quered was once more renewed; and in my anxiety that
you should marry, not for aggrandizement, but happiness, I own to my
sorrow that I rather favoured than forbade his addresses. The young
man--remember, Flora--appeared in society as the nephew and heir of a
gentleman of ancient family and considerable property; he was rising
in diplomacy, popular in the world, and, so far as we could see, of
irreproachable character; this must plead my excuse for tolerating
his visits, without instituting further inquiries respecting him, and
allowing your attachment to proceed without ascertaining how far it had
yet extended. I was awakened to a sense of my indiscretion by an inquiry
which Mr. Linden's popularity rendered general; namely, if Mr. Talbot
was his uncle, who was his father? who his more immediate relations? and
at that time Lord Borodaile informed us of the falsehood he had either
asserted or allowed to be spread in claiming Mr. Talbot as his relation.
This you will observe entirely altered the situation of Mr. Linden
with respect to you. Not only his rank in life became uncertain, but
suspicious. Nor was this all: his very personal respectability was no
longer unimpeachable. Was this dubious and intrusive person, without a
name and with a sullied honour, to be your suitor? No, Flora; and it
was from this indignant conviction that I spoke to you some days since.
Forgive me, my child, if I was less cautious, less confidential than
I am now. I did not imagine the wound was so deep, and thought that I
should best cure you by seeming unconscious of your danger. The case is
now changed; your illness has convinced me of my fault, and the extent
of your unhappy attachment: but will my own dear child pardon me if I
still continue, if I even confirm, my disapproval of her choice? Last
night at the Opera Mr. Linden entered my box. I own that I was cooler to
him than usual. He soon left us, and after the Opera I saw him with
the Duke of Haverfield, one of the most incorrigible roues of the
day, leading out a woman of notoriously bad character and of the most
ostentatious profligacy. He might have had some propriety, some decency,
some concealment at least, but he passed just before me,--before the
mother of the woman to whom his vows of honourable attachment were due
and who at that very instant was suffering from her infatuation for him.
Now, Flora, for this man, an obscure and possibly a plebeian adventurer,
whose only claim to not