The next few weeks passed without any particular incident to vary their
monotony. The summer was a fine one, much of the time was spent out of
doors, and, though Margaret might wish for a walking companion, nothing
at all was said about it.
The parsonage was now ready for Mr. Atherton, and he went there from
the Park early in July. Hardly a day had passed without his calling
at the Cottage, and Mrs. Dashwood had come to regard his visits as
inevitable and therefore no subject for complaint. He talked too much
and had very little sense, but he was an amiable man, and she had come
to that time of life when for an acquaintance to be amiable is held to
be a recommendation. She felt, or imagined she felt, that she liked
people to be dull rather than disagreeable, and uninteresting rather
than bad-tempered, and, though it is no doubt regrettable that these
opinions are so often held by people of forty years of age and upwards,
there may be something to be said for their point of view.
As Margaret had foreseen, Mr. Atherton was now considered to be
entitled to Mrs. Dashwood’s patient attention, and Margaret herself,
whatever she might feel of weariness, treated him with steady
gentleness. That she did not believe herself to be thereby giving him
what is called encouragement was due to her being without the suspicion
of his desiring anything in particular.
The day came, however, when his wishes were to be made known to her.
He arrived one morning with a special request to make. It was that
the ladies should lay aside their occupations to walk with him to the
parsonage and explore the house and gardens.
“There is much still to be done to both, and I feel the touch of a
lady’s hand is needed to make the house all that it should be. It
is to me a little bleak and bare, and, though I have plans for its
improvement, I want to have your sanction, your agreement in what I
propose. Your taste and discernment are needed both within and without.”
Mrs. Dashwood professed herself very happy to put her taste and
discernment, such as they were, at Mr. Atherton’s service. Margaret,
as usual, said nothing, but it did appear that her silent consent was
needed for the proposed improvements. Their work was laid aside, their
walking dresses put on, and they were ready to accompany the young
man. Before they left the house he turned to survey the parlour, and
said with enthusiasm:
“If I could but achieve this look of home, this air of peaceful
industry, in my own house, how happy should I be!”
This admiration for Barton Cottage must have been increased by his
daily visits, for it could not be forgotten that his first comments had
been mingled with dispraise. There was something forced about so much
admiration, and to Mrs. Dashwood’s mind there had been more sincerity
at first, if less good manners.
He continued in this strain of laborious gallantry as they walked to
the parsonage. Mrs. Dashwood became uneasy. She feared to look at
Margaret lest she should be unable to continue to listen with suitable
gravity, and it was a relief when they turned in at the garden gate and
had something definite to attend to.
The garden was very well laid out, with a hen-run and a shrubbery, and
apple trees and a rubbish heap, all most convenient. No detail escaped
observation, and the garden alone occupied the best part of an hour.
They were then led indoors. Fruit and cake were ready on the sideboard
in the dining-room, and the rest and refreshment were indeed welcome.
The ladies were tired out. Such continual admiration had been demanded
of them that they would have been thankful to see something that
merited disapproval. But no such relief was to be theirs. The standard
of excellence of the house was even higher than that of the garden, and
everything must come under their notice. Margaret began to wonder if
even the mousetraps in the back larder would escape comment. The brass
toasting-fork and the fire-screens, the foot-stools and the wool-work
mats had all received their due, and Mrs. Dashwood lingered behind in
the linen-room to examine some fine table-cloths which attracted her.
Margaret was taken on to the study, and walked up to the book-shelves,
in the contents of which she felt real interest. To her astonishment
she found herself ardently addressed by her host, her hand taken in
both of his, and an urgently-worded proposal of marriage laid before
her. In a speech of great length, which must have cost him some pains
to compose and memorize, he was asking her to become the mistress of
the house in which they were standing.
He argued that their tastes were similar, their ideas in unison, and
their prospect of happiness very great. She would be settled near her
mother, for whom he had an abiding deference. Her indoor pursuits and
her outdoor pastimes would be equally considered, and she would find
that in her own domain she would be paramount. His arguments were
excellent, and he evidently knew his oration by heart, for he never
faltered in its delivery or allowed her to interpose any objection. He
paused at length and waited for her reply.
She gently declined his offer and begged to be allowed to rejoin
her mother. He was not only disappointed, he was surprised, and was
preparing to repeat some of his representations when Mrs. Dashwood
came into the room, and further protest was impossible. They almost
immediately took leave, and to their relief Mr. Atherton only
accompanied them as far as the garden gate.
Mrs. Dashwood was quickly told of the offer. Margaret was regretful at
giving pain, but surprised at the necessity. She had not thought him
attached to her for the reason that she did not think him sufficiently
indifferent to wealth and position to wish for a wife with so small a
fortune. She did not believe him to have any real regard for her. She
had therefore paid little attention to his show of admiration, and none
at all to the hints thrown out by Mrs. Jennings. However, the offer had
been made, and had been declined, and it remained to be seen whether
Mr. Atherton’s desire for sympathy would be stronger than his pride;
whether he would let his disappointment be known at the Park, or
whether he would keep it to himself.
Perhaps the distress was not so great as to require condolences.
Perhaps his vanity preferred secrecy to pity. Perhaps some other cause
was at work, but to Margaret’s relief it became evident that nothing
had been said at the Park, and in many ways it appeared certain that
Mr. Atherton had accepted her decision as final.
Often when we think we are safe, calamity is near at hand. Not many
days had passed before Mrs. Dashwood and Margaret, returning from
their walk, found John Dashwood awaiting them. He was standing by the
window, and they could see the annoyance on his face as they turned in
at the gate. He was staying at the parsonage, he replied, in answer to
Mrs. Dashwood’s ready offer of hospitality. He had merely called in to
inquire. He did not immediately say what was to be the extent of his
inquiries, but it was clear from his expression that something more
than their health was involved.
It soon became evident to Margaret that nothing more would be said of
his mission so long as she remained in the room. Mr. Dashwood replied
to all questions and remarks in monosyllables, and occupied the
intervals by looking at her with patent displeasure. She therefore
excused herself on the plea of changing her walking dress, and left
her mother to listen to whatever it was that John had to impart.
He did not begin at once. Possibly the subject was harder to open
than he had expected. It was evident that he was angry, and uncertain
whether he were rightly so.
“I hope you are pleased with the work done at the parsonage, and that
you find Mr. Atherton is satisfied,” said Mrs. Dashwood in the course
of her polite inquiries.
Mr. Dashwood replied that it was the dissatisfaction felt by Mr.
Atherton, and imparted to himself and Fanny by letter, that had brought
him hither.
“My sister is young,” he went on, with an air of making every allowance
possible. “She cannot be expected to foresee the future. It therefore
behoves us to help her in her decision. It cannot, I think, be your
wish that she should decline Mr. Atherton’s addresses. She is unlikely,
living as she does in retirement, to have such an offer made to her
again. Perhaps she is not aware--Mr. Atherton is not of a boastful
disposition, and it is probable that she is not aware--that he has a
private income in addition to the living and that his expectations are
very good. There are several unmarried aunts in good circumstances,
and an uncle, also unmarried, who is even wealthy. Margaret would,
in all probability, become a rich woman in time. Meanwhile with her
small fortune, augmented as Fanny and I suggest, they would be very
passably comfortable. Their income would be more than half that of
my sister, Elinor, although she married Fanny’s own brother. Yes,
decidedly Margaret would be in a better position in some ways! Her
expectations would be better, and she would be marrying with the good
wishes and approval of all concerned, which, as you recollect, my dear
madam, was not unhappily the case of Elinor and poor Edward Ferrars.
They were honoured by your approval, I am aware, but the grief felt by
his excellent and affectionate mother was very distressing. But enough
of that! What is done cannot be undone! In Margaret’s case no such
objection would arise. I think it possible that in good time she might
be as rich as Marianne, or even more so, if she succeeded in becoming
a favourite with Mr. Atherton’s relations. I feel sure that all this
has not been laid before her. Possibly you yourself are not aware of
it. I blame myself for not having made the matter clearer in a letter
which I had the honour of writing to you on the subject. But it is not
too late! I have secured from Mr. Atherton the promise that, if he is
assured that his proposals will be accepted, he will renew them. This
he has definitely agreed to, and his only stipulation is that he should
be informed of the alteration in my sister’s mind at once, or at least
during the ensuing week. After that time he will consider himself at
liberty to pay his addresses in another quarter. So, madam, there is no
time to be lost if we are to secure this admirable settlement for my
sister, and I beg you to use your influence on our behalf.”
Mrs. Dashwood had made no attempt to reply. No opportunity to do so
had been given her, but now he paused. She reminded him that he had
said that this marriage would have the approval of all concerned. She
could not agree. It would not have her own approval. She considered Mr.
Atherton a very agreeable good sort of man, but not one likely to make
her daughter happy. Margaret’s inability to accept his proposals had
her approval. The marriage could only take place against her wishes.
This seemed to her to be as strong a statement as was required. John
Dashwood, however, did not think so. She had no wealth to enforce her
arguments. She made no threat of cutting Margaret out of her will,
and even had she done so it would be a matter of minor importance
to a young lady favoured by the prospect of such a settlement in
life. Obedience to maternal authority could not be expected when so
little was to be gained by it. He therefore renewed his arguments,
reinforcing them by the information that the elder Mrs. Ferrars
had heard of Margaret’s prospects and highly approved, and even
contemplated sending a wedding present, and that Fanny had written to
Lady Middleton begging her kind offices in the matter.
The knowledge that Lady Middleton would certainly take no notice of
such a request was Mrs. Dashwood’s only consolation. John and his
wife were capable of angering her more deeply than any others of
her acquaintance. She resented the difference in their thoughts and
feelings the more on account of their relationship to her daughters,
and she sometimes felt that she would be thankful indeed could she
be sure of never seeing or hearing of them again; and that even an
open quarrel would be welcome if it could bring about so complete a
misunderstanding as must end their intimacy.