Part 65 (1/2)

”Well, I dare say it is; but somewhat vulgar though. I should be disposed to say, now, that the man who wrote that must have been a mower himself originally.”

Lucy made no reply to this sapient observation. His lords.h.i.+p, however, who seemed to feel that he had started upon a wrong principle, if not a disagreeable one, went on:

”It is not, however, to talk of death, Miss Gourlay, that we have met, but of a very different and much more agreeable subject--marriage.”

”To me, my lord,” she replied, ”death is the more agreeable of the two.”

”I am sorry to hear that, Miss Gourlay; but I think you are in low spirits, and that accounts for it. Your father tells me, however, that I have your permission to urge my humble claims. He says you have kindly and generously consented to look upon me, all unworthy as I feel I am, as your future husband.”

”It is true, my lord, I have consented to this projected union; but I feel that it is due to your lords.h.i.+p to state that I have done so under very painful and most distressing circ.u.mstances. It is better I should speak now, my lord, than at a future day. My father's mind has been seized by an unaccountable ambition to see me your wife. This preyed upon him so severely that he became dangerously ill.” Here, however, from delicacy to the baronet, she checked herself, but added, ”Yes, my lord, I have consented; but, understand me--you have not my affections.”

”Why, as to that, Miss Gourlay, I have myself peculiar opinions; and I am glad that they avail me here. You will think it odd, now, that I had made my mind up never to marry a woman who loved me. This is really fortunate.”

”I don't understand you, my lord.”

”Well, I suppose you don't; but I shall make myself intelligible as well as I can. Love before marriage, in my opinion, is exceedingly dangerous to future happiness; and I will tell you why I think so. In the first place, a great deal of that fuel which feeds the post-matrimonial flame is burned away and wasted unnecessarily; the imagination, too, is raised to a ridiculous and most enthusiastic expectation of perpetual bliss and ecstasy; then comes disappointment, coolness, indifference, and the lights go out for want of the fuel I mentioned; and altogether the domestic life becomes rather a dull and tedious affair. The wife wonders that the husband is no longer a, lover; and the husband cannot for the soul of him see all the--the--the--ahem!--I scarcely know what to call them--that enchanted him before marriage. Then, you perceive, that when love is necessary, the fact comes out that it was most injudiciously expended before the day of necessity. Both parties feel, in fact, that the property has been prematurely squandered--like many another property--and when it is wanted, there is nothing to fall back upon.

I wish to G.o.d affection could be funded, so that when a married couple found themselves low in pocket in that commodity they could draw the interest or sell out at once.”

”And what can you expect, my lord, from those who marry without affection?” asked Lucy.

”Ten chances for happiness,” replied his lords.h.i.+p, ”for one that results from love. When such persons meet, mark you, Miss Gourlay, they are not enveloped in an artificial veil of splendor, which the cares of life, and occasionally a better knowledge of each other, cause to dissolve from about them, leaving them stripped of those imaginary qualities of mind and person which never had any existence at all, except in their hypochondriac brains, when love-stricken; whereas, your honest, matter-of-fact people come together--first with indifference, and, as there is nothing angelic to be expected on either side, there is consequently no disappointment. There has, in fact, been no sentimental fraud committed--no swindle of the heart--for love, too, like its relation, knavery, has its black-legs, and very frequently raises credit upon false pretences; the consequence is, that plain honesty begins to produce its natural effects.”

”Can this man,” thought Lucy, ”have been taking lessons from papa? And pray, my lord,” she proceeded, ”what are those effects which marriage without love--produces?”

”Why, a good honest indifference, in the first place, which keeps the heart easy and somewhat indolent withal. There is none of that sharp jealousy which is perpetually on the spy for offence. None of that pulling and pouting--falling out and falling in--which are ever the accessories of love. On the contrary, honest indifference minds the family--honest indifference, mark, buys the beef and mutton, reckons the household linen--eschews parties and all places of fas.h.i.+onable resort, attends to the children--sees them educated, bled, blistered, et cetera, when necessary; and, what is still better, looks to their religion, hears them their catechism, brings them, in their clean bibs and tuckers, to church, and rewards that one who carries home most of the sermon with a large lump of sugar-candy.”

”These are very original views of marriage, my lord.”

”Aha!” thought his lords.h.i.+p, ”I knew the originality would catch her.”

”Why, the fact is, Miss Gourlay, that I believe--at least I think I may say--that originality is my forte. I have a horror against everything common.”

”I thought so, my lord,” replied Lucy; ”your sense, for instance, is anything but common sense.”

”You are pleased to flatter me, Miss Gourlay, but you speak very truly; and that is because I always think for myself--I do not wish to be measured by a common standard.”

”You are very right; my lord; it would be difficult, I fear, to find a common standard to measure you by. One would imagine, for instance, that you have been on this principle absolutely studying the subject of matrimony. At least, you are the first person I have ever met who has succeeded in completely stripping it of common sense, and there I must admit your originality.”

”Gad!” thought his lords.h.i.+p, ”I have her with me--I am getting on famously.”

”They would imagine right, Miss Gourlay; these principles are the result of a deep and laborious investigation into that mysterious and awful topic. Honest indifference has no intrigues, no elopements, no disgraceful trials for criminal conversation, no divorces. No; your lovers in the yoke of matrimony, when they tilt with each other, do it sharply, with naked weapons; whereas, the worthy indifferents, in the same circ.u.mstances, have a wholesome regard for each other, and rattle away only with the scabbards. Upon my honor, Miss Gourlay, I am quite delighted to hear that you are not attached to me. I can now marry upon my own principles. It is not my intention to coax, and fondle, and tease you after marriage; not at all. I shall interfere as little as possible with your habits, and you, I trust, as little with mine. We shall see each other only occasionally, say at church, for instance, for I hope you will have no objection to accompany me there. Neither man nor woman knows what is due to society if they pa.s.s through the world without the comforts of religion. All flesh--ahem!--no--sufficient unto the day--as Scripture says.”

”My lord, I think marriage a solemn subject, and--”

”Most people find it so, Miss Gourlay.”

--”And on that account that it ought to be exempted from ridicule.”

”I perfectly agree with you, Miss Gourlay: it is indeed a serious subject, and ought not to be sported with or treated lightly.”

”My lord,” said Lucy, ”I must crave your attention for a few moments. I believe the object of this interview is to satisfy you that I have given the consent which my father required and entreated of me. But, my lord, you are mistaken. Our union cannot take place upon your principles, and for this reason, there is no indifference in the case, so far, at least, as I am concerned. It would not become me to express here, under my father's roof, the sentiments which I feel. Your own past life, my lord--your habits, your a.s.sociates, may enable you to understand them.