Tales and Novels — Volume 05
Edgeworth, Maria, 1767-1849
English
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TALES AND NOVELS, VOL. V
MANOEUVRING; ALMERIA; AND VIVIAN. (TALES OF FASHIONABLE LIFE.)
BY
MARIA EDGEWORTH
IN TEN VOLUMES. WITH ENGRAVINGS ON STEEL.
1857.
MANOEUVRING.
CHAPTER I.
"And gave her words, where oily Flatt'ry lays
The pleasing colours of the art of praise."--PARNELL.
NOTE FROM MRS. BEAUMONT TO MISS WALSINGHAM.
"I am more grieved than I can express, my dearest Miss Walsingham, by a
cruel _contre-temps_, which must prevent my indulging myself in the
long-promised and long-expected pleasure of being at your _fete de
famille_ on Tuesday, to celebrate your dear father's birthday. I trust,
however, to your conciliating goodness, my kind young friend, to
represent my distress properly to Mr. Walsingham. Make him sensible, I
conjure you, that my _heart_ is with you all, and assure him that this
is no common apology. Indeed, I never employ such artifices with my
friends: to them, and to you in particular, my dear, I always speak with
perfect frankness and candour. Amelia, with whom, _entre nous_, you are
more a favourite than ever, is so much vexed and mortified by this
disappointment, that I see I shall not be restored to favour till I can
fix a day for going to you: yet when that may be, circumstances, which I
should not feel myself quite justified in mentioning, will not permit me
to decide.
"Kindest regards and affectionate remembrances to all your dear
circle.--Any news of the young captain? Any hopes of his return from
sea?
"Ever with perfect truth, my dearest Miss Walsingham's sincere friend,
"EUGENIA BEAUMONT.
"P.S.--Private--read to yourself.
"To be candid with you, my dear young friend, my secret reason for
denying myself the pleasure of Tuesday's fete is, that I have just
heard that there is a shocking chicken-pox in the village near you; and
I confess it is one of my weaknesses to dread even the bare rumour of
such a thing, on account of my Amelia: but I should not wish to have
this mentioned in your house, because you must be sensible your father
would think it an idle womanish fear; and you know how anxious I am for
his esteem.
"Burn this, I beseech you----
"Upon second thoughts, I believe it will be best to tell the truth, and
the whole truth, to your father, if you should see that nothing else
will do----In short, I write in haste, and must trust now, as ever,
entirely to your discretion."
"Well, my dear," said Mr. Walsingham to his daughter, as the young lady
sat at the breakfast table looking over this note, "how long do you
mean to sit the picture of The Delicate Embarrassment? To relieve you
as far as in me lies, let me assure you that I shall not ask to see
this note of Mrs. Beaumont's, which as usual seems to contain some
mighty mystery."
"No great mystery; only----"
"Only--some minikin mystery?" said Mr. Walsingham. "Yes, '_Elle est
politique pour des choux et des raves_.'--This charming widow Beaumont
is _manoeuvrer_.[1] We can't well make an English word of it. The
species, thank Heaven! is not so numerous yet in England as to require
a generic name. The description, however, has been touched by one of
our poets:
'Julia's a manager: she's born for rule,
And knows her wiser husband is a fool.
For her own breakfast she'll project a scheme,
Nor take her tea without a stratagem.'
Even from the time when Mrs. Beaumont was a girl of sixteen I remember
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