The next day Blanche received a packet from Wentnor Castle. It contained some beautiful ornaments--offerings from different members of her future family, each accompanied by the prettiest note imaginable. Congratulations showered in from every quarter. All the numerous friends and relations of both sides wrote letters in which each party was described as perfection, and each as having met with perfection. It is astonishing that matrimony should ever fail to secure lasting happiness, when (if we may believe the written testimony of those who best know the contracting parties) none but paragons ever enter into the holy state. But among all the happy unions that have been joyfully anticipated, none ever gave more general satisfaction than the present. The age, situation, rank--everything was suitable. Poor Lady Blanche felt herself every moment more thoroughly hampered, entangled, and pledged; and every moment her disinclination to the marriage increased. It was an odd thing! but Mr. Stapleford's quiet manner of quizzing Lord Glenrith, and his imperturbable good-humour under it,--or rather, his perfect unconsciousness of what was happening,--hurt his cause even more than her preference of De Molton. She would rather have seen him angry and resentful; to persons with _la tête exaltée_, the smallest shadow of ridicule irrecoverably destroys the halo of romance they would fain throw around the object of their devotion. Blanche might have turned from her hopeless and youthful dream of love, to admiration, respect, obedience, and submission; but when her head, her heart, and her imagination were possessed with the dignified brow, the melancholy eyes, the mellow voice, the lofty air, the noble grief of De Molton, to see the joyous, the "ruddy" Glenrith perfectly contented under the quizzing of a Stapleford, prevented her being able to work herself up to the feelings it was her duty to entertain towards him. Mr. Wroxholme one day remarked to Lady Westhope, that Lady Blanche appeared to be extremely out of spirits, and that he almost feared her disposition and that of her future husband were not exactly suited. "She seems to take no pleasure in his country pursuits--she listens with an abstracted air while he continues to pour into her ear details which he might perceive are not interesting to her; though I own I sometimes wonder she should not be more curious about Wentnor Castle, which, from the engravings, must be a magnificent and interesting place." Lady Westhope agreed with Mr. Wroxholme, and could not help half confiding to him, that she feared Lady Blanche had some other prepossession. "Poor girl!" resumed Mr. Wroxholme; "but then it is a thousand pities she should marry, if she cannot love, Lord Glenrith."