Aware of the impression he had made—few men were quicker than he at such discoveries—Mr. Chester followed up the blow by propounding certain virtuous maxims, somewhat vague and general in their nature, doubtless, and occasionally partaking of the character of truisms, worn a little out at elbow, but delivered in so charming a voice and with such uncommon serenity and peace of mind, that they answered as well as the best. Nor is this to be wondered at; for as hollow vessels produce a far more musical sound in falling than those which are substantial, so it will oftentimes be found that sentiments which have nothing in them make the loudest ringing in the world, and are the most relished.
Mr. Chester, with the volume gently extended in one hand, and with the other planted lightly on his breast, talked to them in the most delicious manner possible; and quite enchanted all his hearers, notwithstanding their conflicting interests and thoughts. Even Dolly, who, between his keen regards and her eyeing over by Mr. Tappertit, was put quite out of countenance, could not help owning within herself that he was the sweetest-spoken gentleman she had ever seen. Even Miss Miggs, who was divided between admiration of Mr. Chester and a mortal jealousy of her young mistress, had sufficient leisure to be propitiated. Even Mr. Tappertit, though occupied as we have seen in gazing at his heart’s delight, could not wholly divert his thoughts from the voice of the other charmer. Mrs. Varden, to her own private thinking, had never been so improved in all her life; and when Mr. Chester, rising and craving permission to speak with her apart, took her by the hand and led her at arm’s length upstairs to the best sitting-room, she almost deemed him something more than human.
“Dear madam,” he said, pressing her hand delicately to his lips; “be seated.”
Mrs. Varden called up quite a courtly air, and became seated.
“You guess my object?” said Mr. Chester, drawing a chair towards her. “You divine my purpose? I am an affectionate parent, my dear Mrs. Varden.”
“That I am sure you are, sir,” said Mrs. V.
“Thank you,” returned Mr. Chester, tapping his snuffbox lid. “Heavy moral responsibilities rest with parents, Mrs. Varden.”
Mrs. Varden slightly raised her hands, shook her head, and looked at the ground as though she saw straight through the globe, out at the other end, and into the immensity of space beyond.
“I may confide in you,” said Mr. Chester, “without reserve. I love my son, ma’am, dearly; and loving him as I do, I would save him from working certain misery. You know of his attachment to Miss Haredale. You have abetted him in it, and very kind of you it was to do so. I am deeply obliged to you—most deeply obliged to you—for your interest in his behalf; but my dear ma’am, it is a mistaken one, I do assure you.”
Mrs. Varden stammered that she was sorry—
“Sorry, my dear ma’am,” he interposed. “Never be sorry for what is so very amiable, so very good in intention, so perfectly like yourself. But there are grave and weighty reasons, pressing family considerations, and apart even from these, points of religious difference, which interpose themselves, and render their union impossible; utterly im‑possible. I should have mentioned these circumstances to your husband; but he has—you will excuse my saying this so freely—he has not your quickness of apprehension or depth of moral sense. What an extremely airy house this is, and how beautifully kept! For one like myself—a widower so long—these tokens of female care and superintendence have inexpressible charms.”
Mrs. Varden began to think (she scarcely knew why) that the young Mr. Chester must be in the wrong and the old Mr. Chester must be in the right.
“My son Ned,” resumed her tempter with his most winning air, “has had, I am told, your lovely daughter’s aid, and your openhearted husband’s.”
“—Much more than mine, sir,” said Mrs. Varden; “a great deal more. I have often had my doubts. It’s a—”
“A bad example,” suggested Mr. Chester. “It is. No doubt it is. Your daughter is at that age when to set before her an encouragement for young persons to rebel against their parents on this most important point, is particularly injudicious. You are quite right. I ought to have thought of that myself, but it escaped me, I confess—so far superior are your sex to ours, dear madam, in point of penetration and sagacity.”
Mrs. Varden looked as wise as if she had really said something to deserve this compliment—firmly believed she had, in short—and her faith in her own shrewdness increased considerably.
“My dear ma’am,” said Mr. Chester, “you embolden me to be plain with you. My son and I are at variance on this point. The young lady and her natural guardian differ upon it, also. And the closing point is, that my son is bound by his duty to me, by his honour, by every solemn tie and obligation, to marry someone else.”
“Engaged to marry another lady!” quoth Mrs. Varden, holding up her hands.
“My dear madam, brought up, educated, and trained, expressly for that purpose. Expressly for that purpose.—Miss Haredale, I am told, is a very charming creature.”
“I am her foster-mother, and should know—the best young lady in the world,” said Mrs. Varden.
“I have not the smallest doubt of it. I am sure she is. And you, who
