“ ’Tis the best missionary in the world,” she continued; “it Christianizes even tradesmen, and makes them self-sacrificing. And the curious part is, that ’tis not their being wealthy themselves, but their knowing us to be, that makes them so magnanimous. When mother and I were poor—pardon my mentioning such a thing, but ’tis only between ourselves—our tradesmen not only permitted us to pay our bills, but insisted on our doing so promptly: and if we got behindhand, they growled about bailiffs. But now—la! bless you, the mention of a bill hurts their feelings, and to pay one would break their hearts. It’s a blessed change of heart in them; and would have been more blessed still if it had only happened to come before our change of pocket, instead of after.”
“If we go on at our present rate, both they and we may relapse,” said Philip, laughing. “Twenty thousand pounds capital is not twenty thousand a year.”
“It is, for one year; and who knows what may happen after that? We might count on two years, even: the faith of the tradesmen would hold out so long at least.”
“They don’t ask us to pay now only because they know their money is safe,” said Mrs. Lockhart, with her pathetic literalness. “And they don’t lose anything, because our orders are larger, and their prices are higher. And you should be just as careful not to run in debt, my dear, when you are rich as when you are poor.”
Marion looked at her mother with an odd smile. “I wish you’d let me forget you,” she said at length. “You’ve been encouraging me all my life to be a woman of fashion, and now you turn against me. But I’m determined not to be baulked!”
And in truth, Marion had made a good beginning. The old house in Hammersmith had been shut up (it was her desire that it should be neither let nor sold) and they had gone into the new and improved mansion whereof Fillmore had spoken to Perdita. They kept a carriage and horses, half-a-dozen servants, and an excellent table; gave parties and routs to their fashionable acquaintance, and accepted the like civilities from them. It was the thing in society at that moment to go to the Lancasters: Philip was a genius, besides being nearly related to Lord Seabridge; Marion was charming, witty, and fully up to her position; her father, it was understood, had been a distinguished officer and a personal friend of the Iron Duke. Among the most notable of their new friends was old Lady Flanders, who not only honored their drawing-room with her presence when the rest of the world was there, but quite often took the trouble to drop in on them informally. She had once or twice met Mrs. Lockhart in London and at the Baths, when the latter was lovely Fanny Pell, forty years or so ago, and she now came ostensibly to renew her acquaintance with that lady, and to talk over the old times. But in the midst of these amiable reminiscences, it was observable that she gave a good deal of attention to young Mrs. Lancaster, who seemed to have a peculiar interest for her.
“You like having money, Mrs. Lancaster,” her ladyship remarked one day, after examining critically a new dress which Marion had on.
“I cannot deny it, Lady Flanders.”
“Nonsense! A woman like you can deny anything. But you’re quite in the right not to deny it. We hear a great deal from silly people about the dignity of poverty. That is just what poverty is not: poverty is not dignified! ’Tis hard enough to hold up one’s head at the best of times—such arrant knaves and humbugs as we all are, and all of us except the fools know it: but on an empty pocket ’tis impossible! I recollect when I was in Egypt, about thirty years ago, meeting a Bedouin Arab who, I thought for a while, was an exception to the rule. He hadn’t a rag on him, except a greasy turban and a yard of ragged cloak dangling down his back; he was as dirty as a stable floor; but he had the bearing of a prince—though not of a good many princes I could name, neither. That man (said I) is an incarnation of dignity and a type of poverty, both in one: and if he’d have me, I’d marry him to-night! What were we talking about?”
“That poverty could not be dignified.”