The speaker, Mr. Matheson, of Westhill, noticed a peculiar look on his friend's face as he made this suggestion, and without waiting for a reply he continued: "I see that amused look, Mountford, and I know what it means. You think that to appoint a young fellow of two-and-twenty to be co-guardian with his father of a beautiful girl only eight years younger than himself, and an heiress to boot, is suggestive of match-making in the future."
"I do not deny it," replied Mr. Mountford, "but I will add more than the smile expressed. Knowing what Aylmer is, I could wish nothing better for Kathleen than to be the wife of such a man. But all the same, I would not by word or act influence the choice of my child or your son."
"And by appointing Aylmer as one of her trustees, you raise a very effectual barrier to any nearer union between him and Kathleen. Though I say it, and he is my only son, Aylmer Matheson will put every thought of self aside in his fulfilment of the trust reposed in him, if he should have to act as Kathleen's guardian. But I fervently hope that no one will have to take a father's place to her."
This wish was not fulfilled, and though Mr. Mountford died before his old friend, Mr. Matheson only survived him about two years.
From the age of seventeen, Kathleen had been under the joint guardianship of Mrs. Ellicott and Aylmer Matheson, the latter combining the double qualifications of young shoulders and the wise head which is not generally supposed to accompany them. In appearance he was tall and well-proportioned, rather fair than dark, with rebellious brown hair which no amount of cutting and brushing would deprive of its natural wave and tendency to curl. It was, however, carried well back from a broad and high forehead, and a pair of dark grey eyes, whose expression betokened courage and honesty. A brown moustache and otherwise clean-shaven, rather pale face, and the description is fairly complete. Perhaps, however, the paleness was rather comparative, as it was only noticeable in contrast with the colour which was never lacking on the face of Captain Torrance, between whom and Aylmer Matheson, it was commonly said, there was no love lost.
Those who knew these two men were not surprised at the saying, and would have deemed anything like friendship between them as equally impossible and absurd. Unlikeness is often a help to friendship rather than otherwise. Weakness, whether of character or person, generally looks for strength in its chief friend. Beauty often honestly admires ugliness, or while admiring the other qualities of a plain-visaged friend, is secretly glad that in her she has a foil which enhances her own charms by contrast, instead of a rival.
The waverer is thankful to be taken possession of and managed by the friend who can promptly decide whether to say "Yes" or "No," and who is equally able to give a reason for her answer.
And so on ad infinitum; but in friendship as in marriage, it is only when opposite qualities in the individuals concerned tend to mutual well-being, and the formation of a harmonious whole, that satisfactory results can be hoped for.
Candour cannot be friends with cunning, honesty with fraud, truth with falsehood. The nature which delights in good-doing, even when it demands self-sacrifice, can never join hands with one whose sole aim is self-indulgence and self-aggrandisement. The merciful and the cruel, the liberal and the churlish, the brave and the cowardly, are in each case separated by barriers none the less real because they are invisible to the eye.
The higher nature may pity the lower and long to elevate it, but the two cannot work as friends without such assimilation.