"But still, the same process takes place again," rejoined Colonel Manners. "The learned fool and his generation die off; but still, the merit of the thing remains till some one again rescues it from oblivion, and its reputation is finally established."
"Indeed, now, Colonel Manners," said Mrs. Falkland, "I think that you have admitted Marian's maxim with too little limitation. That what is really good may always have ultimate success, is true, undoubtedly, when spoken of transcendent merit or of superexcellent qualities; but this transcendent merit only appears once, perhaps, in a century; and the world shows that, in the great mass of worldly things, the every-day virtues, the every-day exertions, the every-day characters which surround us in this busy existence, virtue and merit are not always ultimately successful. The religious, the political, the scientific charlatan often carries all before him; while the man of modest talent and unassuming virtue plods on his way unnoticed, and dies forgotten. So much, indeed, is this the case, that do not we daily see that many a shrewd man of real talent feels obliged to mix a little charlatanism with his other qualities for the sake of ensuring success? If Marian had said that things which are intrinsically immortal--which have in themselves inherent permanence--must have ultimate success when they are really good, and condemnation when they are bad, I would have granted it at once; but in all lesser things--and the world is made up of them--I sincerely believe that success depends upon accident or impudence."
Colonel Manners smiled, and abandoned, or at least modified, his theory, admitting that Mrs. Falkland was right; for he was one of those men who, having generally reason on their side, can be candid without fear. But there was also something more than this in his candour: it sprung from his heart--it was a part of his character; and though it may seem unnatural to the greater part of mankind, it is no less a fact, that he was so great a lover of truth that, when once he was convinced, he never dreamed of contending against his conviction. He therefore gave up the position, that merit would always be ultimately successful, limiting it according to Mrs. Falkland's showing.
Isadore added, that she thought it must be so, and would be sorry to believe it otherwise, as the occasional separation of virtue and success in this world afforded to her mind one of the strongest corroborative assurances of a future state. De Vaux laughed at her, and called her a little philosopher, and the conversation branched off to other things.
Breakfast is a meal at which one loves to linger. The daylight and the wide world have all, more or less, an idea of labour attached to them; and though that labour be of the lightest kind, there is still a feeling in going forth after breakfast that we are about to take our share of the original curse; which feeling inclines man naturally to linger over the tea and coffee, and saunter to the window, or look into the fire, or play with the knife and fork for a few minutes more than is positively required. What between one oral occupation or another, then, the party at Mrs. Falkland's breakfast-table contrived to pass an hour very pleasantly. Colonel Manners, when all had risen, bestowed five minutes more upon the long window--while Isadore and her mother, De Vaux and Marian, held separate councils on the future proceedings of the day--and then retired to his own room, to write a note of business to some of his people in London. He had not long been gone when the fat and venerable servant, whom we have called Peter, entered the room, bearing a note, which, with much respectful ceremony, he delivered over to the hands of Miss De Vaux. Marian turned a little red and a little pale; and, had a jealous husband seen her receive that billet, he might have begun to suspect one whose every thought was pure; but the truth was, that poor Marian had instantly recognised her uncle's hand; and as her last ideas in respect to him had not been very pleasant, she was afraid that the new ones about to be called up by his note might be still more disagreeable. Without pausing to examine the scrawl upon the back, which implied her name, she broke the seal, and read. As she did so, a gentle smile and a softer suffusion stole over her face; but then she became more grave, then looked vexed, and then handed the paper to Mrs. Falkland, saying, "Do read it, my dear aunt; my uncle is both very kind and very unkind; but, indeed, it concerns you and Edward a great deal more than it does me."
Mrs. Falkland took the letter and read it, the substance of which was to the following effect:--In the first place, the noble lord began by expressing more affection for Marian de Vaux than he had ever been known to express for man, woman, or child before in his existence. He next went on to say, that there was nothing on earth which had ever given him so much pleasure as the prospect of his son's marriage with her on whom he had been showering such praises: it was the solacing idea of his old age, he said, and the compensating joy for many a past sorrow. He then declared that he had hoped to be much with Edward and Marian during the days that were to intervene ere their marriage could be celebrated, and to have witnessed the ceremony as the most joyful and satisfactory one that he could ever behold; and next came the real object and substance-matter of the whole; for he concluded by expressing his bitter disappointment at not being able to do so, from the circumstance of a man who had so grossly insulted him as Colonel Manners had done, continuing in his sister's house, as her honoured guest and his son's bosom friend. Marian would understand, he said, that it was impossible for him to present himself again at Morley-house while Colonel Manners was there, without loss of dignity and honour; but he nevertheless besought her to let every thing proceed as if he were present; and he added a desire to see her as soon after her marriage as possible.
While Mrs. Falkland, and then Edward de Vaux, read the letter in turn, Marian kept her eyes fixed on the ground. The fact is, however, that there was much in her uncle's letter to pain her, as well as to gratify her; and she would even willingly have sacrificed the gratifying part, if by so doing she could have done away the painful. It was very unpleasant, in the first place, to be pressed by assurances of affection and kindness to commit a gross injustice for the gratification of the person expressing that affection; and it was not a little disagreeable to think of her marriage to Lord Dewry's son taking place without his father's presence and countenance. Women of the finest minds and the justest feelings will think of what the world will say; and God forbid they ever should not. Marian de Vaux, therefore, thought of what the world would say, in regard to Lord Dewry being absent from her wedding; and she could not help feeling that the comments of all her kind acquaintances would be painful, both to her pride and her delicacy. All this was passing in her mind, while her eyes were busy with a pair of nondescripts on the damask table-cloth: but let it be clearly understood, that she never did Colonel Manners the wrong to wish that he should go, on account of any pain that she herself might suffer. She wished, indeed, that her uncle would be more just, more placable, more generous; but she felt clearly where the fault lay, and she never turned her eyes in the other direction. Mrs. Falkland appreciated Marian's feelings in almost all cases; but at present she estimated to the full all that would be distressing to her niece in the conduct of her brother, and thought, perhaps, that Marian might be more affected by it than she really was. "My dear Marian," she said, "this is very disagreeable for us all, and must be very painful to you, my sweet girl, in particular. Nevertheless we must do justice to ourselves. Were it any thing like a sacrifice of mere pleasure, we might and would willingly do a great deal to satisfy your uncle, and remove the unpleasant load he casts upon us; but this is a matter of right and wrong, in which he is decidedly in the wrong; and to yield to him would not only be dishonourable to ourselves, but seems to me quite impossible. The demeanour of Colonel Manners to me and mine has been every thing that I could desire, and is in every respect accordant with his well-established character, as a most gallant soldier and accomplished gentleman; and I can neither suffer the whims nor the ill-temper of any person, however near the relationship, to alter my conduct in such a case. What do you say, Edward?
"I agree with you entirely, my dear aunt," he replied, "and so I told my father this morning. Holding Manners, as I do, to be most nobly in the right, I cannot suffer either my opinion of him, or my behaviour towards him, to be changed by the sudden dislike of even my parent."
"And let me say, Edward, a most capricious and Lord Dewry-ish dislike it is--though he be your father and my uncle," added Miss Falkland. "What can he find to dislike in Colonel Manners? He is not beautiful, it is true: but he saved your life at the risk of his own; he nursed you in sickness; he was your companion in danger, and your friend at all times; so that if any one loved him, it should be your father. Besides, could any one have made himself more agreeable than he has done since he has been here? What pretence does Lord Dewry think mamma could have for turning such a man out of her house, when she had so lately invited him in the most pressing terms?"
"Oh, of course, that is quite out of the question," said Mrs. Falkland, smiling at her fair daughter's enthusiasm; "though I cannot help thinking, Edward, that your father's design, in that letter, was to make us do so, by rendering the contrary so disagreeable to us."