`I knew you would say so; though mamma affirmed you would be quite shocked at my undutiful conduct--you can't imagine how she lectures me--I am disobedient and ungrateful; I am thwarting her wishes, wronging my brother, and making myself a burden on her hands--I sometimes fear she'll overcome me after all. I have a strong will, but so has she, and when she says such bitter things, it provokes me to such a pass that I feel inclined to do as she bids me, and then break my heart and say "There, mamma, it's all your fault!"'
`Pray don't!' said I. `Obedience from such a motive would be positive wickedness, and certain to bring the punishment it deserved. Stand firm, and your mamma will soon relinquish her persecution;--and the gentleman himself will cease to pester you with his addresses if he finds them steadily rejected.'
`Oh, no! mamma will weary all about her before she tires herself with her exertions; and as for Mr. Oldfield, she has given him to understand that I have refused his offer, not from any dislike of his person, but merely because I am giddy and young, and cannot at present reconcile myself to the thoughts of marriage under any circumstances: but, by next season, she has no doubt, I shall have more sense, and hopes my girlish fancies will be worn away. So she has brought me home, to school me into a proper sense of my duty, against the time comes round again--indeed, I believe she will not put herself to the expense of taking me up to London again, unless I surrender: she cannot afford to take me to town for pleasure and nonsense, she says, and it is not every rich gentleman that will consent to take me without a fortune, whatever exalted ideas I may have of my own attractions.'
`Well Esther, I pity you; but still, I repeat, stand firm. You might as well sell yourself to slavery at once, as marry a man you dislike.
If your mother and brother are unkind to you, you may leave them, but remember you are bound to your husband for life.'s `But I cannot leave them unless I get married, and I cannot get married if nobody sees me. I saw one or two gentlemen in London, that I might have liked, but they were younger sons, and mamma would not let me get to know them--one especially, who I believe rather liked me, but she threw every possible obstacle in the way of our better acquaintance--wasn't it provoking?'
`I have no doubt you would feel it so, but it is possible that if you married him, you might have more reason to regret it hereafter, than if you married Mr. Oldfield. When I tell you not to marry without love, I do not advise you to marry for love alone--there are many, many other things to be considered. Keep both heart and hand in your own possession, till you see good reason to part with them; and if such an occasion should never present itself, comfort your mind with this reflection: that, though in single life your joys may not be very many, your sorrows at least will not be more than you can bear. Marriage may change your circumstances for the better, but in my private opinion, it is far more likely to produce a contrary result.'
`So thinks Milicent, but allow me to say, I think otherwise.
If I thought myself doomed to old-maidenhood, I should cease to value my life. The thought of living on, year after year at the Grove--a hanger--on upon mamma and Walters mere cumberer of the ground (now that I know in what light they would regard it), is perfectly intolerable--I would rather run away with the butler.'
`Your circumstances are peculiar I allow; but have patience, love; do nothing rashly. Remember you are not yet nineteen, and many years are yet to pass before any one can set you down as an old maid: you cannot tell what Providence may have in store for you. And meantime, remember you have a tight to the protection and support of your mother and brother, however they may seem to grudge it.'
`You are so grave, Mrs. Huntingdon,' said Esther after a pause.
`When Milicent uttered the same discouraging sentiments concerning marriage, I asked if she was happy: she said she was; but I only half believed her; and now I must put the same question to you.'
`It is a very impertinent question,' laughed I, `from a young girl to a married woman so many years her senior--and I shall not answer it.'
`Pardon me, dear madam,' said she, laughingly throwing herself into my arms, and kissing me with playful affection; but I felt a tear on my neck, as she dropped her head on my bosom and continued, with an odd mixture of sadness and levity, timidity and audacity,--`I know you are not so happy as I mean to be, for you spend half your life alone at Grassdale, while Mr. Huntingdon goes about enjoying himself where, and how he pleases.--I shall expect my husband to have no pleasures but what he shares with me; and if his greatest pleasure of all is not the enjoyment of my company--why--it will be the worse for him--that's all.'
`If such are your expectations of matrimony, Esther, you must indeed, be careful whom you marry--or rather, you must avoid it altogether.'