“I deny the first,” interrupted Mr. Goodman.
“For he refuses to receive any fortune with Annette; true, we could not give her much—five or six thousand dollars, perhaps—but even that is something; and I am sure his refusal to accept of it is very noble. It is Annette, and Annette alone he wants.”
“True, very true—it is Annette he wants, and not a penny of the retailer’s money—there shall be no obligation of that nature to bind him to the family of the future Mrs. Eccleson!” exclaimed Mr. Goodman, starting up angrily from his chair. “Jane, Jane, I protest against this marriage!” and seizing his hat and cane, he withdrew, leaving poor Mrs. Doily bathed in the tears she was no longer able to restrain—tears of vexation and anger, at what she deemed the willful obstinacy of her brother.
If what Uncle John said was true, it was certainly yet to be proved, for, perhaps, no marriage in the eyes of partial, hopeful parents, ever promised a fairer prospect of happiness to trusting girlhood than that so soon to be consummated.
Penn Eccleson belonged exclusively to the monied aristocracy. His grandfather and father before him, had both commenced life with a determination to be rich—richer—richest—and what the former had accumulated from small beginnings and careful savings, were as carefully and judiciously applied by the son, until little by little the broad foundation of future wealth was successfully established.
In the days of their youth, when the freshness of their young lives should have been given to better and holier ends, the parents of Penn Eccleson looked forward only to the aggrandizement of themselves and children, through the potent influence of money; and to this end they toiled and delved in the service of Mammon, with a bondage almost equal to that of the gold-seeking maniac amid the mountain fastnesses of California, denying themselves all the luxuries, and most of the comforts of life to swell the hoard of avarice, and feed their ill-directed ambition.
As years took their flight, step by step the Ecclesons gradually emerged from the obscurity of a narrow cross-street in the lower part of the city, to the possession of one of the most elegant establishments in the fashionable region of —— Square. The most genteel schools were selected for their children, who were expressly forbidden to form any friendships with their little school-mates, save those whose parents could at least boast of a carriage, and thus, their heads early filled with conceit and pride, the little Ecclesons formed as disagreeable a trio as one would care to see—for assuredly there is nothing more unpleasing, than to behold the beautiful simplicity of childhood lost in the supercilious airs and artificial graces of the fine lady!
The Ecclesons were regarded at first in no very favorable light, in the quarter they had chosen for their debut into high life, and occasionally their pride suffered severely. But with a pertinacity worthy a higher aim, they firmly stood their ground, and upon the strength of their fine dinners, and their splendid parties, were, in the course of a few years, not only tolerated, but received with favor into those circles they most coveted. Their only son, meanwhile, was traveling in Europe, with a carte-blanche in his pocket for any expenses he might choose to indulge, and the sage advice of worthy Polonius engrafted on his mind, in the sense, I mean, with which Mr. Hudson translates Shakspeare, that is, “to sit up all night to make himself a gentleman, and take no pains to make himself a man.”
Time rolled on. Their daughters made highly eligible matches, their son returned elegant in person, polished in manners, and then it was time for the old people to die.