HOW THE DAUGHTER HAS A HEART; AND, WHAT IS COMMONER, A LOVER.
Yes, Maria Dillaway, though Sir Thomas's own daughter, had a heart, a
warm and good one: it was her only beauty, but assuredly at once the
best adornment and cosmetic in the world. The mixture of two such
conflicting characters as her father and mother might (with common
Providence to bless the pair) unitedly produce heart; although their
plebeian countenances could hardly be expected without a direct miracle
to generate beauty. Maria inherited from her father at once his
impetuosity and his little button-nose: although the latter was neither
purple nor pimply, and the former was more generous and better directed:
from her mother she derived what looked to any one at first sight very
like red hair, along with great natural sweetness of disposition: albeit
her locks had less of fire, and her sweetness more of it: sympathy was
added to gentleness, zeal to patience, and universal tenderness to a
general peace with all the world; for that extreme quietude, almost
apathy, alluded to before, having been superseded by paternal
impetuosity, the result of all was Heart. She doated on her mother; and
(how she contrived this, it is not quite so easy to comprehend) she
found a great deal loveable even in her father. But in fact she loved
every body. Charity was the natural atmosphere of her kind and feeling
soul--always excusing, assisting, comforting, blessing; charity lent
music to her tongue, and added beauty to her eyes--charity gave grace to
an otherwise ordinary figure, and lit her freckled cheek with the spirit
of loveliness. Let us be just--nay, more: let us be partial, to the good
looks of poor dear Maria. Notwithstanding the snub nose (it is not
snub; who says it is snub?--it is _mignon_, personified good
nature)--notwithstanding the carroty hair (I declare, it was nothing but
a fine pale auburn after all)--notwithstanding the peppered face (oh,
how sweetly rayed with smiles!) and the common figure (gentle,
unobtrusive, full of delicate attentions)--yes, notwithstanding all
these unheroinals, no one who had a heart himself could look upon Maria
without pleasure and approval. She was the very incarnation of
cheerfulness, kindness, and love: you forgot the greenish colour of
those eyes which looked so tenderly at you, and so often-times were
dimmed with tears of unaffected pity; her smile, at any rate, was most
enchanting, the very sunshine of an amiable mind; her lips dropped
blessings; her brow was an open plain of frankness and candour;
sincerity, warmth, disinterested sweet affections threw such a lustre of
loveliness over her form, as well might fascinate the mind alive to
spiritual beauty: and altogether, in spite of natural defects and
disadvantages--_nez retroussé_, Cleopatra locks, and all--no one but
those constituted like her materialized father and his kind, ever looked
upon Maria without unconsciously admiring her, he scarcely knew for
what. Though there appeared little to praise, there certainly was every
thing to please; and faulty as in all pictorial probability was each
lineament of face and line of form, taken separately and by detail, the
veil of universal charity softened and united them into one harmonious
whole, making of Maria Dillaway a most pleasant, comfortable, wife-like
little personage.
At least, so thought Henry Clements. Neither was it any sudden
fortnight's fancy, but the calm consideration of two full years. Maria's
was a character which grew upon your admiration gradually--a character
to like at first just a little; then to be led onwards imperceptibly
from liking to loving; and thence from fervid summer probably to fever
heat. She dawned upon young Henry like the blush of earliest morn, still
shining brighter and fairer till glorious day was come.
He had casually made her acquaintance in the common social circle, and
even on first introduction had been much pleased, not to say captivated,
with her cordial address, frank unsophisticated manners, and winsome
looks; he contrasted her to much advantage with the affected coquette,
the cold formal prude, the flippant woman of fashion, the empty heads
and hollow hearts wherewithal society is peopled. He had long been
wearied out with shallow courtesies, frigid compliments, and other
conventional hypocrisies, up and down the world; and wanted something
better to love than mere surface beauty, mere elegant accomplishment--in
a word, he yearned for Heart, and found the object of his longings in
affectionate Maria.
This first casual acquaintance he had of course taken every opportunity
to improve as best he might, and happily found himself more and more
charmed on every fresh occasion. How heartily glad she was to see him!
how unaffectedly sincere in her amiable joy! how like a kind sister, a
sympathizing friend, a very true-love--a dear, cheerful, warm-hearted
girl, who would make the very model for a wife!
It is little wonder that, with all external drawbacks, now well-nigh
forgotten, the handsome Henry Clements found her so attractive; nor
that, following diligently his points of advantage, he progressed from
acquaintanceship to intimacy, and intimacy to avowed admiration; and
thence (between ourselves) to the resolute measure of engagement.
I say between ourselves, because nobody else in the world knew it but
the billing pair of lovers; and even they have got the start of us only
by a few hours. As for Henry Clements, he was a free man in all senses,
with nobody to bias his will or control his affections--an orphan,
unclogged by so much as an uncle or aunt to take him to task on the
score of his attachment, or to plague him with impertinent advice. His
father, Captain Clements of the seventieth, had fallen "gloriously" on
the bloody field of Waterloo, and the pensioned widow had survived her
gallant hero barely nine winters; leaving little Henry thrown upon the
wide world at ten years of age, under the nominal guardianship of some
very distant Ulster cousin of her own, a Mackintosh, Mackenzie, or
Macfarlane--it is not yet material which; and as for the lad's little
property, his poor patrimony of two hundred a-year had hitherto amply
sufficed for Harrow and for Cambridge (where he had distinguished
himself highly), for his chambers in the Temple, and his quiet
bachelor-mode of life as a man of six-and-twenty.
Accordingly, our lover took counsel of nobody but Maria's beaming eyes,
when he almost unconsciously determined to lay siege to her: he really
could not make up his mind to the preliminary formal process of storming
Sir Thomas in his counting-house, at the least until he had made sure
that Maria's kind looks were any thing more particular than universal
charity; and as to Lady Dillaway, it was impossible to broach so
delicate a business to her till the daughter had looked favourably as
aforesaid, set aside her ladyship's formidable state of quiescence, and
apparent (though only apparent) lack of sympathy. So the lover still
went on sunning his soul from time to time in Maria's kindly smiles,
until one day, that is, yesterday, they mutually found out by some happy
accident how very dear they were to each other; and mutually vowed ever
to continue so. It was quite a surprise this, even to both of them--an
extemporary unrehearsed outburst of the heart; and Maria discovered
herself pledged before she had made direct application to mamma about
the business. However, once done, she hastened to confide the secret to
her mother's ear, earnestly requesting her to break it to papa. With how
little of success, we have learnt already.