, and Henry Esmond
knows who that is, is best served by my not pressing his claim. Beatrix is
so wilful, that what I would urge on her, she would be sure to resist. The
man who would marry her will not be happy with her, unless he be a great
person, and can put her in a great position. Beatrix loves admiration more
than love; and longs, beyond all things, for command. Why should a mother
speak so of her child? You are my son, too, Harry. You should know the
truth about your sister. I thought you might cure yourself of your
passion," my lady added fondly. "Other people can cure themselves of that
folly, you know. But I see you are still as infatuated as ever. When we
read your name in the _Gazette_, I pleaded for you, my poor boy. Poor boy,
indeed! You are growing a grave old gentleman now, and I am an old woman.
She likes your fame well enough, and she likes your person. She says you
have wit, and fire, and good breeding, and are more natural than the fine
gentlemen of the Court. But this is not enough. She wants a
commander-in-chief, and not a colonel. Were a duke to ask her, she would
leave an earl whom she had promised. I told you so before. I know not how
my poor girl is so worldly."

"Well," says Esmond, "a man can but give his best and his all. She has
that from me. What little reputation I have won, I swear I cared for it
because I thought Beatrix would be pleased with it. What care I to be a
colonel or a general? Think you 'twill matter a few score years hence,
what our foolish honours to-day are? I would have had a little fame, that
she might wear it in her hat. If I had anything better, I would endow her
with it. If she wants my life, I would give it her. If she marries
another, I will say God bless him. I make no boast, nor no complaint. I
think my fidelity is folly, perhaps. But so it is. I cannot help myself. I
love her. You are a thousand times better: the fondest, the fairest, the
dearest, of women. Sure, my dear lady, I see all Beatrix's faults as well
as you do. But she is my fate. 'Tis endurable. I shall not die for not
having her. I think I should be no happier if I won her. _Que
voulez-vous?_ as my lady of Chelsea would say. _Je l'aime_."

"I wish she would have you," said Harry's fond mistress, giving a hand to
him. He kissed the fair hand ('twas the prettiest dimpled little hand in
the world, and my Lady Castlewood, though now almost forty years old, did
not look to be within ten years of her age).