Part 16 (1/2)
”He is by profession a poet,--and a philosopher. His writings are highly thought of among literary people, and he is an intimate friend of Aunt Agnes,” I said quietly.
”What answer did you give him?” asked my father presently, with a weary air. He leaned his head on his hand, and listened intently and anxiously.
”I told him I would think the matter over,” I replied.
”He is not the husband I would have chosen for you, Virginia,” he said, after a silence. ”But you must suit yourself. Now that you recall him to me, I know who this Mr. Spence is. I have seen his name in the newspapers, and a few weeks ago I remember he delivered a lecture before the Thursday Evening Club. It was a visionary, unpractical address, I thought. Several members spoke to me of it as such. But there were one or two enthusiasts--as there are everywhere--who extolled it as a marvel of originality and cleverness. Are you sure of his habits?”
”His habits ought to be good, for he is the advocate of the theory of Moderation. It is to that he devotes the greater part of his time. Yes, father, I am sure of them.”
”I remember now,--Moderation. That was what he talked about. He is one of your so-called reformers. He gets hold of an idea and tries to fit the world to it. And you say you wish to marry him, Virginia?”
”I have not said so. I don't know.”
”If you take my advice, you will not. I know nothing further of him than you have told me. The better philosopher a man is, the worse husband he is likely to make. Has he anything to live upon?”
”Yes; enough to support us comfortably, I believe. In fact, he does not wish me to take any money from you.”
”That shows him a more independent minded fellow than I supposed. Humph!
One literary woman in the family ought to be enough. Still, the great thing is that you should be suited. We are not all cut after the same pattern, and if you have a fancy for a husband of that type, I shall not stand in the way. I interfered once, but that was a very different matter. Satisfy me that there is nothing objectionable against this Mr.
Spence, and if you wish to marry him I shall not offer serious opposition. It is all nonsense about your not being able to care for anybody. If you like a man well enough to become his wife, the rest will follow. I should be glad to see you married.”
”I like Mr. Spence very much; but it is his theory of Moderation that interests me even more than himself,” I answered, uncertain how to lead up to the condition of our marriage, which I knew now would irritate my father greatly. He had received the news of Mr. Spence's offer much more favorably than I expected. It was evident he wished me to marry some one.
”As you have said, father, I have interests of my own of which you do not know. I have given five hours almost every day during the past year to the study of the principles of this philosophy. I have found my field of usefulness there, it seems to me. By continuing this work and becoming the wife of Mr. Spence, I feel that I shall be doing more good in the world than I could in any other way. If you ask me if I love Mr.
Spence, candor compels me to say that I do not. If you ask if I am particularly happy at the prospect of marrying him, I must say that I am not. But it seems to me the best chance that is likely to offer. I respect him thoroughly, and, as you say, the rest may follow. A life devoted to a n.o.ble theory is better suited to my tastes and capacities than the control of a large fortune.”
”You are a little morbid, Virginia,” he interrupted. ”My original impression is confirmed. This is no match for you. I warn you against the danger of becoming addicted to _fads_ and _isms_. Your Aunt Agnes has made herself ridiculous and alienated all her friends by just such a course. I have not a word to say against a thorough education, as you must well know; but when a woman begins to talk about devoting her life to the principles of philosophy, 'Look out!' say I. It is not natural.
She needs a new bonnet, and a few b.a.l.l.s and parties. But even supposing you marry this Socrates and become as learned as he, how is that inconsistent with taking care of your fortune?”
”I thought I told you, father,” I said.
”Told me what?”
”That Mr. Spence objected to my fortune.”
”Objected, did he? How is he to help himself? Besides, the money is mine until I am dead. If he is so infernally proud, he needn't touch any of it until then. I fancy he might get tired of waiting.”
”You don't understand, father. Mr. Spence wants me to agree never to touch any of it. He doesn't think it right for people to keep more than a certain amount, just enough to provide for their actual needs. It is one of the principles he believes in. It is a part of his system.”
”Principles! System! Is the girl crazy?”
”It is opposed to all your ideas, I know,” I exclaimed earnestly, determined now that I had entered on the matter to dispute it with vigor. ”But are you sure that you are in the right? What is the use of so much money to a woman? You want me to make the most of the fortune it has taken you all your life to get together. Is it not possible that in renouncing it I should be doing that? New ideas have to encounter opposition, but they are not all to be presumed unsound on that account.
There may be more sense in those of Mr. Spence than you suppose. By setting this example of moderation, I may be able to give an impetus to truth that will be of real service to mankind. Besides, women are different from men, father. They find more comfort and happiness in devotion to something like this than in the practical details of life. I have had some experience. I have seen society, and know the weariness of a merely social existence. As I have already told you, I believe I should be more content with Mr. Spence than with any one else. I need sympathy and an interest. I _am_ morbid, perhaps; but there is every chance of my becoming more so unless you let me have my way in this matter. Leave your money to some deserving charity or college, father, and let me marry Mr. Spence.”
”Deserving charity or college! That from the lips of my own daughter! I have wanted to interrupt you a dozen times to tell you how foolish and senseless is the rubbish you were talking. And now that I have heard you to the end, I am speechless. You are crazy! I repeat it, crazy! You are fit only for a convent or a lunatic asylum. I had better find another heir.”
He covered his face with his hands, and I could see his whole form tremble.
”Father,” I cried, ”if I were only sure that you are not mistaken!”