Mr. Orme was a sensible choice, and Maria sensibly resolved to let him win her.
For his part, Mr. Orme was attracted to Maria Crawford not only for her beauty and intelligence but also because of her air of self-sufficiency. He perceived the lady to be a woman of strong feelings, but she had the merit of keeping her temper under excellent control. He was intrigued by the promise of the passionate woman beneath the regal exterior. But the course of true love never did run smooth, as the bard wrote. The problem was this: Mr. Orme did not immediately comprehend his own good fortune.
Mr. Orme regarded his suit as hopeless, and his personal modesty hindered him from correctly interpreting a sudden, encouraging change in Maria’s conduct towards him. Having devoted his energies to rising to distinction in his profession, he did not know how to play the gallant. In consequence, the toils of courtship fell upon Maria, but she was equal to the challenge. She sought out his company when in public, she recommended his professional services to her friends, she asked for his opinion on the questions of the day, she even declared herself jealous if he conversed with any other lady!
And at last, being an intelligent man, he could not deny the evidence of his own eyes and ears—Maria Crawford was giving him as much encouragement as any respectable, well-judging woman would allow herself to give.
He resolved to risk an application for her hand, and he was accepted!
Maria made her choice expecting nothing more than security and the regularity of domestic life, having consigned dreams of romance to her youth. She was surprised—happily surprised—to discover the ardour buried under Mr. Orme’s reserved temperament. Her regard for her husband ripened quickly into love, a love that soon gave every promise of enduring the trial of living together, but also withstood an early trial of a separation of some weeks. The happy couple visited Everingham to acquaint her parents with her new husband, but Mr. Orme returned to London in August, and Maria did not follow him back until September. Thus they could add “constancy” to the list of each other’s virtues.
One of Maria’s first visits upon her return to town was to call upon Margaret Meriwether, who greeted her friend with her customary lively regard and with many solicitous questions concerning Maria’s parents, whom she had never met.
Maria returned the courtesy with “And how does Mrs. Fraser?” even though she knew that Margaret bore little love for her step-mother.
“She is well, as always,” replied Margaret, “but, did you not hear the news, Maria, that your brother’s wife is staying with her for the season?”
“I did understand from my brother that Mary was in London,” Maria replied, “but I took it to mean she would pay a brief visit to do some shopping after being in the wilds of Ireland for so long. Staying for the entire season apart from Edmund? Are you certain? Although, of course,” she added, thinking of her own case, thinking of happy newlyweds who had parted after only a few weeks of marriage, “that could mean nothing.
“So you do not think there is any… difficulty?” asked Margaret out of a curiousity she could not subdue.
“Edmund did not say so, in so many words, in his letter,” said Maria. “But he was very mysterious about their reasons for leaving Ireland. I told him he and the children were welcome at Everingham for so long as he wished. My parents will be very happy to receive them.’
“Will you call upon Mary, or will she call upon you?” asked Margaret. “I wonder if we shall see a great deal of her this season.”
“We need do little more than exchange calling-cards, I think,” said Maria decisively. “I cannot think well of Mary. She has wounded my brother too much.”
“Yes, I believe I shall not visit my step-mother so very much whilst Mary is there,” said Margaret gravely. “I know I should not mention anything of the kind, but since you say it, I must confess that I cannot like Mary. I have tried. She is not like you, Maria—you are always so good to me, but Mary would often be unkind.” Maria saw that her friend was still wounded at the recollection. “I do not have many pleasant memories of those days. She and mother together had a way of laughing at my expense.”
Maria was temporarily silenced. She felt exceedingly conscious, for when she and her sister Julia first came up to London, they, too, laughed at Margaret behind her back, and said cruel things about her to their acquaintance. She had been no better than Mary in that regard. Her thoughtless malice toward Margaret had arisen out of her own vanity and sense of superiority, and she would be mortified if Margaret ever knew of it.
Maria reached out a hand and patted Margaret’s plump little hand affectionately. “You are such a good-tempered soul, my dear Margaret, that once someone comes to know you, I wonder that they can be unkind to you. You, who are all kindness and generosity.”
This declaration did not have the expected effect. Maria was astonished to see
