After dinner, Clementina was desired by her mother to go to the piano and play. She made so many excuses, said that she was tired, nervous, out of practice, that Ernest, little practised in the ways of Vanity Fair, was inclined to beg that the young lady might be let off. Great would have been her mortification had he done so, however—the girl was only refusing in order to be pressed; the virtue of sincerity, if she had ever possessed it, had all been frittered away by folly. She sat down to the instrument, determined to be admired; for admiration to her was as the very breath of life. She played what might be called a very brilliant piece—full of shakes, dashes, and runs, but with no melody at all. Ernest, though fond of music, thought it certainly not pretty, and, had he been more at his ease, could hardly have helped laughing at the affected air of the young performer, and the manner in which she threw up her hands, and sometimes her eyes also, in the slower movements of the piece. Every motion appeared to be studied: self was never for a moment forgotten. When the performance, rather to Ernest’s relief, was concluded, with a satisfied look the stately mother turned to the young peer, and asked him if that was not a beautiful piece. “Rather,” replied Ernest, after a little hesitation, as much vexed with himself for saying so much as Clementina was at his saying so little. Charles, who was standing near, could not avoid laughing; and Ernest read in the eyes of Mrs. Hope her unexpressed thought—“I have no patience for this low, ill-bred boor!”
With a secret feeling of constraint, mortification, and disappointment, poor Ernest retired at night to his own room. Two maids were preparing it as he entered, and he could not help overhearing the words of one of them,—
“’Tis a pity that Master Charles was not the eldest son.”
“I’m sure that I think so!” Ernest exclaimed, aloud, to the no small surprise of the girl who had uttered the observation.
There was another matter that weighed upon the mind of Ernest, and was his first thought when he awoke in the morning. It was the request which he was to make to his uncle concerning bringing Jack and Ben to the castle. Mr. Ewart had declined making the request for him, and in this Ernest thought his tutor for the first time unkind. But Ernest was mistaken, as those usually are who judge others without entering into their feelings or position. The truth was that Mr. Ewart very well knew that no request made by him would be likely to be granted. He was almost disliked by Mr. Hope, whose character presented a remarkable contrast to his own, and who treated his nephews’ tutor with bare civility, though as well born and better educated than himself.