“Since you put me upon my candour,” said Mrs. Percy, “I am afraid I must confess that I am conscious of a little of the aristocratic weakness you impute to me.”
“Impute!—No imputation, in my opinion,” cried Rosamond. “I do not think it any weakness.”
“But I do,” said Mrs. Percy—“I consider it as a weakness; and bitterly should I reproach myself, if I saw any weakness, any prejudice of mine, influence my children injuriously in the most material circumstance of their lives, and where their happiness is at stake. So, my dear Rosamond, let me intreat—”
“Oh! mother, don’t let the tears come into your eyes; and, without any intreaties, I will do just as you please.”
“My love,” said Mrs. Percy, “I have no pleasure but that you should please yourself and judge for yourself, without referring to any prepossession of mine. And lest your imagination should deceive you as to the extent of my aristocratic prejudices, let me explain. The indisposition, which I have acknowledged I feel towards low-born people, arises, I believe, chiefly from my taking it for granted that they cannot be thoroughly well-bred. I have accidentally seen examples of people of inferior birth, who, though they had risen to high station, and though they had acquired, in a certain degree, polite manners, and had been metamorphosed by fashion, to all outward appearance, into perfect gentry, yet betrayed some marks of their origin, or of their early education, whenever their passions or their interests were touched: then some awkward gesture, some vulgar expression, some mean or mercenary sentiment, some habitual contraction of mind, recurred.”
“True, true, most true!” said Rosamond. “It requires two generations, at least, to wash out the stain of vulgarity: neither a gentleman nor a gentlewoman can be made in less than two generations; therefore I never will marry a low-born man, if he had every perfection under the sun.”
“Nay, my dear, that is too strong,” said Mrs. Percy. “Hear me, my dearest Rosamond. I was going to tell you, that my experience has been so limited, that I am not justified in drawing from it any general conclusion. And even to the most positive and rational general rules you know there are exceptions.”
“That is a fine general softening clause,” said Rosamond; “but now positively, mother, would you have ever consented to marry a merchant?”
“Certainly, my dear, if your father had been a merchant, I should have married him,” replied Mrs. Percy.
“Well, I except my father. To put the question more fairly, may I ask, do you wish that your daughter should marry a merchant?”