"Oh, do not be so alarmed on my account," said Clair, half smiling, "it is only my tenth garrison flirtation, and you cannot think me seriously entangled."
"Then," said Mr. Ware, with a tone of severity, which he very seldom used, "what do you mean by becoming her constant companion—paying her every attention, short of actually making love. Shame on your new-found repentance—if this be the fruit of it."
"Do not be too hasty in forming your judgment," replied Clair. "I have only done what most other young men would, under the same circumstances—though, I own, my changed opinions have led me to withdraw the attentions you condemn."
"I own that I would much rather have had your thoughts fix upon a girl more like her cousin; but, when I believed you sincerely attached—since you persisted in your attentions spite of my hints—I thought it could not be helped; and, perceiving she returned your attachment, I ceased to object, feeling that love corrects many faults. Little knowing that all this time, you were acting a part which should have made me blush for shame."
"Uncle, you are passing a stern judgment—sterner far than I deserve; give me your patience for a few minutes, and I will convince you that I am not so much to blame. Lucy Villars is one of that class of girls called flirts, and, for a flirt, she possesses all the necessary qualifications. She is chatty, thoughtless, and good-humoured—and, better than all, has no heart. She is, however, something more than a flirt—she is a husband hunter, and set her would-be affections on me, before she knew a single feature of my face, much less a quality of my mind—so that I do not flatter myself with possessing anything in her eyes beyond an average fortune and family. Had I been a man of no discrimination, I might have fallen a victim to a very bold game; but, as I happen to have seen a little of the world, I have spent a few weeks more pleasantly than ordinarily. And now may I ask you, uncle, would you, even with your high sentiments of right, expect me to marry a girl whom I could never trust—who would jilt me for a richer man to-morrow, and if not so, granting even that she loved me, would form but an insipid companion at the best."
"You are wrong," said Mr. Ware, who had been listening with great impatience, "and you know that you are wrong, or you would not use so much sophistry to convince me you are right. Let me ask you, if she be the girl you describe her to be, was she a fit companion even for your idlest moments? If she be the designer you would prove her to be, was it right to place yourself in daily temptation, by communion with one whose sentiments must be corrupt, if they rise from such a polluted spring? Were you right in choosing for the object of your admiration, one whom you despised in your heart? Sorry am I that you had not courage to withhold your countenance from one whom you did not approve, but could rather act so deceitful, so mean a part. But, think again, your judgment may have deceived you, and, if she be not what you say, may she not have given you a heart, which (if it be so) you have obtained in so unworthy a manner."
"Could I think so," replied Clair, "I should be more vexed than you will give me credit for; but I am too well acquainted with the world, to believe anything like real affection can be hidden under such open and daring encouragement as I have received from her; and, really, my dear sir, you must not be grieved on her account, or my own. I feel too much the frivolity of my past character, to try such amusements again; but, at the same time, no chivalrous principle tells me that I should do right to bring into my confidence, or to unite myself in, the holiest of self-formed ties that can exist on earth, with a girl whose character is so feathery. Far different would my choice be when thinking seriously of marriage. The woman I should choose for a wife would be one who would inspire me with higher thoughts and lead me to better things. One, who pure as sensible, would make my home a paradise, and while, by her zeal, she led me to heaven, would, by her womanly attentions to my wishes, make a happy road to it. Such a woman would as much excel a flirt as a small piece of gold would one double its size in tinsel."
"Arthur, your eloquence and sophistry are carrying you away altogether. Had you acted thoughtlessly only it would have been easier to excuse; but, now, I see, that with proper ideas and the most worthy sentiments, you have yet been capable of acting a part as unlike to them as your own comparison of gold to tinsel. Your excuses are common ones, and I fear will not privilege you to minister to the follies of others by indulging your own. How much kinder would it be to withhold undeserved admiration, and to shew that yours is only to be earned by what really deserves it. Would you not in this way, perhaps, find an opportunity of reading a lesson without words, to many, who are still young enough to improve by it. By refraining altogether from such deceitful flirtations, you might tend to discourage those mothers who educate their daughters for display, and force them to try for an advantageous settlement."
"And how many do you think would follow my example?" enquired the young man with a smile.
"It is a consideration of no weight when making up your mind to do right—though it sweetens a good conscience and embitters an evil one—to remember that no one is so mean as to give no impulse to virtue or vice by his example. One great mistake is, that men unfortunately forget that they are christians, when in the fashionable world, as if our duties were altogether banished by an evening dress, or the light of conscience entirely eclipsed by the brilliant and fantastic tapers of a ball-room. It is for this reason that so many turn anchorites: forgetful that the world may be enjoyed with a christian's dress, and a christian's thoughts, they only remember, that when they visited the gay scenes they have resigned, they did so with a conscience peculiar to the occasion, and entirely different from the one they were familiar with in retirement."