Speaking more slowly, and in a tone of expostulation, the good man replied—
“I did say, Mrs Greendale, that I had no wish to introduce my niece to an intimacy with such persons of rank as Miss Spoonbill and Colonel Crop. It is not to their rank I object, but I am of opinion that from such an intimacy Penelope would not derive any benefit, nor add to her respectability; I look upon her as above them, and not upon them as above her.”
Mrs Greendale was angry; and surely it was enough to provoke a saint to hear such disrespectful language applied to those persons of whose acquaintance the worthy lady was especially and peculiarly proud. Bridling up therefore, and assuming in her turn a high tone, she replied—
“Well, my dear, if you think it beneath your niece’s dignity to meet such persons, you had perhaps better send word to say that you do not wish to have their company: I dare say they will not require much persuasion to stay away.”
“I wish, my dear, you would not talk such nonsense. Penelope will not become very intimate with these people of rank by meeting them in a party. Have your party quietly, and let the poor girl enjoy it, if she can; it will be time enough for her to feel the bitterness of servitude when she is actually in that condition; while she is under my roof she shall be treated as if she were my own.”
There was in this last speech a tone of authority and decision to which Mrs Greendale was in the habit of submitting without an audible murmur or expostulation. She therefore left the doctor’s apartment, merely muttering to herself, “I don’t think you would indulge a child of your own as you indulge this pert conceited creature. I am very glad she is no niece of mine.”
The doctor returned to his studies, and Mrs Greendale to her domestic occupations. The doctor soon forgot what was past, losing himself amidst the perplexities and intricacies of theological discussions and doctrinal controversies. But Mrs Greendale brooded over the obstinacy of her spouse, and the pride of her niece, and the mortifications of her own pride. She could not imagine what her husband could mean by speaking so disrespectfully of persons of such high consideration as Miss Spoonbill and Colonel Crop. Ever since the high-born spinster had taken up her residence at Smatterton, for the sake of living near to her cousin the Earl, Mrs Greendale had been paying homage to her for the purpose of obtaining her illustrious notice and patronage. It was a concern of the utmost moment to have the honour of Miss Spoonbill’s company at the rectory; for the wife of the rector of Smatterton was very jealous of the superior glory of the wife of the rector of Neverden, whose parties were graced by the presence of the great man of the parish, Sir George Aimwell, Bart. Mrs Darnley, the lady alluded to, was not indeed quite so much gratified by the distinction as Mrs Greendale was mortified by it. Now it was some pleasure to the latter that the great man in her husband’s parish was an Earl, whereas the great man in Mr Darnley’s parish was only a commoner; for Mrs Greendale always caused it to be understood, that baronet was not a title of nobility. Still, however, it was a mortification that the Earl would not condescend to visit at the rectory. But when Miss Spoonbill and Colonel Crop had accepted an invitation to Mrs Greendale’s party, it was a matter of high exultation to her; it was therefore not very agreeable to her to hear these distinguished personages spoken of so slightingly by her reverend spouse. But Dr Greendale was an odd sort of man, that everybody allowed; and he used to say the strangest things imaginable. Being so studious a man, was quite enough to account for his oddities.
It may be proper now to give some account of Miss Penelope Primrose, and to state how she was brought into a state of dependence upon her uncle, Dr Greendale. This young lady was an only child of Mr Primrose, who had married a sister of the rector of Smatterton. When he married he was possessed of a very decent independent fortune, which though not ample enough to introduce him to the highest walk of fashion, was quite sufficient to introduce him to the notice of some part of the fashionable world, and to bring him acquainted with several gentlemen of the strictest honor; or to say the least, gentlemen who made great talk about their honor. With the acquaintance with these gentlemen he was exceedingly flattered, and with their truly elegant manners he was highly pleased. As some of them bore titles, their condescension was so much the greater, in not only tolerating, but even in almost seeking his acquaintance; and he found that there did not exist in the higher ranks so much of that pride of birth and family as some of his earlier friends had often talked about. For as Mr Primrose was the son of a merchant, some of his city intimates, and his father’s old companions, had represented to him that if he should assume the character of a man of fashion, he would only be ridiculed and despised by the higher ranks. He found, however, that these censorious citizens were quite in an error; instead of experiencing contempt and neglect, he found that his society was actually courted; he was a frequent guest at splendid entertainments, and his own invitations were not refused. He observed, that although Mrs Primrose was a beautiful and accomplished woman, it was not so much on her account as his own that he was so much noticed. The parties to which he was most frequently invited, were gentlemen’s dinner parties; and it was very likely that his company was agreeable, for he had great powers of conversation, and was a man of ready wit. It was very pleasant to have his good sayings applauded by men of fashion and of honor, and he thought that the exquisitely courteous and graceful demeanour of the higher ranks was the very perfection of human excellence. In the course of five years, or rather less, he found that his style of living was rather too expensive for his means, and upon looking into his affairs he also discovered that he was in possession of nothing that he could call his own, but that when his debts should be paid, his coffers must be emptied and his house unfurnished. He was quite astonished at the discovery, and for awhile dreaded to communicate the painful intelligence to his wife; but she had foreseen it, and the anticipation had affected her deeply and irretrievably; she sunk under the pressure, and left Mr Primrose a widower with an only child. By this calamity he was roused to recollection, and he called to mind that he had occasionally played at cards with some of his honorable friends, and that he must certainly have been a greater loser than he had imagined at the time. He had at one sitting won upwards of three thousand pounds, and he never afterwards sat down to the table without being reminded of his good luck; but it so happened, that when he went into an examination of his affairs, he found that his many smaller losses had more, much more, than counterbalanced his once great winnings. Now was the time for reflection, and so his friends thought, and they left him to reflection. The result was, that he committed the motherless and portionless Penelope to the care of his brother-in-law, Dr Greendale, and betook himself to commercial diligence in a foreign country, with the hope of at least providing for himself, if not of retrieving his losses.
Fourteen years had Penelope spent under the roof of the worthy and benevolent rector of Smatterton. To her uncle she had ever looked up as to a father. Of her own father she knew but little; and in all the thoughts she entertained concerning him, there was mingled a feeling of pity. It was highly creditable to Dr Greendale, that his manner of speaking of Mr Primrose should have produced this impression on his daughter’s mind. There certainly was in the conduct of Penelope’s father enough of the blameable to justify the doctor in declaiming against him as a profligate and thoughtless man, who had brought ruin upon himself and family. But censoriousness was not by any means the doctor’s forte. He was rather a moral physician than a moral quack, and he had found in his own parish that the gentleness of fatherly admonition was more effectual than the indignant eloquence of angry rebuke.
Penelope naturally possessed high and buoyant spirits; and had her situation been any other than that of dependence, it is probable that this vivacity might have degenerated into pertness. It was however softened, though not subdued by the thought of her father in voluntary exile, and the language in which Dr Greendale was accustomed to speak of his “poor brother Primrose.” Her spirit also was humbled, though not broken, by the stepmother-like behaviour of Mrs Greendale. Penelope could never do or say anything to please her aunt. When she was cheerful, she was reproved for her pertness; when serious, she was rebuked for being sulky. At her books, she was proud of her learning; at her pianoforte, she was puffed up with useless accomplishments. Out of the kitchen she was too proud for domestic occupation, in it her assistance was not wanted. In her dishabille she was slovenly, when dressed she was a fine lady. By long experience she grew accustomed to this studied annoyance, and it ceased to have a very powerful effect upon her mind; and it might perhaps be the means of doing her good, though its intention was anything but kindness.