The succeeding morning, the whole party, with, the exception of Denbigh,
returned to the hall. Nothing had occurred out of the ordinary course of
the colonel's assiduities; and Jane, whose sense of propriety forbad the
indulgence of premeditated tête-à-têtes, and such little accompaniments of
every-day attachments, was rejoiced to see a sister she loved, and an aunt
she respected, once more in the bosom of her family.
The dowager impatiently waited an opportunity to effect, what she intended
for a master-stroke of policy in the disposal of Grace. Like all other
managers, she thought no one equal to herself in devising ways and means,
and was unwilling to leave anything to nature. Grace had invariably
thwarted all her schemes by her obstinacy; and as she thought young
Moseley really attached to her, she determined by a bold stroke to remove
the impediments of false shame, and the dread of repulse, which she
believed alone kept the youth from an avowal of his wishes, and get rid at
once of a plague that had annoyed her not a little--her daughter's
delicacy.
Sir Edward spent an hour every morning in his library, overlooking his
accounts, and in other necessary employments of a similar nature, and it
was here she determined to have the conference.
"My Lady Chatterton, you do me honor," said the baronet, handing her a
chair on her entrance.
"Upon my word, cousin," cried the dowager, "you have a very convenient
apartment here," looking around her in affected admiration of all she saw.
The baronet replied, and a short discourse on the arrangements of the
whole house insensibly led to some remarks on the taste of his mother, the
Honorable Lady Moseley (a Chatterton), until, having warmed the feelings
of the old gentleman by some well-timed compliments of that nature, she
ventured on the principal object of her visit.
"I am happy to find, Sir Edward, you are so well pleased with the family
as to wish to make another selection from it. I sincerely hope it may
prove as judicious as the former one."
Sir Edward was a little at a loss to understand her meaning, although he
thought it might allude to his son, who he had some time suspected had
views on Grace Chatterton; and willing to know the truth, and rather
pleased to find John had selected a young woman he loved in his heart, he
observed--
"I am not sure I rightly understand your ladyship, though I hope I do."
"No!" cried the dowager, in well-counterfeited affectation of surprise.
"Perhaps, after all, maternal anxiety has deceived me, then. Mr. Moseley
could hardly have ventured to proceed without your approbation."
"I have ever declined influencing any of my children, Lady Chatterton,"
said the baronet, "and John is not ignorant of my sentiments. I sincerely
hope, however, you allude to an attachment to Grace?"
"I did certainly, Sir Edward," said the lady, hesitatingly "I may be
deceived; but you must understand the feelings of a mother, and a young
woman ought not to be trifled with."
"My son is incapable of trifling, I hope," cried Sir Edward; with
animation, "and, least of all, with Grace Chatterton No; you are quite
right. If he has made his choice, he should not be ashamed to avow it."
"I would not wish, on any account, to hurry matters," said the dowager;
"but the report which is abroad will prevent other young men from putting
in their claims, Sir Edward" (sighing). "I have a mother's feelings: if I
have been hasty, your goodness will overlook it." And Lady Chatterton
placed her handkerchief to her eyes, to conceal the tears that did not
flow.
Sir Edward thought all this very natural, and as it should be, and he
sought an early conference with his son.
"John," said the father, taking his hand kindly, "you have no reason to
doubt my affection or my compliance to your wishes. Fortune is a thing out
of the question-with a young man of your expectations." And Sir Edward, in
his eagerness to smoothe the way, went on: "You can live here, or occupy
my small seat in Wiltshire. I can allow you five thousand a year, with
much ease to myself. Indeed, your mother and myself would both straighten
ourselves, to add to your comforts; but it is unnecessary--we have enough,
and you have enough."
Sir Edward, in a few moments, would have settled everything to the
dowager's perfect satisfaction, had not John interrupted him by the
exclamation of--
"To what do you allude, father?"
"Allude?" said Sir Edward, simply. "Why, Grace Chatterton, my son."
"Grace Chatterton! Sir Edward. What have I to do with Grace Chatterton?"
"Her mother has made me acquainted with your proposals, and"--
"Proposals!"
"Attentions, I ought to have said; and you have no reason to apprehend
anything from me, my child."
"Attentions!" said John, haughtily. "I hope Lady Chatterton does not
accuse me of improper attentions to her daughter?"
"No, not improper, my son," said his father: "on the contrary, she is much
pleased with them."
"She is, is she? But I am displeased that she should undertake to put
constructions on my acts that no attention or words of mine will justify."
It was now Sir Edward's turn to be surprised. He had thought he was doing
his son a kindness, when he had only been forwarding the dowager's
schemes; but averse from contention, and wondering at his cousin's
mistake, which he at once attributed to her anxiety in behalf of a
favorite daughter, he told John he was sorry there had been any
misapprehension, and left him.
"No, no," said Moseley, internally, as he paced up and down his father's
library, "my lady dowager, you are not going to force a wife down my
throat. If you do, I am mistaken; and Grace, if Grace"--John softened and
began to feel unhappy a little, but anger prevailed.
From the moment Grace Chatterton conceived a dread of her mother's saying
anything to Sir Edward, her whole conduct was altered. She could hardly
look any of the family in the face, and it was her most ardent wish that
they might depart. John she avoided as she would an adder, although it
nearly broke her heart to do so.
Mr. Benfield had stayed longer than usual, and he now wished to return.
John Moseley eagerly profited by this opportunity, and the very day after
the conversation in the library he went to Benfield Lodge as a dutiful
nephew, to see his venerable uncle safely restored once more to the abode
of his ancestors.
Lady Chatterton now perceived, when too late, that she had overshot her
mark, while, at the same time, she wondered at the reason of a result so
strange from such well-digested and well-conducted plans. She determined,
however, never again to interfere between her daughter and the baronet's
heir; concluding, with a nearer approach to the truth than always
accompanied her deductions, that they resembled ordinary lovers in neither
their temperaments nor opinions.
Perceiving no further use in remaining any longer at the hail, she took
her leave, and, accompanied by both her daughters, proceeded to the
capital, where she expected to meet her son.
Dr. Ives and his wife returned to the rectory on the same day, and Denbigh
immediately resumed his abode under their roof. The intercourse between
the rector's family and Sir Edward's was renewed with all its former
friendly confidence.
Colonel Egerton began to speak of his departure also, but hinted at
intentions of visiting L---- at the period of the baronet's visit to his
uncle, before he proceeded to town in the winter.
L---- was a small village on the coast, within a mile of Benfield Lodge;
and from its natural convenience, it had long been resorted to by the
neighboring gentry for the benefit of sea bathing. The baronet had
promised Mr. Benfield his visit should be made at an earlier day than
usual, in order to gratify Jane with a visit to Bath, before they went to
London, at which town they were promised by Mrs. Jarvis the pleasure of
her society, and that of her son and daughters.
Precaution is a word of simple meaning in itself, but various are the
ways adopted by different individuals in this life to enforce its import;
and not a few are the evils which it is thought necessary to guard
against. To provide in season against the dangers of want; personal
injury, loss of character, and a great many other such acknowledged
misfortunes, has become a kind of instinctive process of our natures. The
few exceptions which exist only go to prove the rule: in addition to
these, almost every man has some ruling propensity to gratify, to advance
which his ingenuity is ever on the alert, or some apprehended evil to
avert, which calls all his prudence into activity. Yet how seldom is it
exerted, in order to give a rational ground to expect permanent happiness
in wedlock.
Marriage is called a lottery, and it is thought, like all other,
lotteries, there are more blanks than prizes; yet is it not made more
precarious than it ought to be, by our neglect of that degree of
precaution which we would be ridiculed for omitting in conducting our
every-day concerns? Is not the standard of matrimonial felicity placed too
low? Ought we not to look more to the possession of principles than to the
possession of wealth? Or is it at all justifiable in a Christian to commit
a child, a daughter, to the keeping of a man who wants the very essential
they acknowledge most necessary to constitute a perfect character? Most
men revolt at infidelity in a woman, and most men, however licentious
themselves, look for, at least, the exterior of religion in their wives.
The education of their children is a serious responsibility; and although
seldom conducted on such rules as will stand the test of reason, it is not
to be entirely shaken off: they choose their early impressions should be
correct, their infant conduct at least blameless. And are not-one half
mankind of the male sex? Are precepts in religion, in morals, only for
females? Are we to reverse the theory of the Mahommedans, and though we
do not believe it, act as if _men_ had no souls. Is not the example of the
father as important to the son as that of the mother to the daughter? In
short, is there any security against the commission of enormities, but an
humble and devout dependence on the assistance of that Almighty Power,
which alone is able to hold us up against temptation?
Uniformity of taste is no doubt necessary to what we call love, but is not
taste acquired? Would our daughters admire a handsome deist, if properly
impressed with a horror of his doctrines, sooner than they now would
admire a handsome Mahommedan? We would refuse our children to a pious
dissenter, to give them to impious members of the establishment: we make
the substance less than the shadow.
Our principal characters are possessed of these diversified views of the
evils to be averted. Mrs. Wilson considers Christianity an indispensable
requisite in the husband to be _permitted_ to her charge, and watches
against the _possibility_ of any other than a Christian's gaining the
affections of Emily. Lady Chatterton considers the want of an
establishment as the unpardonable sin, and directs her energies to prevent
this evil; while John Moseley looks upon a free will as the birthright of
an Englishman, and is, at the present moment, anxiously alive to prevent
the dowager's making him the husband of Grace, the thing of all others he
most strenuously desires.