“I was not speaking in a religious sense, Harriet. I spoke as a mother.”
“Selina, I am sure you have never heard me say anything against a niece of mine marrying your son.”
“Oh, it is pride in Miss Vincy—I am sure it is nothing else,” said Mrs. Plymdale, who had never before given all her confidence to “Harriet” on this subject. “No young man in Middlemarch was good enough for her: I have heard her mother say as much. That is not a Christian spirit, I think. But now, from all I hear, she has found a man AS proud as herself.”
“You don’t mean that there is anything between Rosamond and Mr. Lydgate?” said Mrs. Bulstrode, rather mortified at finding out her own ignorance
“Is it possible you don’t know, Harriet?”
“Oh, I go about so little; and I am not fond of gossip; I really never hear any. You see so many people that I don’t see. Your circle is rather different from ours.”
“Well, but your own niece and Mr. Bulstrode’s great favorite— and yours too, I am sure, Harriet! I thought, at one time, you meant him for Kate, when she is a little older.”
“I don’t believe there can be anything serious at present,” said Mrs. Bulstrode. “My brother would certainly have told me.”
“Well, people have different ways, but I understand that nobody can see Miss Vincy and Mr. Lydgate together without taking them to be engaged. However, it is not my business. Shall I put up the pattern of mittens?”
After this Mrs. Bulstrode drove to her niece with a mind newly weighted. She was herself handsomely dressed, but she noticed with a little more regret than usual that Rosamond, who was just come in and met her in walking-dress, was almost as expensively equipped. Mrs. Bulstrode was a feminine smaller edition of her brother, and had none of her husband’s low-toned pallor. She had a good honest glance and used no circumlocution.
“You are alone, I see, my dear,” she said, as they entered the drawing-room together, looking round gravely. Rosamond felt sure that her aunt had something particular to say, and they sat down near each other. Nevertheless, the quilling inside Rosamond’s bonnet was so charming that it was impossible not to desire the same kind of thing for Kate, and Mrs. Bulstrode’s eyes, which were rather fine, rolled round that ample quilled circuit, while she spoke.
“I have just heard something about you that has surprised me very much, Rosamond.”
“What is that, aunt?” Rosamond’s eyes also were roaming over her aunt’s large embroidered collar.
“I can hardly believe it—that you should be engaged without my knowing it—without your father’s telling me.” Here Mrs. Bulstrode’s eyes finally rested on Rosamond’s, who blushed deeply, and said—
“I am not engaged, aunt.”
“How is it that every one says so, then—that it is the town’s talk?”
“The town’s talk is of very little consequence, I think,” said Rosamond, inwardly gratified.
“Oh, my dear, be more thoughtful; don’t despise your neighbors so. Remember you are turned twenty-two now, and you will have no fortune: your father, I am sure, will not be able to spare you anything. Mr. Lydgate is very intellectual and clever; I know there is an attraction in that. I like talking to such men myself; and your uncle finds him very useful. But the profession is a poor one here. To be sure, this life is not everything; but it is seldom a medical man has true religious views—there is too much pride of intellect. And you are not fit to marry a poor man.
“Mr. Lydgate is not a poor man, aunt. He has very high connections.”
“He told me himself he was poor.”
“That is because he is used to people who have a high style
“My dear Rosamond, YOU must not think of living in high style.”
Rosamond looked down and played with her reticule. She was not a fiery young lady and had no sharp answers, but she meant to live as she pleased.
“Then it is really true?” said Mrs. Bulstrode, looking very earnestly at her niece. “You are thinking of Mr. Lydgate—there is some understanding between you, though your father doesn’t know. Be open, my dear Rosamond: Mr. Lydgate has really made you an offer?”
Poor Rosamond’s feelings were very unpleasant. She had been quite easy as to Lydgate’s feeling and intention, but now when her aunt put this question she did not like being unable to say Yes. Her pride was hurt, but her habitual control of manner helped her.
“Pray excuse me, aunt. I would rather not speak on the subject.”
“You would not give your heart to a man without a decided prospect, I trust, my dear. And think of the two excellent offers I know of that you have refused!—and one still within your reach, if you will not throw it away. I knew a very great beauty who married badly at last, by doing so. Mr. Ned Plymdale is a nice young man— some might think good-looking; and an only son; and a large business of that kind is better than a profession. Not that marrying is everything I would have you seek first the kingdom of God. But a girl should keep her heart within her own power.”
“I should never give it to Mr. Ned Plymdale, if it were. I have already refused him. If I loved, I should love at once and without change,” said Rosamond, with a great sense of being a romantic heroine, and playing the part prettily.
“I see how it is, my dear,” said Mrs. Bulstrode, in a melancholy voice, rising to go. “You have allowed your affections to be engaged without return.”
“No, indeed, aunt,” said Rosamond, with emphasis.
“Then you are quite confident that Mr. Lydgate has a serious attachment to you?”
Rosamond’s cheeks by this time were persistently burning, and she felt much mortification. She chose to be silent, and her aunt went away all the more convinced.
Mr. Bulstrode in things worldly and indifferent was disposed to do what his wife bade him, and she now, without telling her reasons, desired him on the next opportunity to find out in conversation with Mr. Lydgate whether he had any intention of marrying soon. The result was a decided negative. Mr. Bulstrode, on being cross-questioned, showed that Lydgate had spoken as no man would who had any attachment that could issue in matrimony. Mrs. Bulstrode now felt that she had a serious duty before her, and she soon managed to arrange a tete-a-tete with Lydgate, in which she passed from inquiries about Fred Vincy’s health, and expressions of her sincere anxiety for her brother’s large family, to general remarks on the dangers which lay before young people with regard to their settlement in life. Young men were often wild and disappointing, making little return for the money spent on them, and a girl was exposed to many circumstances which might interfere with her prospects.
“Especially when she has great attractions, and her parents see much company,” said Mrs. Bulstrode “Gentlemen pay her attention, and engross her all to themselves, for the mere pleasure of the moment, and that drives off others. I think it is a heavy responsibility, Mr. Lydgate, to interfere with the prospects of any girl.” Here Mrs. Bulstrode fixed her eyes on him, with an unmistakable purpose of warning, if not of rebuke.
“Clearly,” said Lydgate, looking at her—perhaps even staring a little in return. “On the other hand, a man must be a great coxcomb to go about with a notion that he must not pay attention to a young lady lest she should fall in love with him, or lest others should think she must.”
“Oh, Mr. Lydgate, you know well what your advantages are. You know that our young men here cannot cope with you. Where you frequent a house it may militate very much against a girl’s making a desirable settlement in life, and prevent her from accepting offers even if they are made.”
Lydgate was less flattered by his advantage over the Middlemarch Orlandos than he was annoyed by the perception of Mrs. Bulstrode’s meaning. She felt that she had spoken as impressively as it was necessary to do, and that in using the superior word “militate” she had thrown a noble drapery over a mass of particulars which were still evident enough.