Volume I Part 5 (1/2)
”Difficult to imagine,” came the answer from the thickest of a bank of smoke.
”I fear I am not a favourite with Mrs Naylor.”
”She told you not to call any more, I believe? That was pretty plain.”
”Was it not too bad of her? What can she have against me? She has known me ever since I came to the country, and she used to be like a mother to me.”
”That was imprudent. Now she sees it, I suppose. A mother of girls may become mother-in-_law_ to some young fellow one day, and Mrs Naylor may feel that she ought to reserve herself for that. When girls leave school, you see, circ.u.mstances alter.”
”I am sure I showed no unwillingness to take her for _my_ mother-in-law.”
”That was the trouble. She could have taken you for a son--a full son, understand--and you might have been brother to the girls, if that would have pleased you. But it didn't.”
”How could it? Would it have satisfied you--to take a nice girl to picnics, and hold her shawl while another fellow danced with her?”
”Put it that way, and it does seem hard. But what is a mother to do?
Her daughters' prospects ought to be her chief care.”
”Do you think it is right to be mercenary, then? Is money to stand for everything? Is the fellow to count for nothing?”
”By no means! A good fellow it _must_ be--a nice fellow and a gentleman if possible, or the girl's life is spoiled. No amount of money could make her happy with a ruffian or a cad. But you must remember that Mrs Naylor's girls are young yet, and I cannot blame her for wis.h.i.+ng to look about before fixing their position for life.”
”It is hard to be pa.s.sed over merely for being the first comer. And they may happen on worse subjects as well as better.”
”Quite true. There is a proverb about a girl who was so particular about the stick she went to cut, that she came to the end of the wood before she could make up her mind, and then she had to content herself with a crooked one, or go without. However, proverbial philosophy goes for nothing, you know; people like to try for themselves. Still, there is excuse for a mother wis.h.i.+ng not to bury her accomplished daughter in the backwoods, as wife to a wild huntsman. One can understand that it would be pleasant for you, after being out all day with your gun and your dog, to find your dinner laid, and a pretty young wife beside a cosy fire waiting for you; but you cannot call it unreasonable if the lady's friends wish to secure her a less solitary home. When you are out, what will she have to amuse her but needle and thread? the chickens and the cows? You would not like to think of her sitting in the kitchen talking to the help; and yet you know they will be the only human creatures she will have to speak to when you are away.”
”I told you I was selling out. She can choose her home anywhere between Gaspe and Vancouver.”
”You would not like to live in a town, and a girl must have been bred on a farm to live happily on one afterwards.”
”You leave the husband out of the calculation. Do you think she could be happy even in London or New York with a fellow she did not care for?”
”That is true; but she need not marry unless she cares.”
”While even in the bush, if she liked the fellow, and he was fond of her, I think they might both be completely happy.”
”I am with you there, my lad. Not a doubt of it,”--and he buried his hands deeper in his pockets, and bent his head forward to look at his boots, drawing a deep breath, and smoking harder than ever.
”Then why--Do you not think, Mr Naylor, you could bring your sister-in-law to see it in that light? You have always been a friend to me, since the first day I met you.”
”Always your friend. Be sure of it. But I doubt my influence with Mrs Naylor; and, if I had any, I doubt if I ought to interfere. Girls cannot know their own minds till they have seen something of the world. They may mistake a pa.s.sing fancy for real regard; and if they have married in the meantime, there are two lives spoiled, instead of one just a little scorched--and that only for the moment, perhaps,” he added, after a pause. Then pulling himself together,--”But what makes you talk like this to a crusty old bachelor? You cannot expect sympathy in your love-affairs from one who has resisted the illusions of sentiment as successfully as I have, surely?”
”I don't know. People are not bachelors and old maids for being harder than their neighbours, I suspect. I often fancy it is the other way.
But at least you are not against my trying, are you? You will not do anything to make my chances less than they are already?”
”No, Blount; I'll do nothing against you. I could almost wish the girl took a fancy to you, for I believe you are real; and if she does, I will do nothing to dissuade her. Money and position are not everything, by any means.”