy could do anything with my mother; but I was mistaken: they have
had a dreadful quarrel about it, and he is going away. Mamma will never
forgive me, and I shall be worse off than ever." "No, you shall not," I
replied; "in such a point as this your mother's prohibition ought not to
have prevented your speaking to me on the subject. She has no right to make
you unhappy, and she shall NOT do it. Your applying, however, to Reginald
can be productive only of good to all parties. I believe it is best as it
is. Depend upon it that you shall not be made unhappy any longer." At that
moment how great was my astonishment at seeing Reginald come out of Lady
Susan's dressing-room. My heart misgave me instantly. His confusion at
seeing me was very evident. Frederica immediately disappeared. "Are you
going?" I said; "you will find Mr. Vernon in his own room." "No,
Catherine," he replied, "I am not going. Will you let me speak to you a
moment?" We went into my room. "I find," he continued, his confusion
increasing as he spoke, "that I have been acting with my usual foolish
impetuosity. I have entirely misunderstood Lady Susan, and was on the point
of leaving the house under a false impression of her conduct. There has
been some very great mistake; we have been all mistaken, I fancy. Frederica
does not know her mother. Lady Susan means nothing but her good, but she
will not make a friend of her. Lady Susan does not always know, therefore,
what will make her daughter happy. Besides, I could have no right to
interfere. Miss Vernon was mistaken in applying to me. In short, Catherine,
everything has gone wrong, but it is now all happily settled. Lady Susan, I
believe, wishes to speak to you about it, if you are at leisure."
"Certainly," I replied, deeply sighing at the recital of so lame a story. I
made no comments, however, for words would have been vain.