Part 39 (1/2)
”You are a stranger to me, and I am unacquainted with your character.
What little I have seen of your deportment, and what little I have lately heard concerning you from Mrs. Wentworth, do not produce unfavourable impressions; but the apology I have made was due to my own reputation, and should have been offered to you whatever your character had been.” There she stopped.
”I came not hither,” said I, ”to receive an apology. Your demeanour, on our first interview, s.h.i.+elded you sufficiently from any suspicions or surmises that I could form. What you have now mentioned was likewise mentioned by your friend, and was fully believed upon her authority. My purpose, in coming, related not to you, but to another. I desired merely to interest your generosity and justice on behalf of one whose dest.i.tute and dangerous condition may lay claim to your compa.s.sion and your succour.”
”I comprehend you,” said she, with an air of some perplexity. ”I know the claims of that person.”
”And will you comply with them?”
”In what manner can I serve her?”
”By giving her the means of living.”
”Does she not possess them already?”
”She is dest.i.tute. Her dependence was wholly placed upon one that is dead, by whom her person was dishonoured and her fortune embezzled.”
”But she still lives. She is not turned into the street. She is not dest.i.tute of home.”
”But what a home!”
”Such as she may choose to remain in.”
”She cannot choose it. She must not choose it. She remains through ignorance, or through the incapacity of leaving it.”
”But how shall she be persuaded to a change?”
”I will persuade her. I will fully explain her situation. I will supply her with a new home.”
”You will persuade her to go with you, and to live at a home of your providing and on your bounty?”
”Certainly.”
”Would that change be worthy of a cautious person? Would it benefit her reputation? Would it prove her love of independence?”
”My purposes are good. I know not why she should suspect them. But I am only anxious to be the instrument. Let her be indebted to one of her own s.e.x, of unquestionable reputation. Admit her into this house. Invite her to your arms. Cherish and console her as your sister.”
”Before I am convinced that she deserves it? And even then, what regard shall I, young, unmarried, independent, affluent, pay to my own reputation in harbouring a woman in these circ.u.mstances?”
”But you need not act yourself. Make me your agent and almoner. Only supply her with the means of subsistence through me.”
”Would you have me act a clandestine part? Hold meetings with one of your s.e.x, and give him money for a purpose which I must hide from the world? Is it worth while to be a dissembler and impostor? And will not such conduct incur more dangerous surmises and suspicions than would arise from acting openly and directly? You will forgive me for reminding you, likewise, that it is particularly inc.u.mbent upon those in my situation to be circ.u.mspect in their intercourse with men and with strangers. This is the second time that I have seen you. My knowledge of you is extremely dubious and imperfect, and such as would make the conduct you prescribe to me, in a high degree, rash and culpable. You must not, therefore, expect me to pursue it.”
These words were delivered with an air of firmness and dignity. I was not insensible to the truth of her representations. ”I confess,” said I, ”what you have said makes me doubt the propriety of my proposal; yet I would fain be of service to her. Cannot you point out some practicable method?”
She was silent and thoughtful, and seemed indisposed to answer my question.
”I had set my heart upon success in this negotiation,” continued I, ”and could not imagine any obstacle to its success; but I find my ignorance of the world's ways much greater than I had previously expected. You defraud yourself of all the happiness redounding from the act of making others happy. You sacrifice substance to show, and are more anxious to prevent unjust aspersions from lighting on yourself, than to rescue a fellow-creature from guilt and infamy.
”You are rich, and abound in all the conveniences and luxuries of life.
A small portion of your superfluity would obviate the wants of a being not less worthy than yourself. It is not avarice or aversion to labour that makes you withhold your hand. It is dread of the sneers and surmises of malevolence and ignorance.