A week passed over Mr. Crosbie's head at Courcy Castle without much
inconvenience to him from the well-known fact of his matrimonial
engagement. Both George De Courcy and John De Courcy had in their
different ways charged him with his offence, and endeavoured to annoy
him by recurring to the subject; but he did not care much for the
wit or malice of George or John De Courcy. The countess had hardly
alluded to Lily Dale after those few words which she said on the
first day of his visit, and seemed perfectly willing to regard his
doings at Allington as the occupation natural to a young man in such
a position. He had been seduced down to a dull country house, and
had, as a matter of course, taken to such amusements as the place
afforded. He had shot the partridges and made love to the young lady,
taking those little recreations as compensation for the tedium of the
squire's society. Perhaps he had gone a little too far with the young
lady; but then no one knew better than the countess how difficult it
is for a young man to go far enough without going too far. It was not
her business to make herself a censor on a young man's conduct. The
blame, no doubt, rested quite as much with Miss Dale as with him. She
was quite sorry that any young lady should be disappointed; but if
girls will be imprudent, and set their caps at men above their mark,
they must encounter disappointment. With such language did Lady De
Courcy speak of the affair among her daughters, and her daughters
altogether agreed with her that it was out of the question that
Mr. Crosbie should marry Lily Dale. From Alexandrina he encountered
during the week none of that raillery which he had expected. He
had promised to explain to her before he left the castle all the
circumstances of his acquaintance with Lily, and she at last showed
herself determined to demand the fulfilment of this promise; but,
previous to that, she said nothing to manifest either offence or a
lessened friendship. And I regret to say, that in the intercourse
which had taken place between them, that friendship was by no means
less tender that it had been in London.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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