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The Daisy Chain, or Aspirations

C >> Charlotte Yonge >> The Daisy Chain, or Aspirations




Flora was disappointed. She had been too highly pleased at her
conquest to make any clear estimation of the prize, individually
considered. Her vanity magnified her achievement, and she had come
home in a flutter of pleasure, at having had such a position in
society offered to her, and expecting that her whole family would
share her triumph. Gratified by George Rivers's admiration, she
regarded him with favour and complacency; and her habit of
considering herself as the most sensible person in her sphere made
her so regard his appreciation of her, that she was blinded to his
inferiority. It must be allowed that he was less dull with her than
with most others.

And, in the midst of her glory, when she expected her father to be
delighted and grateful--to be received as a silly girl, ready to
accept any proposal, her lover spoken of with scorn, and the
advantages of the match utterly passed over, was almost beyond
endurance. A physician, with eleven children dependent on his
practice, to despise an offer from the heir of such a fortune! But
that was his customary romance! She forgave him, when it occurred to
her that she was too important, and valuable, to be easily spared;
and a tenderness thrilled through her, as she looked at the sleeping
Margaret's pale face, and thought of surrendering her and little
Daisy to Ethel's keeping. And what would become of the housekeeping?
She decided, however, that feelings must not sway her--out of six
sisters some must marry, for the good of the rest. Blanche and Daisy
should come and stay with her, to be formed by the best society; and,
as to poor dear Ethel, Mrs. Rivers would rule the Ladies' Committee
for her with a high hand, and, perhaps, provide Cocksmoor with a
school at her sole expense. What a useful, admirable woman she would
be! The doctor would be the person to come to his senses in the
morning, when he remembered Abbotstoke, Mr. Rivers, and Meta.

So Flora met her father, the next morning, with all her ordinary
composure, in which he could not rival her, after his sleepless,
anxious night. His looks of affectionate solicitude disconcerted
what she had intended to say, and she waited, with downcast eyes, for
him to begin.

"Well, Flora," he said at last, "have you thought?"

"Do you know any cause against it?" said Flora, still looking down.

"I know almost nothing of him. I have never heard anything of his
character or conduct. Those would be a subject of inquiry, if you
wish to carry this on--"

"I see you are averse," said Flora. "I would do nothing against your
wishes--"

"My wishes have nothing to do with it," said Dr. May. "The point is-
-that I must do right, as far as I can, as well as try to secure your
happiness; and I want to be sure that you know what you are about."

"I know he is not clever," said Flora; "but there may be many solid
qualities without talent."

"I am the last person to deny it; but where are these solid
qualities? I cannot see the recommendation!"

"I place myself in your hands," said Flora, in a submissive tone,
which had the effect of making him lose patience.

"Flora, Flora! why will you talk as if I were sacrificing you to some
dislike or prejudice of my own! Don't you think I should only
rejoice to have such a prosperous home offered to you, if only the
man were worthy?"

"If you do not think him so, of course there is an end of it," said
Flora, and her voice showed suppressed emotion.

"It is not what I think, in the absence of proof, but what you think,
Flora. What I want you to do is this--to consider the matter fairly.
Compare him with--I'll not say with Norman--but with Richard, Alan,
Mr. Wilmot. Do you think you could rely on him--come to him for
advice?" (Flora never did come to any one for advice.) "Above all--
do you think him likely to be a help, or a hindrance, in doing
right?"

"I think you underrate him," said Flora steadily; "but, of course, if
you dislike it--though, I think, you would change your mind if you
knew him better--"

"Well," he said, as if to himself, "it is not always the most
worthy;" then continued, "I have no dislike to him. Perhaps I may
find that you are right. Since your mind is made up, I will do this:
first, we must be assured of his father's consent, for they may very
fairly object, since what I can give you is a mere nothing to them.
Next, I shall find out what character he bears in his regiment, and
watch him well myself; and, if nothing appear seriously amiss, I will
not withhold my consent. But, Flora, you should still consider
whether he shows such principle and right feeling as you can trust
to."

"Thank you, papa. I know you will do all that is kind."

"Mind, you must not consider it an engagement, unless all be
satisfactory."

"I will do as you please."

Ethel perceived that something was in agitation, but the fact did not
break upon her till she came to Margaret, after the schoolroom
reading, and heard Dr. May declaiming away in the vehement manner
that always relieved him.

"Such a cub!" These were the words that met her ear; and she would
have gone away, but he called her. "Come in, Ethel; Margaret says
you guessed at this affair!"

"At what affair!" exclaimed Ethel. "Oh, it is about Flora. Poor
man; has he done it?"

"Poor! He is not the one to be pitied!" said her father.

"You don't mean that she likes him?"

"She does though! A fellow with no more brains than a turnip
lantern!"

"She does not mean it?" said Ethel.

"Yes, she does! Very submissive, and proper spoken, of course, but
bent on having him; so there is nothing left for me but to consent--
provided Mr. Rivers does, and he should turn out not to have done
anything outrageous; but there's no hope of that--he has not the
energy. What can possess her? What can she see to admire?"

"He is good-natured," said Margaret, "and rather good-looking--"

"Flora has more sense. What on earth can be the attraction?"

"I am afraid it is partly the grandeur--" said Ethel. She broke off
short, quite dismayed at the emotion she had xcited. Dr. May stepped
towards her, almost as if he could have shaken her.

"Ethel," he cried, "I won't have such motives ascribed to your
sister!"

Ethel tried to recollect what she had said that was so shocking, for
the idea of Flora's worldly motives was no novelty to her. They had
appeared in too many instances; and, though frightened at his anger,
she stood still, without unsaying her words.

Margaret began to explain away. "Ethel did not mean, dear papa--"

"No," said Dr. May, his passionate manner giving way to dejection.
"The truth is, that I have made home so dreary, that my girls are
ready to take the first means of escaping."

Poor Margaret's tears sprang forth, and, looking up imploringly, she
exclaimed, "Oh, papa, papa! it was no want of happiness! I could not
help it. You know he had come before--"

Any reproach to her had been entirely remote from his thoughts, and
he was at once on his knee beside her, soothing and caressing,
begging her pardon, and recalling whatever she could thus have
interpreted. Meanwhile, Ethel stood unnoticed and silent, making no
outward protestation, but with lips compressed, as in her heart of
hearts she passed the resolution--that her father should never feel
this pain on her account. Leave him who might, she would never
forsake him; nothing but the will of Heaven should part them. It
might be hasty and venturesome. She knew not what it might cost her;
but, where Ethel had treasured her resolve to work for Cocksmoor,
there she also laid up her secret vow--that no earthly object should
be placed between her and her father.

The ebullition of feeling seemed to have restored Dr. May's calmness,
and he rose, saying, "I must go to my work; the man is coming here
this afternoon."

"Where shall you see him?" Margaret asked.

"In my study, I suppose. I fear there is no chance of Flora's
changing her mind first. Or do you think one of you could talk to
her, and get her fairly to contemplate the real bearings of the
matter?" And, with these words, he left the room.

Margaret and Ethel glanced at each other; and both felt the
impenetrability of Flora's nature, so smooth, that all thrusts glided
off.

"It will be of no use," said Ethel; "and, what is more, she will not
have it done."

"Pray try; a few of your forcible words would set it in a new light."

"Why! Do you think she will attend to me, when she has not chosen to
heed papa?" said Ethel, with an emphasis of incredulity. "No;
whatever Flora does, is done deliberately, and unalterably."

"Still, I don't know whether it is not our duty," said Margaret.

"More yours than mine," said Ethel.

Margaret flushed up. "Oh, no, I cannot!" she said, always timid, and
slightly defective in moral courage. She looked so nervous and
shaken by the bare idea of a remonstrance with Flora, that Ethel
could not press her; and, though convinced that her representation
would be useless, she owned that her conscience would rest better
after she had spoken. "But there is Flora, walking in the garden
with Norman," she said. "No doubt he is doing it."

So Ethel let it rest, and attended to the children's lessons, during
which Flora came into the drawing-room, and practised her music, as
if nothing had happened.

Before the morning was over, Ethel contrived to visit Norman in the
dining-room, where he was wont to study, and asked him whether he had
made any impression on Flora.

"What impression do you mean?"

"Why, about this concern," said Ethel; "this terrible man, that makes
papa so unhappy."

"Papa unhappy! Why, what does he know against him? I thought the
Riverses were his peculiar pets."

"The Riverses! As if, because one liked the sparkling stream, one
must like a muddy ditch."

"What harm do you know of him?" said Norman, with much surprise and
anxiety, as if he feared that he had been doing wrong, in ignorance.

"Harm! Is he not a regular oaf?"

"My dear Ethel, if you wait to marry till you find some one as clever
as yourself, you will wait long enough."

"I don't think it right for a woman to marry a man decidedly her
inferior."

"We have all learned to think much too highly of talent," said Norman
gravely.

"I don't care for mere talent--people are generally more sensible
without it; but, one way or other, there ought to be superiority on
the man's side."

"Well, who says there is not?"

"My dear Norman! Why, this George Rivers is really below the
average! you cannot deny that! Did you ever meet any one so stupid?"

"Really!" said Norman, considering; and, speaking very innocently, "I
cannot see why you think so. I do not see that he is at all less
capable of sustaining a conversation than Richard."

Ethel sat down, perfectly breathless with amazement and indignation.

Norman saw that he had shocked her very much. "I do not mean," he
said, "that we have not much more to say to Richard; all I meant to
say was, merely as to the intellect."

"I tell you," said Ethel, "it is not the intellect. Richard! why,
you know how we respect, and look up to him. Dear old Ritchie! with
his goodness, and earnestness, and right judgment--to compare him to
that man! Norman, Norman, I never thought it of you!"

"You do not understand me, Ethel. I only cited Richard, as a person
who proves how little cleverness is needed to insure respect."

"And, I tell you, that cleverness is not the point."

"It is the only objection you have put forward."

"I did wrong," said Ethel. "It is not the real one. It is earnest
goodness that one honours in Richard. Where do we find it in this
man, who has never done anything but yawn over his self indulgence?"

"Now, Ethel, you are working yourself up into a state of foolish
prejudice. You and papa have taken a dislike to him; and you are
overlooking a great deal of good safe sense and right thinking. I
know his opinions are sound, and his motives right. He has been
undereducated, we all see, and is not very brilliant or talkative;
but I respect Flora for perceiving his solid qualities."

"Very solid and weighty, indeed!" said Ethel ironically. "I wonder if
she would have seen them in a poor curate."

"Ethel, you are allowing yourself to be carried, by prejudice, a
great deal too far. Are such imputations to be made, wherever there
is inequality of means? It is very wrong! very unjust!"

"So papa said," replied Ethel, as she looked sorrowfully down. "He
was very angry with me for saying so. I wish I could help feeling as
if that were the temptation."

"You ought," said Norman. "You will be sorry, if you set yourself,
and him, against it."

"I only wish you to know what I feel; and, I think, Margaret and papa
do," said Ethel humbly; "and then you will not think us more unjust
than we are. We cannot see anything so agreeable or suitable in this
man as to account for Flora's liking, and we do not feel convinced of
his being good for much. That makes papa greatly averse to it,
though he does not know any positive reason for refusing; and we
cannot feel certain that she is doing quite right, or for her own
happiness."

"You will be convinced," said Norman cheerfully. "You will find out
the good that is under the surface when you have seen more of him. I
have had a good deal of talk with him."

A good deal of talk to him would have been more correct, if Norman
had but been aware of it. He had been at the chief expense of the
conversation with George Rivers, and had taken the sounds of assent,
which he obtained, as evidences of his appreciation of all his views.
Norman had been struggling so long against his old habit of looking
down on Richard, and exalting intellect; and had seen, in his Oxford
life, so many ill-effects of the knowledge that puffeth up, that he
had come to have a certain respect for dullness, per se, of which
George Rivers easily reaped the benefit, when surrounded by the halo,
which everything at Abbotstoke Grange bore in the eyes of Norman.

He was heartily delighted at the proposed connection, and his genuine
satisfaction not only gratified Flora, and restored the equanimity
that had been slightly disturbed by her father, but it also reassured
Ethel and Margaret, who could not help trusting in his judgment, and
began to hope that George might be all he thought him.

Ethel, finding that there were two ways of viewing the gentleman,
doubted whether she ought to express her opinion. It was Flora's
disposition, and the advantages of the match, that weighed most upon
her, and, in spite of her surmise having been treated as so
injurious, she could not rid herself of the burden.

Dr. May was not so much consoled by Norman's opinion as Ethel
expected. The corners of his mouth curled up a little with
diversion, and though he tried to express himself glad, and confident
in his son's judgment, there was the same sort of involuntary lurking
misgiving with which he had accepted Sir Matthew Fleet's view of
Margaret's case.

There was no danger that Dr. May would not be kind and courteous to
the young man himself. It was not his fault if he were a dunce, and
Dr. May perceived that his love for Flora was real, though clumsily
expressed. He explained that he could not sanction the engagement
till he should be better informed of the young gentleman's
antecedents; this was, as George expressed it, a great nuisance, but
his father agreed that it was quite right, in some doubt, perhaps, as
to how Dr. May might be satisfied.




CHAPTER VII.



Ye cumbrous fashions, crowd not on my head.
Mine be the chip of purest white,
Swan-like; and, as her feathers light,
When on the still wave spread;
And let it wear the graceful dress
Of unadorned simpleness.
Catherine Fanshaw's 'Parody on Grey'.


Nothing transpired to the discredit of Lieutenant Rivers. He had
spent a great deal of money, but chiefly for want of something else
to do, and, though he was not a subject for high praise, there was no
vice in him--no more than in an old donkey--as Dr. May declared, in
his concluding paroxysm of despair, on finding that, though there was
little to reconcile him to the engagement, there was no reasonable
ground for thwarting his daughter's wishes. He argued the matter
once more with her, and, finding her purpose fixed, he notified his
consent, and the rest of the family were admitted to a knowledge of
the secret which they had never suspected.

Etheldred could not help being gratified with the indignation it
excited. With one voice, Mary and Blanche declared that they would
never give up the title of "the detestable," and would not make him
any presents; certainly not watch-chains! Miss Bracy, rather
alarmed, lectured them just enough to make them worse; and Margaret,
overhearing Blanche instructing Aubrey in her own impertinences, was
obliged to call her to her sofa, and assure her that she was unkind
to Flora, and that she must consider Mr. George Rivers as her
brother.

"Never my brother like Harry!" exclaimed Mary indignantly.

"No, indeed; nor like Alan!" exclaimed Blanche. "And I won't call
him George, I am determined, if it is ever so!"

"It will not matter to him what such little girls call him," said
Margaret.

Blanche was so annihilated, that the sound of a carriage, and of the
door bell, was a great satisfaction to her.

Meta Rivers came flying into the room, her beautiful eyes dancing,
and her cheeks glowing with pleasure, as, a little timidly, she
kissed Margaret; while Ethel, in a confused way, received Mr. Rivers,
in pain for her own cold, abrupt manner, in contrast with his gentle,
congratulating politeness.

Meta asked, blushing, and with a hesitating voice, for their dear
Flora; Mary offered to call her, but Meta begged to go herself, and
thus was spared the awkwardness that ensued. Ethel was almost vexed
with herself, as ungrateful, when she saw Mr. Rivers so mildly kind,
and so delighted, with the bland courtesy that seemed fully conscious
of the favour that Flora had conferred on his son, and thankful to
the Mays for accepting him.

Margaret answered with more expression of gratification than would
have been sincere in Ethel; but it was a relief when Flora and Meta
came in together, as pretty a contrast as could be seen; the little
dark-eyed fairy, all radiant with joy, clinging to the slender waist
of Flora, whose quiet grace and maidenly dignity were never more
conspicuous than as, with a soft red mantling in her fair cheek, her
eyes cast down, but with a simple, unaffected warmth of confidence
and gratitude, she came forward to receive Mr. Rivers's caressing
affectionate greeting.

Stiffness was over when she came in, and Dr. May, who presently made
his appearance, soon was much more at his ease than could have been
hoped, after his previous declarations that he should never be able
to be moderately civil about it to Mr. Rivers. People of ready
sympathy, such as Dr. May and Margaret, have a great deal of
difficulty with their sincerity spared them, by being carried along
with the feelings of others. Ethel could not feel the same, and was
bent on avoiding any expression of opinion; she hoped that Meta's
ecstasies would all be bestowed upon her future sister-in-law; but
Meta was eager for an interview with Ethel herself, and, as usual,
gained her point.

"Now then, you are property of my own!" she cried. "May I not take
you all for sisters?"

Ethel had not thought of this as a convenience of the connection, and
she let Meta kiss her, and owned that it was very nice.

"Ethel," said Meta, "I see, and I wanted to talk to you. You don't
think poor George good enough for Flora."

"I never meant to show it," said Ethel.

"You need not mind," said Meta, smiling. "I was very much surprised
myself, and thought it all a mistake. But I am so very glad, for I
know it will make such a difference to him, poor fellow. I should
like to tell you all about him, for no one else can very well, and
you will like him better, perhaps. You know my grandfather made his
own fortune, and you would think some of our relations very queer.
My Aunt Dorothy once told me all about it--papa was made to marry the
partner's daughter, and I fancy she could not have been much of a
lady. I don't think he could have been very happy with her, but she
soon died, and left him with this one son, whom those odd old aunts
brought up their own way. By and by, you know, papa came to be in
quite another line of society, but when he married again, poor George
had been so spoiled by these aunts, and was so big, and old, that my
mother did not know what to make of him."

"A great lubberly boy," Ethel said, rather repenting the next moment.

"He is thirteen years older than I am," said Meta, "and you see it
has been hard on him altogether; he had not the education that papa
would have given him if he had been born later: and he can't remember
his mother, and has always been at a loss when with clever people. I
never understood it till within the last two or three years, nor knew
how trying it must be to see such a little chit as me made so much
of--almost thrusting him aside. But you cannot think what a warm-
hearted good fellow he is--he has never been otherwise than so very
kind to me, and he was so very fond of his old aunt. Hitherto, he
has had such disadvantages, and no real, sensible woman has taken him
in hand; he does not care for papa's tastes, and I am so much
younger, that I never could get on with him at all, till this time;
but I do know that he has a real good temper, and all sorts of good
qualities, and that he only needs to be led right, to go right. Oh!
Flora may make anything of him, and we are so thankful to her for
having found it out!"

"Thank you for telling me," said Ethel. "It is much more
satisfactory to have no shamming."

Meta laughed, for Ethel's sham was not too successful; she continued,
"Dear Dr. May, I thought he would think his beautiful Flora not
exactly matched--but tell him, Ethel, for if he once is sorry for
poor George, he will like him. And it will really be the making of
George, to be thrown with him and your brothers. Oh! we are so glad!
But I won't tease you to be so."

"I can like it better now," said Ethel. "You know Norman thinks very
highly of your brother, and declares that it will all come out by and
by."

Meta clapped her hands, and said that she should tell her father, and
Ethel parted with her, liking her, at least, better than ever. There
was a comical scene between her and the doctor, trying to define what
relations they should become to each other, which Ethel thought did a
good deal to mollify her father.

The history of George's life did more; he took to pitying him, and
pity was, indeed, akin to love in the good doctor's mind. In fact,
George was a man who could be liked, when once regarded as a
belonging--a necessity, not a choice; for it was quite true that
there was no harm in him, and a great deal of good nature. His
constant kindness, and evident liking for Margaret, stood him in good
stead; he made her a sort of confidante, bestowing on her his
immeasurable appreciation of Flora's perfections, and telling her how
well he was getting on with "the old gentleman"--a name under which
she failed to recognise her father.

As to Tom, he wrote his congratulations to Ethel, that she might make
a wedding present of her Etruscan vases, the Cupids on which must
have been put there by anticipation. Richard heard none of the
doubts, and gave kind, warm congratulations, promising to return home
for the wedding; and Mary and Blanche no sooner heard a whisper about
bride's-maids than all their opposition faded away, in a manner that
quite scandalised Ethel, while it set Margaret on reminiscences of
her having been a six-year-old bride's-maid to Flora's godmother,
Mrs. Arnott.

As to the gossip in the town, Ethel quite dreaded the sight of every
one without Flora to protect her, and certainly, Flora's unaffected,
quiet manner was perfection, and kept off all too forward
congratulations, while it gratified those whom she was willing to
encourage.

There was no reason for waiting, and Mr. Rivers was as impatient as
his son, so an understanding arose that the wedding, should take
place near the end of the Christmas holidays.

Flora showed herself sensible and considerate. Always open-handed,
her father was inclined to do everything liberally, and laid no
restrictions on her preparations, but she had too much discretion to
be profuse, and had a real regard for the welfare of the rest. She
laughed with Ethel at the anticipations of the Stoneborough ladies
that she must be going to London, and, at the requests, as a great
favour, that they might be allowed the sight of her trousseau. Her
wedding-dress, white silk, with a white cashmere mantle, was, indeed,
ordered from Meta's London dressmaker; but, for the rest, she
contented herself with an expedition to Whitford, accompanied by Miss
Bracy and her two enchanted pupils, and there laid in a stock of
purchases, unpretending and in good taste, aiming only at what could
be well done, and not attempting the decorative wardrobe of a great
lady. Ethel was highly amused when the Misses Anderson came for
their inspection, to see their concealed disappointment at finding no
under garments trimmed with Brussels lace, nor pocket-handkerchiefs
all open-work, except a centre of the size of a crown-piece, and the
only thing remarkable was Margaret's beautiful marking in embroidery.
There was some compensation in the costly wedding presents--Flora had
reaped a whole harvest from friends of her own, grateful patients of
her father, and the whole Rivers and Langdale connection; but, in
spite of the brilliant uselessness of most of these, the young ladies
considered themselves ill-used, thought Dr. May never would have been
shabby, and were of opinion that when Miss Ward had married her
father's surgical pupil, her outfit had been a far more edifying
spectacle.

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