The Daisy Chain, or Aspirations

by Шарлотта Мэри Йондж

  And, in the midst of her glory, when she expected her father to be delighted and grateful--to be received as a silly girl, ready to accept any proposal, her lover spoken of with scorn, and the advantages of the match utterly passed over, was almost beyond endurance. A physician, with eleven children dependent on his practice, to despise an offer from the heir of such a fortune! But that was his customary romance! She forgave him, when it occurred to her that she was too important, and valuable, to be easily spared; and a tenderness thrilled through her, as she looked at the sleeping Margaret's pale face, and thought of surrendering her and little Daisy to Ethel's keeping. And what would become of the housekeeping? She decided, however, that feelings must not sway her--out of six sisters some must marry, for the good of the rest. Blanche and Daisy should come and stay with her, to be formed by the best society; and, as to poor dear Ethel, Mrs. Rivers would rule the Ladies' Committee for her with a high hand, and, perhaps, provide Cocksmoor with a school at her sole expense. What a useful, admirable woman she would be! The doctor would be the person to come to his senses in the morning, when he remembered Abbotstoke, Mr. Rivers, and Meta.

  So Flora met her father, the next morning, with all her ordinary composure, in which he could not rival her, after his sleepless, anxious night. His looks of affectionate solicitude disconcerted what she had intended to say, and she waited, with downcast eyes, for him to begin.

  "Well, Flora," he said at last, "have you thought?"

  "Do you know any cause against it?" said Flora, still looking down.

  "I know almost nothing of him. I have never heard anything of his character or conduct. Those would be a subject of inquiry, if you wish to carry this on--"

  "I see you are averse," said Flora. "I would do nothing against your wishes--"

  "My wishes have nothing to do with it," said Dr. May. "The point is- -that I must do right, as far as I can, as well as try to secure your happiness; and I want to be sure that you know what you are about."

  "I know he is not clever," said Flora; "but there may be many solid qualities without talent."

  "I am the last person to deny it; but where are these solid qualities? I cannot see the recommendation!"

  "I place myself in your hands," said Flora, in a submissive tone, which had the effect of making him lose patience.

  "Flora, Flora! why will you talk as if I were sacrificing you to some dislike or prejudice of my own! Don't you think I should only rejoice to have such a prosperous home offered to you, if only the man were worthy?"

  "If you do not think him so, of course there is an end of it," said Flora, and her voice showed suppressed emotion.

  "It is not what I think, in the absence of proof, but what you think, Flora. What I want you to do is this--to consider the matter fairly. Compare him with--I'll not say with Norman--but with Richard, Alan, Mr. Wilmot. Do you think you could rely on him--come to him for advice?" (Flora never did come to any one for advice.) "Above all-- do you think him likely to be a help, or a hindrance, in doing right?"

  "I think you underrate him," said Flora steadily; "but, of course, if you dislike it--though, I think, you would change your mind if you knew him better--"

  "Well," he said, as if to himself, "it is not always the most worthy;" then continued, "I have no dislike to him. Perhaps I may find that you are right. Since your mind is made up, I will do this: first, we must be assured of his father's consent, for they may very fairly object, since what I can give you is a mere nothing to them. Next, I shall find out what character he bears in his regiment, and watch him well myself; and, if nothing appear seriously amiss, I will not withhold my consent. But, Flora, you should still consider whether he shows such principle and right feeling as you can trust to."

  "Thank you, papa. I know you will do all that is kind."

  "Mind, you must not consider it an engagement, unless all be satisfactory."

  "I will do as you please."

  Ethel perceived that something was in agitation, but the fact did not break upon her till she came to Margaret, after the schoolroom reading, and heard Dr. May declaiming away in the vehement manner that always relieved him.

  "Such a cub!" These were the words that met her ear; and she would have gone away, but he called her. "Come in, Ethel; Margaret says you guessed at this affair!"

  "At what affair!" exclaimed Ethel. "Oh, it is about Flora. Poor man; has he done it?"

  "Poor! He is not the one to be pitied!" said her father.

  "You don't mean that she likes him?"

  "She does though! A fellow with no more brains than a turnip lantern!"

  "She does not mean it?" said Ethel.

  "Yes, she does! Very submissive, and proper spoken, of course, but bent on having him; so there is nothing left for me but to consent-- provided Mr. Rivers does, and he should turn out not to have done anything outrageous; but there's no hope of that--he has not the energy. What can possess her? What can she see to admire?"

  "He is good-natured," said Margaret, "and rather good-looking--"

  "Flora has more sense. What on earth can be the attraction?"

  "I am afraid it is partly the grandeur--" said Ethel. She broke off short, quite dismayed at the emotion she had xcited. Dr. May stepped towards her, almost as if he could have shaken her.

  "Ethel," he cried, "I won't have such motives ascribed to your sister!"

  Ethel tried to recollect what she had said that was so shocking, for the idea of Flora's worldly motives was no novelty to her. They had appeared in too many instances; and, though frightened at his anger, she stood still, without unsaying her words.

  Margaret began to explain away. "Ethel did not mean, dear papa--"

  "No," said Dr. May, his passionate manner giving way to dejection. "The truth is, that I have made home so dreary, that my girls are ready to take the first means of escaping."

  Poor Margaret's tears sprang forth, and, looking up imploringly, she exclaimed, "Oh, papa, papa! it was no want of happiness! I could not help it. You know he had come before--"

  Any reproach to her had been entirely remote from his thoughts, and he was at once on his knee beside her, soothing and caressing, begging her pardon, and recalling whatever she could thus have interpreted. Meanwhile, Ethel stood unnoticed and silent, making no outward protestation, but with lips compressed, as in her heart of hearts she passed the resolution--that her father should never feel this pain on her account. Leave him who might, she would never forsake him; nothing but the will of Heaven should part them. It might be hasty and venturesome. She knew not what it might cost her; but, where Ethel had treasured her resolve to work for Cocksmoor, there she also laid up her secret vow--that no earthly object should be placed between her and her father.

  The ebullition of feeling seemed to have restored Dr. May's calmness, and he rose, saying, "I must go to my work; the man is coming here this afternoon."

  "Where shall you see him?" Margaret asked.

  "In my study, I suppose. I fear there is no chance of Flora's changing her mind first. Or do you think one of you could talk to her, and get her fairly to contemplate the real bearings of the matter?" And, with these words, he left the room.

  Margaret and Ethel glanced at each other; and both felt the impenetrability of Flora's nature, so smooth, that all thrusts glided off.

  "It will be of no use," said Ethel; "and, what is more, she will not have it done."

  "Pray try; a few of your forcible words would set it in a new light."

  "Why! Do you think she will attend to me, when she has not chosen to heed papa?" said Ethel, with an emphasis of incredulity. "No; whatever Flora does, is done deliberately, and unalterably."

  "Still, I don't know whether it is not our duty," said Margaret.

  "More yours than mine," said Ethel.

  Margaret flushed up. "Oh, no, I cannot!" she said, always timid, and slightly defective in moral courage. She looked so nervous and shaken by the bare idea of a remonstrance with Flora, that Ethel could not press her;
and, though convinced that her representation would be useless, she owned that her conscience would rest better after she had spoken. "But there is Flora, walking in the garden with Norman," she said. "No doubt he is doing it."

  So Ethel let it rest, and attended to the children's lessons, during which Flora came into the drawing-room, and practised her music, as if nothing had happened.

  Before the morning was over, Ethel contrived to visit Norman in the dining-room, where he was wont to study, and asked him whether he had made any impression on Flora.

  "What impression do you mean?"

  "Why, about this concern," said Ethel; "this terrible man, that makes papa so unhappy."

  "Papa unhappy! Why, what does he know against him? I thought the Riverses were his peculiar pets."

  "The Riverses! As if, because one liked the sparkling stream, one must like a muddy ditch."

  "What harm do you know of him?" said Norman, with much surprise and anxiety, as if he feared that he had been doing wrong, in ignorance.

  "Harm! Is he not a regular oaf?"

  "My dear Ethel, if you wait to marry till you find some one as clever as yourself, you will wait long enough."

  "I don't think it right for a woman to marry a man decidedly her inferior."

  "We have all learned to think much too highly of talent," said Norman gravely.

  "I don't care for mere talent--people are generally more sensible without it; but, one way or other, there ought to be superiority on the man's side."

  "Well, who says there is not?"

  "My dear Norman! Why, this George Rivers is really below the average! you cannot deny that! Did you ever meet any one so stupid?"

  "Really!" said Norman, considering; and, speaking very innocently, "I cannot see why you think so. I do not see that he is at all less capable of sustaining a conversation than Richard."

  Ethel sat down, perfectly breathless with amazement and indignation.

  Norman saw that he had shocked her very much. "I do not mean," he said, "that we have not much more to say to Richard; all I meant to say was, merely as to the intellect."

  "I tell you," said Ethel, "it is not the intellect. Richard! why, you know how we respect, and look up to him. Dear old Ritchie! with his goodness, and earnestness, and right judgment--to compare him to that man! Norman, Norman, I never thought it of you!"

  "You do not understand me, Ethel. I only cited Richard, as a person who proves how little cleverness is needed to insure respect."

  "And, I tell you, that cleverness is not the point."

  "It is the only objection you have put forward."

  "I did wrong," said Ethel. "It is not the real one. It is earnest goodness that one honours in Richard. Where do we find it in this man, who has never done anything but yawn over his self indulgence?"

  "Now, Ethel, you are working yourself up into a state of foolish prejudice. You and papa have taken a dislike to him; and you are overlooking a great deal of good safe sense and right thinking. I know his opinions are sound, and his motives right. He has been undereducated, we all see, and is not very brilliant or talkative; but I respect Flora for perceiving his solid qualities."

  "Very solid and weighty, indeed!" said Ethel ironically. "I wonder if she would have seen them in a poor curate."

  "Ethel, you are allowing yourself to be carried, by prejudice, a great deal too far. Are such imputations to be made, wherever there is inequality of means? It is very wrong! very unjust!"

  "So papa said," replied Ethel, as she looked sorrowfully down. "He was very angry with me for saying so. I wish I could help feeling as if that were the temptation."

  "You ought," said Norman. "You will be sorry, if you set yourself, and him, against it."

  "I only wish you to know what I feel; and, I think, Margaret and papa do," said Ethel humbly; "and then you will not think us more unjust than we are. We cannot see anything so agreeable or suitable in this man as to account for Flora's liking, and we do not feel convinced of his being good for much. That makes papa greatly averse to it, though he does not know any positive reason for refusing; and we cannot feel certain that she is doing quite right, or for her own happiness."

  "You will be convinced," said Norman cheerfully. "You will find out the good that is under the surface when you have seen more of him. I have had a good deal of talk with him."

  A good deal of talk to him would have been more correct, if Norman had but been aware of it. He had been at the chief expense of the conversation with George Rivers, and had taken the sounds of assent, which he obtained, as evidences of his appreciation of all his views. Norman had been struggling so long against his old habit of looking down on Richard, and exalting intellect; and had seen, in his Oxford life, so many ill-effects of the knowledge that puffeth up, that he had come to have a certain respect for dullness, per se, of which George Rivers easily reaped the benefit, when surrounded by the halo, which everything at Abbotstoke Grange bore in the eyes of Norman.

  He was heartily delighted at the proposed connection, and his genuine satisfaction not only gratified Flora, and restored the equanimity that had been slightly disturbed by her father, but it also reassured Ethel and Margaret, who could not help trusting in his judgment, and began to hope that George might be all he thought him.

  Ethel, finding that there were two ways of viewing the gentleman, doubted whether she ought to express her opinion. It was Flora's disposition, and the advantages of the match, that weighed most upon her, and, in spite of her surmise having been treated as so injurious, she could not rid herself of the burden.

  Dr. May was not so much consoled by Norman's opinion as Ethel expected. The corners of his mouth curled up a little with diversion, and though he tried to express himself glad, and confident in his son's judgment, there was the same sort of involuntary lurking misgiving with which he had accepted Sir Matthew Fleet's view of Margaret's case.

  There was no danger that Dr. May would not be kind and courteous to the young man himself. It was not his fault if he were a dunce, and Dr. May perceived that his love for Flora was real, though clumsily expressed. He explained that he could not sanction the engagement till he should be better informed of the young gentleman's antecedents; this was, as George expressed it, a great nuisance, but his father agreed that it was quite right, in some doubt, perhaps, as to how Dr. May might be satisfied.

  CHAPTER VII.

  Ye cumbrous fashions, crowd not on my head. Mine be the chip of purest white, Swan-like; and, as her feathers light, When on the still wave spread; And let it wear the graceful dress Of unadorned simpleness. Catherine Fanshaw's 'Parody on Grey'.

  Nothing transpired to the discredit of Lieutenant Rivers. He had spent a great deal of money, but chiefly for want of something else to do, and, though he was not a subject for high praise, there was no vice in him--no more than in an old donkey--as Dr. May declared, in his concluding paroxysm of despair, on finding that, though there was little to reconcile him to the engagement, there was no reasonable ground for thwarting his daughter's wishes. He argued the matter once more with her, and, finding her purpose fixed, he notified his consent, and the rest of the family were admitted to a knowledge of the secret which they had never suspected.

  Etheldred could not help being gratified with the indignation it excited. With one voice, Mary and Blanche declared that they would never give up the title of "the detestable," and would not make him any presents; certainly not watch-chains! Miss Bracy, rather alarmed, lectured them just enough to make them worse; and Margaret, overhearing Blanche instructing Aubrey in her own impertinences, was obliged to call her to her sofa, and assure her that she was unkind to Flora, and that she must consider Mr. George Rivers as her brother.

  "Never my brother like Harry!" exclaimed Mary indignantly.

  "No, indeed; nor like Alan!" exclaimed Blanche. "And I won't call him George, I am determined, if it is ever so!"

  "It will not matter to him what such little girls call him," said Margaret.

 
; Blanche was so annihilated, that the sound of a carriage, and of the door bell, was a great satisfaction to her.

  Meta Rivers came flying into the room, her beautiful eyes dancing, and her cheeks glowing with pleasure, as, a little timidly, she kissed Margaret; while Ethel, in a confused way, received Mr. Rivers, in pain for her own cold, abrupt manner, in contrast with his gentle, congratulating politeness.

  Meta asked, blushing, and with a hesitating voice, for their dear Flora; Mary offered to call her, but Meta begged to go herself, and thus was spared the awkwardness that ensued. Ethel was almost vexed with herself, as ungrateful, when she saw Mr. Rivers so mildly kind, and so delighted, with the bland courtesy that seemed fully conscious of the favour that Flora had conferred on his son, and thankful to the Mays for accepting him.

  Margaret answered with more expression of gratification than would have been sincere in Ethel; but it was a relief when Flora and Meta came in together, as pretty a contrast as could be seen; the little dark-eyed fairy, all radiant with joy, clinging to the slender waist of Flora, whose quiet grace and maidenly dignity were never more conspicuous than as, with a soft red mantling in her fair cheek, her eyes cast down, but with a simple, unaffected warmth of confidence and gratitude, she came forward to receive Mr. Rivers's caressing affectionate greeting.

  Stiffness was over when she came in, and Dr. May, who presently made his appearance, soon was much more at his ease than could have been hoped, after his previous declarations that he should never be able to be moderately civil about it to Mr. Rivers. People of ready sympathy, such as Dr. May and Margaret, have a great deal of difficulty with their sincerity spared them, by being carried along with the feelings of others. Ethel could not feel the same, and was bent on avoiding any expression of opinion; she hoped that Meta's ecstasies would all be bestowed upon her future sister-in-law; but Meta was eager for an interview with Ethel herself, and, as usual, gained her point.