“I have for some time had the most ardent desire, sir,” responded Mark, quickly. “I have selected a young lady, but my father objects to my choice.”
“On what ground, Wilton,” inquired Nathan, rather magisterially.
Wilton declined discussing the topic; wished it to be deferred to a future period, but Nathan would on no account accede to it.
“I came here to perfect my reconciliation, and to leave to-night, if possible, a happy man, and I am not in a temper to be easily rebuffed,” he said. “Give your reasons?”
Wilton knew but little of the girl, he said, but that she was not of a station or by birth fitted to be the wife of his son.
Gomer scouted the notion.
“‘Honour and shame from no condition rise,’” he exclaimed. “So says the poet; surely no man better than you should know it, Wilton; and, by the bye, if you and I were to trace our ancestors back, we should no doubt find one a cattle-stealer, and the other a delver of potatoes. Come, Wilton, supposing her origin—which I assume you are in no condition to prove—is what you assert it to be, mean and low. What have you to assert further against her. She is pretty, amiable, self-reliant, proud-spirited, generous, and sympathetic to a fault; she is pure in mind, in soul and act; she has struggled through the stern meshes of adversity with a brave heart; she has never sacrificed her sense of self respect under the most seductive temptation; and she never drew back from an additional burden to her daily trials if she could in so doing rescue from misery a fellow-being. What, Wilton, though she has toiled—and nobly toiled with her needle—have you not slaved with your burnisher? Come, Wilton, pride is but a hollow phantom, a bad companion, and a worse friend—it never purchased human happiness yet. Human worth is far more valuable than all the wealth of the Indies amassed in one heap. This girl has a large share of that worth, and would make your son a happy man, if not a rich one. What say you, Mr. Vivian.”
“Say, sir, that no praise can exaggerate her merits,” replied Hal, with enthusiasm. “With my beloved Flora for my wife, and Lotte Clinton for my sister, there would be no man more justly proud than I in all Christendom.”
“I should think not,” replied Gomer.
Mr. Wilton coughed.