“You see before you a mother, all of whose fondest wishes and plans are doomed to be frustrated by her children. Amelia would have her way: I was forced to yield. My son follows her example, insists upon marrying without fortune, or extraordinary beauty, or any of the advantages which I had fondly pointed out in the daughter-in-law of my heart. You turn away from me, my darling! How shall I go on? how shall I tell you all the terrible truth?”
“Oh, ma’am, pray go on; pray tell me all.”
“Miss Walsingham; that’s all, in one word. These Walsinghams have forced themselves into my family,—fairly outwitted me. I cannot tell you how much, how deeply I am mortified!”
“Thank Heaven! I am not mortified,” cried Miss Hunter, throwing back her head with pettish disdain.
Mrs. Beaumont, who had prepared herself for a fainting fit, or at least for a flood of tears, rejoiced to see this turn in the young lady’s temper.
“That’s right, my own love. Hew I admire your spirit! This pride becomes you, and is what I expected from your understanding. Set a just value upon yourself, and show it.”
“I should set but little value on myself, indeed, if I did not think myself equal to Miss Walsingham; but Mr. Beaumont knows best.”
“Not best, I fear,” said Mrs. Beaumont; “but, from a child he was ever the most self-willed, uncontrollable being; there was no moving, no persuading him. There was no power, no appeal, my love, I did not try.”
“Dear ma’am, I am excessively sorry you did.”
“Why, my dear, I could not refrain from doing all I could, not only for my son’s sake, but for yours, when I saw your affections, as I feared, so deeply engaged. But your present magnanimity gives me hopes that the shock will not be irrecoverable.”