University of Virginia Library

7. CHAP. VII.
DEBATE ON MATRIMONY.

Sir George Worthy was a young man of violent
passions. At a very early age he had been made
his own master, and, like most young men of large independent
fortune, from unlimited indulgence was led
to believe, that the most trifling occurrence which
thwarted his inclination, was an insupportable affliction;
it was therefore a very great mortification to him

to be obliged to quit the garden in such a state of suspence,
especially as he did not know who the young
lady was: however he resolved to stay at his mother's
house a few days (a favour which he had never deigned
before since the death of his father) for he imagined
this fair visitant would of course make her appearance
at dinner, and that after the first formal introduction,
he should have the superlative satisfaction of enjoying
her company in an unreserved family way.

When Lady Mary arrived, she was much surprised to
see her son in the drawing-room; but as she had not the
remotest idea of his having been arrived long, after the
first salutations were past, she went to her own apartment,
and dispatched Mrs. Harley, her woman, to inform
Rebecca, that as she had company, she would
order her dinner to be sent up, and should not expect
to see her in the dining parlour.

Harley was not satisfied with simply delivering her
message, but also delivered her own sentiments on the
subject.

“Heaven keep me from pride,” said she. “One must
be blind, indeed, not to perceive the cause of my lady's
confining you in this manner: mercy on us, as if flesh
and blood without a title was not as good as flesh and
blood with one! Marry come up, and were I to be
judge, I think you are to the full as good as Sir
George, mayhap better. All is not gold that glitters.
I warrant ye, if Sir George was once to see your sweet
face, he would think a title well bestowed.”

“I do not understand you, my good Harley,”
said Rebecca, with a look of the utmost simplicity.

“Oh! it is all very well, Miss; if you are satisfied
I am; only I say it is a shame to shut you up so
whenever Sir George comes.”

“Sir George!” cried Rebecca, eagerly; “is Sir
George Worthy at Twickenham?” “Yes, Miss
Becky, he is and that is the reason.”—

“Hold, Harley; my lady's commands are sufficient
for me, without any reason alledged; but pray how
long has Sir George been here?”

“He arrived immediately on my lady's leaving

home, and amused himself in the garden till a few moments
before her return.”

“'Tis very well,” said Rebecca: “Your mistress
perhaps, may want you. Mrs. Harley, pray do not
let me detain you.”

Harley muttered something about insensible, and left
the room.

Lady Mary, having adjusted her dress, repaired to
the dining parlour, and sent the butler to inform her
son that dinner was served. With a palpitating heart
Sir George obeyed the summons; but how great was
his surprise and disappointment, on entering the room,
to see no person there but his mother, and the cloth
laid but for two! His chagrin betrayed itself in his
countenance.

“Do we dine by ourselves madam?” said he somewhat
confused.

“That is an odd question, George,” said her ladyship.
“I thought you was acquainted with the recluse
life I lead, and therefore could not expect to meet
much company at my table.”

“Why that is true,” said he, endeavouring at an air
of indifference; “but I thought sometimes a neighbour
might drop in.”

He plainly perceived there was something of a mystery,
and was too much a man of the world not to veil,
as much as possible, the ardent desire he felt to penetrate
it; he therefore partook of the repast provided
for his mother, and when the cloth was removed, informed
her he intended spending a week or ten days
with her, previous to her departure for Lincolushire.

Lady Mary was rather surprised at this proposal;
but having long wished for an opportunity to converse
with her son on a subject near her heart, namely, an
union that had been for many years thought of between
Lady Eleanor Harcourt, her brother's only child, and
Sir George, for whom he had proposed to beg the title
of Earl of Chatterton, in reversion, he being the only
male branch remaining of the family: she therefore
satisfied herself with sending an affectionate note to

Rebecca, briefly informing her of the cause that would
occasion their separation for a few days, and assuring
her she would visit her apartment the next morning, if
opportunity offered.

Rebecca sighed as she read the note; but she flattered
herself it was a sigh of pleasure, for the happiness
her benefactress would enjoy in the company of her
son.

In the course of the evening Lady Mary introduced
the subject nearest her heart, and endeavoured to divine
the real opinion Sir George entertained of his cousin's
person, merit and accomplishments.

He frankly acknowledged her a very amiable woman,
a woman every way calculated to make the marriage
state happy: “But,” continued he, “pardon me, my
dear madam, if I say, I do not think myself, by any
means worthy the hand of such a woman. I am wild,
and have seen so much of elegant refined beauty, that
it is no longer an object of admiration. I can look on
my cousin Eleanor, all lovely as she is, without the
least emotion, except what proceeds from the affection
I bear her as a near and worthy relation; but this is
not the kind of affection necessary to form a happy
marriage. My heart has ever been unmoved by real
passionate love, and I do verily believe, if ever it is
ensnared, it will be by the pure charms of nature, unadulterated
by art: I declare to you the enchanting
naiveté of unaffected innocence would be to me a thousand
times more captivating, than all the splendid
charms of an elegant accomplished woman of fashion.”

It is impossible to describe the astonishment of Lady
Mary upon this unexpected declaration of her son; it
kept her for some moments silent.—“It is well,”
said she, mentally, “that I took those precautions in
regard to Rebecca; she is exactly the woman to suit
his taste, and I should have experienced the mortification
of seeing my son reject a title and splendid fortune,
and ally himself to obscurity.”

“Perhaps, George,” said she, smiling, you have
somewhere met with a woman whom you think possesses
those captivating charms.”

“Oh! no,” said he, carelessly; but why should we
talk on this subject now? Eleanor and myself are both
young enough yet. Let her see a little more of the
world; it is more than probable I may not be the man
of her choice.”

“She will never have her father's consent to marry
any other; nor do I think he would ever forgive a step
of that nature; nor can I say, George, that I should
easily overlook your preferring any other woman to
Eleanor.”

“Upon my soul, my dear mother, this is a most ridiculous
idea! In the name of common sense, why are
two persons, who experience nothing more than indifference
towards each other, to be chained together,
and seal their own misery, to gratify the inclinations
of those, who, though they have a right to our utmost
respect and obedience, assume an undue authority when
they endeavour to controul us in a point so very delicate
as the choice of a companion for life. I see you
are offended, my dear mother; let me entreat you to
pardon my sincerity. Believe me, your happiness is
the first wish of my heart, and to promote it shall be
the whole study of my life. It is to prevent you from
future pain that I speak thus, for, alas! what anguish
must seize the heart of a parent, who, having forced a
beloved child into a loathed marriage, sees him plunged
in misery, nay, perhaps, in guilt, from which she
has no power to extricate him: but let us not part in
anger,” continued he, rising, and taking his mother's
hand.

“Be assured, should inclination ever prompt me to
an union with Lady Eleanor, every transport I experience
will be heightened by the thought that it increased
your felicity; but, should it not, let not your displeasure
embitter the life of a son who loves you with the
truest affection.”

He then kissed her cheek, and wished her a good
night.

“He talks reasonably,” said Lady Mary, as he left
the room; “but it would grieve me to see the family of

Harcourt sink to oblivion, when it is in his power to
perpetuate both its name and title.”