“Tell me, what ails you, Thomas?” Mary urged, taking his hand affectionately.
“I have been to see Margaretta,” the brother at length replied, in as calm a voice as he could assume.
“And she has not, surely, declined your offer?”
“She has, and with what appeared to me an intimation that I loved her money, perhaps, better than herself.”
“Surely not, brother!”
“To me it seemed so. Certainly she treated lightly my declaration, and almost jested with me.”
The sister stood silent for some moments, and then said—
“The woman who could thus jest with you, Thomas, is unworthy of you.”
“So I am trying to convince myself. But the trial is a deeply painful one.”
And painful it proved for many weeks afterwards. But, finally, he was enabled to rise above his feelings.
In the mean time, Mr. Smith had wooed the heiress successfully, and, in doing so, his own heart had become interested, or, at least, he deceived himself into the belief that such was the case. He no longer jested, as he had done at first, about her money, nor declared, even to his friend Perkins, how strong an influence it had upon his affections. More serious thoughts of marriage had caused these selfish motives to retire out of sight and acknowledgment; but still they existed and still ruled his actions.
The aunt, when Margaretta made known to her that the young man had offered himself, was pained beyond measure, particularly as it was evident that her niece favoured the suitor.
“Indeed, Margaretta,” said she, earnestly, “he is not worthy of you!”
“You judge him harshly, aunt,” the niece replied. “I know him to be all that either of us could wish for.”
“But how do you know, Margaretta?”
“I have observed him closely, and am sure that, I cannot be deceived in him.”
“Alas! my child, if you know nothing beyond your own observation, you are far more ignorant than you suppose. Be guided, then, by me—trust more to my observation than your own. He is not the man to make you happy! Let me urge you, then, to keep him at a distance.”
“I should do injustice to my own feelings, aunt, and to my own sense of right, were I to do so. In a word, and to speak out plainly, he offered himself last evening, and I accepted him!”
“Rash girl!” exclaimed Mrs. Riston, lifting her hands in astonishment and pain, “how could you thus deceive your best friend? How so sadly deceive yourself?”
“Do not distress yourself so, aunt. You have mistaken the character of Mr. Smith. He is, in every way, a different man from what you think him. He is altogether worthy of my regard and your confidence. I do not wish to deceive you, aunt; but you set yourself so resolutely against Mr. Smith from the first that I could not make up my mind to brave your opposition to a step which I was fully convinced it was right for me to take.”
“Ah, Margaretta! You know not what you are doing. Marriage is a far more serious matter than you seem to think it. Look around among your young acquaintances, and see how many have wedded unhappily. And why? Because marriages were rushed into from a fond impulse, vainly imagined to be true affection. But no true affection can exist where there is not a mutual knowledge of character and qualities of mind. Now what do you know, really, about Mr. Smith? What does he know about you? Why, nothing! I want no stronger evidence of his unworthy motives, than the fact of his having offered himself after a three weeks’ acquaintance. What could he know of you in that time? Surely not enough to be able to determine whether you would make him a suitable wife or not—enough, perhaps, to be satisfied of the amount of your wealth.”
“You are unjust towards Mr. Smith,” said Margaretta, half indignantly.
“Not half so unjust as he is towards you. But surely, my niece, you will reconsider this whole matter, and take full time to reflect.”
“I cannot reconsider, aunt. My word is passed, and I would suffer any thing rather than break my word.”
“You will suffer your heart to be broken, if you do not.”
“Time will prove that!” and Margaretta tossed her head with a kind of mock defiance.
“Have you fixed your wedding day?” the aunt asked after a few moments’ silence.
“Not yet. But Mr. Smith wants to be married in three weeks.”
“In three weeks!”
“Yes; but I told him that I could not get ready within a month.”
“A month! Surely you are not going to act so precipitately?”
“I cannot see the use of waiting, aunt, when we are engaged and all ready. And I can easily get ready in a month.”
To this the aunt did not reply. She felt that it would be useless.
After this, Mr. Smith was a regular daily and evening visitor. He perceived, of course, the unfavourable light in which the aunt viewed him, and in consequence set himself to work to break down her prejudices. He was kind and attentive to her on all occasions, and studied her peculiar views and feelings, so as to adapt himself to her. But the old lady had seen too much of the world, and was too close an observer to be deceived. Still she found silent acquiescence her only course of action.
At the end of the month from the day of their engagement Margaretta Riston was a happy young bride.
One week after their marriage, Mr. Smith entered the room of his friend Mr. Perkins, with a pale, agitated countenance.
