"Ha! quite a new, modern house: I had always fancied that Vivian Hall was an old pile of building."

"So it was, till my father threw down the old hall, and built this new house."

"And a very handsome one it is.--Is it as good within as without?"

"Quite, I think; but I'll leave you to judge for yourself.--Are not those fine old trees in the park?"

From this time till the travellers arrived at Vivian Hall, their conversation turned upon trees, and avenues, and serpentine _approaches_, and alterations that Vivian intended to make, when he should be of age, and master of this fine place; and he now wanted but a twelvemonth of being at legal years of discretion. When they arrived at the hall, Lady Mary Vivian showed much affectionate joy at the sight of her son, and received Mr. Russell with such easy politeness that he was prepossessed at first in her favour. To this charm of well-bred manners was united the appearance of sincerity and warmth of feeling. In her conversation there was a mixture of excellent sense and general literature with the frivolities of the fashionable world, and the anecdotes of the day in certain high circles, of which she seemed to talk more from habit than taste, and to annex importance more from the compulsion of external circ.u.mstances than from choice. But her son,--her son was the great object of all her thoughts, serious or frivolous.

She was delighted by the improvements she saw in his understanding and character; by the taste and talents he displayed, both for fine literature and for solid information: this flattered her hope that he would both shine as a polished gentleman and make a figure in public life. To his friend Russell she attributed these happy improvements; and, though he was not a tutor of her own original selection, yet her pride, on this occasion, yielded to grat.i.tude, and she graciously declared, that she could not feel jealous of the pre-eminent power he had obtained over her son, when she saw the admirable use he made of this influence. Vivian, like all candid and generous persons, being peculiarly touched by candour and generosity in others, felt his affection for his mother rapidly increased by this conduct; nor did his enthusiasm for his friend in the least abate, in consequence of the high approbation with which she honoured him, nor even in consequence of her ladyship's frequent and rather injudicious expressions of her hopes, that her son would always preserve and show himself worthy of such a friend.

He joined in his mother's entreaties to Russell to prolong his visit; and as her ladyship declared she thought it of essential consequence to her son's interest and future happiness, that he should, at this _turn of his life_, have such a companion, Russell consented to remain with him some time longer. All parties were thus pleased with each other, and remained united by one common interest about the same objects, during several weeks of a delightful summer. But, alas! this family harmony, and this accord of reason and _will_, between the mother and son, were not of longer duration. As usual, there were faults on both sides.

Lady Mary Vivian, whose hopes of her son's distinguishing himself by his abilities had been much exalted since his last return from Oxford, had indulged herself in pleasing antic.i.p.ations of the time when he should make his appearance in the fashionable and in the political world. She foresaw the respect that would be paid to her, on his account, both by senators and by matrons; by ministers, who might want to gain a rising orator's vote, and by mothers, who might wish to make an excellent match for their daughters: not only by all mothers who had daughters to marry, but by all daughters who had hearts or hands to dispose of, Lady Mary felt secure of having her society courted. Now, she had rather extravagant expectations for her son: she expected him to marry, so as to secure domestic happiness, and, at the same time, to have fashion, and beauty, and rank, and high connexions, and every amiable quality in a wife. This vision of a future daughter-in-law continually occupied her ladyship's imagination. Already, with maternal _Alnascharism_, she had, in her reveries, thrown back her head with disdain, as she repulsed the family advances of some wealthy but low-born heiress, or as she rejected the alliance of some of the new n.o.bility. Already she had arranged the very words of her answers to these, and determined the degrees and shades of her intimacies with those; already had she settled

"To whom to nod, whom take into her coach, Whom honour with her hand;"

when one morning, as she sat at work, absorbed in one of these reveries, she was so far "rapt into future times," that, without perceiving that any body was present, she began to speak her thoughts, and said aloud to herself, "As if my son could possibly think of her!"

Her son, who was opposite to her, lying on a sofa, reading, or seeming to read, started up, and putting down his book, exclaimed, in a voice which showed at once that he was conscious of thinking of some particular person, and determined to persist in the thought, "As if your son could possibly think of her!----Of whom, ma'am?"

"What's the matter, child? Are you mad?"

"Not in the least, ma'am; but you said----"

"What!" cried Lady Mary, looking round; "What did I say, that has occasioned so much disturbance?--I was not conscious of saying any thing. My dear Selina," continued her ladyship, appealing to a young lady, who sat very intent upon some drawing beside her, "my dear Selina, you must have heard; what did I say?"

The young lady looked embarra.s.sed; and the colour which spread over her face, brought a sudden suspicion into Lady Mary's mind: her eye darted back upon her son--the suspicion, the fear was confirmed; and she grew instantly pale, silent, and breathless, in the att.i.tude in which she was struck with this panic. The young lady's blush and embarra.s.sment had a very different effect on Vivian; joy suddenly sparkled in his eyes, and illumined his whole countenance, for this was the first instant he had ever felt any hope of having obtained an interest in her heart. He was too much transported at this moment to think either of prudence or of his mother; and, when he recollected himself, he was too little practised in dissimulation to repair his indiscretion. Something he did attempt to say, and blundered, and laughed at his blunder; and when his mother looked up at him, in serious silence, he only begged pardon for his folly, confessed he believed he was mad, and, turning away abruptly, left the room, exclaiming that he wondered where Russell had been all the morning, and that he must go and look for him. A long silence ensued between Vivian's mother and the young lady, who were left alone together. Lady Mary first broke the silence, and, in a constrained tone, asked, as she took up the newspaper, "Whether Miss Sidney had found any news?"

"I don't know, ma'am," answered Miss Sidney, in a voice scarcely articulate.

"I should have imagined there must be some news from the continent: but you did not find any, I think you say, Miss Sidney;" continued Lady Mary, with haughty, averted eyes. After turning over the pages of the paper, without knowing one word it contained, she laid it down, and rose to leave the room. Miss Sidney rose at the same time.

"Lady Mary, one instant; my dear Lady Mary."

Lady Mary turned, and saw Selina's supplicating eyes full of tears; but her ladyship, still retaining her severity of manner, coldly said, "Does Miss Sidney desire that I should stay?--Does Miss Sidney wish to speak to me?"

"I do--as soon as I can," said Selina in a faltering voice; but, raising her eyes, and perceiving the contemptuous expression of Lady Mary's countenance, her own instantly changed. With the firm tone of conscious innocence, she repeated, "I do wish to speak to your ladyship, if you will hear me with your usual candour; I do not expect or solicit your usual indulgence."

"Miss Sidney," replied Lady Mary, "before you say more, it becomes me to point out to you, that the moment is past for confidence between us two; and that in no moment could I wish to hear from any person, much less from one whom I had considered as my friend, confessions, extorted by circ.u.mstances, degrading and unavailing."

"Your ladyship need not be apprehensive of hearing from me any degrading confessions," said Miss Sidney; "I have none to make: and since, without any just cause, without any cause for suspicion, but what a blush, perhaps, or a moment's embarra.s.sment of manner may have created, you think it becomes you to point out to me that the moment for confidence between us is past, I can only lament my mistake in having believed that it ever existed."

Lady Mary's countenance and manner totally changed. The pride of rank yielded before the pride of virtue; and perhaps the hope that she had really no cause for suspicion at once restored her affection for her young friend. "Let us understand one another, my dear Selina," said she; "if I said a hasty or a harsh word, forgive it. You know my affection for you, and my real confidence; in actions, not in words, I have shown it.--In thought, as well as in actions, my confidence in you has been entire; for, _upon my word,_ and you know this is not an a.s.severation I lightly use, _upon my word,_ till that unfortunate moment, a suspicion of you never crossed my imagination. The proof--if there could need any proof to you of what I a.s.sert--the proof is, the delight I take in your society, the urgent manner in which I have so frequently, this summer, begged your company from your mother. You know this would have not only been the height of insincerity, but of folly and madness, if I had not felt a reliance upon you that made me consider it as an absolute impossibility that you could ever disappoint my friendship."

"I thank your ladyship," said Selina, softened by the kind tone in which Lady Mary now spoke, yet still retaining some reserve of manner; "I thank your ladyship for all your kindness--it has flattered me much--touched me deeply--commanded my grat.i.tude, and influenced my conduct uniformly--I can and do entirely forgive the injustice of a moment; and I now bid you adieu, my dear Lady Mary, with the conviction that, if we were never to meet again, I should always hold that place in your esteem and affection with which you have honoured me, and which, if it be not too proud an expression, I hope I have deserved----Won't you bid me farewell?"

The tears gushed from Lady Mary's eyes. "My dear, charming, and prudent Selina, I understand you perfectly--and I thank you: it grieves me to part with you--but I believe you are right--I believe there is no other safety--no other remedy. How, indeed, could I expect that my son could see and hear you--live in the house with you, and become intimately acquainted with such a character as yours, without danger! I have been very imprudent, unaccountably imprudent, to expose him to such a temptation; but I hope, I trust, that your prudence will repair, in time, the effects of my rashness--and again and again I thank you, my dear young friend--but, perhaps it might be still better that you should not leave us abruptly. Still better than your absence, I think, would be the conviction you might impress on his mind of the impossibility of his hopes: if you were to stay a day or two, and convince him by your indifference that----" "Excuse me, that is what I cannot undertake,"

said Selina, blushing, and conscious of blushing. Lady Mary was too polite and too delicate to seem to observe her confusion, but, embracing her, said--"If we must part, then take with you my highest esteem, affection, and grat.i.tude; and this much let me add, that my most sanguine expectations for my son's happiness would be realized, if amongst the women to whom family interests must restrict his choice, he could meet with one of half your merit, and half your attractions."

"_Amongst the women to whom family interests must restrict his choice_,"

repeated Selina to herself many times, as she journeyed homewards; and she pondered much upon the meaning of this phrase. Vivian was sole heir to a very large property, without enc.u.mbrances of any kind; what, therefore, was the necessity that restricted his choice? The imaginary necessity of ambition, which confined him to a certain circle of fashionable, or _highly connected_ people. Selina Sidney, though she was not rich, was of a very good gentleman's family; her father had been a colonel in the British army: during his life, Mrs. Sidney had been in the habit of living a great deal in what is called _the world,_ and in the best company; and though, since his death, she had lived in retirement, Miss Sidney had received an education which put her upon a footing with young ladies of the highest accomplishments and refinement in the kingdom. With every solid and amiable quality, she had all those external advantages of appearance and manner which Lady Mary Vivian valued most highly. Selina, who was convinced that Lady Mary appreciated her character, and was peculiarly fond of her company and conversation, could not but feel surprise, mixed with some indignation, perhaps with a little resentment, when she perceived that her ladyship's prejudices and ambition made her act so completely in contradiction to her better judgment, to her professions, and to her feelings of affection. Whatever Miss Sidney thought upon this subject, however, she determined to continue to avoid seeing Vivian any more--an excellent resolution, in which we leave her, and return to her lover.

A walk with Russell had brought him back in the full determination of avowing his attachment sincerely to his mother, and of speaking to her ladyship in the most respectful manner; but, when he found that Miss Sidney was gone, anger and disappointment made him at once forget his prudence, and his intended respect; he declared, in the most pa.s.sionate terms, his love for Selina Sidney, and his irrevocable determination to pursue her, to the end of time and s.p.a.ce, in spite of all opposition whatsoever from any person whatever. His mother, who was prepared for a scene of this sort, though not for one of this violence, had sufficient command of temper to sustain it properly; her command of temper was, indeed, a little a.s.sisted by the hope that this pa.s.sion would be transitory in proportion to its vehemence, much by the confidence she had in Miss Sidney's _honour_, and in her absence: Lady Mary, therefore, calmly disclaimed having had any part in persuading Miss Sidney to that measure which had so much enraged her lover; but her ladyship avowed, that though it had not been necessary for her to suggest the measure, she highly approved of it, and admired now, as she had ever admired, that young lady's prudent and n.o.ble conduct.

Softened by the only thing that could, at this moment, soften him--praise of his mistress--Vivian, in a most affectionate manner, a.s.sured his mother that it was her warm eulogiums of Miss Sidney which had first turned his attention to the perfections of her character; and he now inquired what possible objections she could make to his choice.

With the generous enthusiasm of his disposition, heightened by all the eloquence of love, he pleaded, that his fortune was surely sufficient to put him above mercenary considerations in the choice of a wife; that in every point, except this one of _money_, Selina Sidney was, in his own mother's opinion, superior to every other woman she could name, or wish for, as a daughter-in-law.

"But my tastes are not to blind me to your interests," said Lady Mary; "you are ent.i.tled to look for rank and high connexion. You are the representative of an ancient family, have talents to make a figure in public; and, in short, prejudice or not, I confess it is one of the first wishes of my heart that you should marry into a n.o.ble family, or at least into one that shall strengthen your political interest, as well as secure your domestic happiness."

Vivian, of course, cursed ambition, as all men do whilst they are in love. His arguments and his eloquence in favour of a _private station_, and of the joys of _learned leisure, a competence, and domestic bliss_, were worthy of the most renowned of ancient or modern philosophers.

Russell was appealed to with much eagerness, both by mother and son, during their debates. He frankly declared to Lady Mary, that he thought her son perfectly right in all he now urged, and especially in his opinion of Miss Sidney; "but at the same time," added Russell, "I apprehend that he speaks, at this moment, more from pa.s.sion than from reason; and I fear that, in the course of a few months, he might, perhaps, entirely change his mind: therefore, I think your ladyship is prudent in refusing, during the minority of your son, your consent to a hasty union, of which he might afterwards repent, and thus render both himself and a most amiable woman miserable."

Russell, after having given his opinion with the utmost freedom, when it was required by Lady Mary, a.s.sured her that he should no farther interfere; and he trusted his present sincerity would be the best pledge to her of his future discretion and honour. This equitable judgment and sincerity of Russell's at first displeased both parties, but in time operated upon the reason of both; not, however, before contests had gone on long and loud between the mother and son--not before a great deal of nonsense had been talked on both sides. People of the best abilities often talk the most nonsense where their pa.s.sions are concerned, because then the whole of their ingenuity is exercised to find arguments in favour of their folly. They are not, like fools, content to say, _This is my will_; but they pique themselves on giving reasons for their will; and their reasons are the reasons of madmen, excellent upon false premises. It happened here, as in most family quarrels, that the disputants did not allow sufficiently for the prejudices and errors incident to their different ages. The mother would not allow for the romantic notions of the son, nor could the son endure the worldly views of the mother. The son, who had as yet no experience of the transitory nature of the pa.s.sion of love, thought his mother unfeeling and barbarous, for opposing him on the point where the whole happiness of his life was concerned; the mother, who had seen the decline and fall of so many _everlasting loves_, considered him only as a person in a fever; and thought she prevented him, by her calmness, from doing that which he would repent when he should regain his sober senses. Without detailing the daily disputes which now arose, it will be sufficient to mark the result.

Vivian's love had been silent, tranquil, and not seemingly of any great consequence, till it was opposed; but, from the instant that an obstacle intervened, it gathered strength and force, and it presently rose rapidly, with prodigious uproar, threatening to burst all bounds, and to destroy every thing that stopped its course. Lady Mary was now inclined to try what effect lessening the opposition might produce. To do her justice, she was also moved to this by some n.o.bler motives than fear; or, at least, her fears were not of a selfish kind: she dreaded that her son's health and permanent happiness might be injured by this violent pa.s.sion; she was apprehensive of becoming an object of his aversion; of utterly losing his confidence, and all power over his mind; but, chiefly, her generous temper was moved and won by Selina Sidney's admirable conduct. During the whole time that Vivian used every means to see her, to write to her, and to convince her of the fervour of his love, though he won all her friends over to his interests, though she heard his praises from morning till night from all who surrounded her, and though her own heart, perhaps, pleaded more powerfully than all the rest in his favour; yet she never, for one instant, gave him the slightest encouragement. Lady Mary's esteem and affection were so much increased by these strong proofs of friendship and honour, that her prejudices yielded; and she at length declared, that if her son continued, till he was of age, to feel the same attachment for this amiable girl, she would give her consent to their union. But this, she added, she promised only on one condition--that her son should abstain from all attempts, in the interval, to see or correspond with Miss Sidney, and that he should set out immediately to travel with Mr.

Russell. Transported with love, and joy, and victory, Vivian promised every thing that was required of him, embraced his mother, and set out upon his travels.

"Allow," said he triumphantly to Russell, as the chaise drove from the door, "allow, my good friend, that you were mistaken, in your fears of the weakness of my character, and of the yielding facility of my temper.

You see how firm I have been--you see what battle I have made--you see how I have _stood out_."

"I never doubted," said Russell, "your love of your own free will--I never doubted your fear of being governed, especially by your mother; but you do not expect that I should allow this to be a proof of strength of character."

"What! do you suppose I act from love of my own free will merely?--Do you call my love for Selina Sidney weakness?--Oh! take care, Russell; for if once I find you pleading my mother's cause against your conscience----"

"You will never find me pleading any cause against my conscience. I have told your mother, as I have told you, my opinion of Miss Sidney--my firm opinion--that she is peculiarly calculated to make the happiness of your life, provided you continue to love her."

"Provided!--Oh!" cried Vivian, laughing, "spare your musty provisoes, my dear philosopher! Would not any one think, now, you were an old man of ninety? If this is all you have to fear, I am happy indeed."

"At present," said Russell, calmly, "I have no fear, as I have just told your mother, but that you should change your mind before you are of age."

Vivian grew quite indignant at this suggestion. "You are angry with me,"

said Russell, "and so was your mother: she was angry because I said, I _feared,_ instead of I _hoped,_ you would change your mind. Both parties are angry with me for my sincerity."

"Sincerity!--no; but I am angry with you for your absurd suspicions of my constancy."

"If they are absurd, you need not be angry," said Russell; "I shall be well pleased to see their absurdity demonstrated."

"Then I can demonstrate it this moment."

"Pardon me; not this moment; you must take time into the account. I make no doubt but that, at this moment, you are heartily in love with Miss Sidney; but the thing to be proved is, that your pa.s.sion will not decline in force, in proportion as it meets with less resistance. If it does, you will acknowledge that it was more a love of your own free will than a love of your mistress that has actuated you, which was the thing to be proved."

"Hateful Q.E.D.!" cried Vivian; "you shall see the contrary, and, at least, I will triumph over you."

If Russell had ever used art in his management of Vivian's mind, he might have been suspected of using it in favour of Miss Sidney at this instant; for this prophecy of Vivian's inconstancy was the most likely means to prevent its accomplishment. Frequently, in the course of their tour, when Vivian was in any situation where his constancy was tempted, he recollected Russell's prediction, and was proud to remind him how much he had been mistaken. In short, the destined time for their return home arrived--Vivian presented himself before his mother, and claimed her promise. She was somewhat surprised, and a little disappointed, by our hero's constancy; but she could not retract her word; and, since her compliance was now unavoidable, she was determined that it should be gracious. She wrote to Selina, therefore, with great kindness, saying, that whatever views of other connexions she might formerly have had for her son, she had now relinquished them, convinced, by the constancy of her son's attachment, and by the merit of its object, that his own choice would most effectually ensure his happiness, and that of all his friends. Her ladyship added expressions of her regard and esteem, and of the pleasure she felt in the thoughts of finding in her daughter-in-law a friend and companion, whose society was peculiarly agreeable to her taste and suited to her character. This letter entirely dissipated Selina's scruples of conscience; Vivian's love and merit, all his good and all his agreeable qualities, had now full and unreproved power to work upon her tender heart. His generous, open temper, his candour, his warm attachment to his friends, his cultivated understanding, his brilliant talents, his easy, well-bred, agreeable manners, all heightened in their power to please by the charm of love, justified, even in the eyes of the aged and prudent, the pa.s.sion he inspired.

Selina became extremely attached to him; and she loved with the delightful belief that there was not, in the mind of her lover, the seed of a single vice which threatened danger to his virtues or to their mutual happiness. With his usual candour, he had laid open his whole character to her, as far as he knew it himself; and had warned her of that vacillation of temper, that easiness to be led, which Russell had pointed out as a dangerous fault in his disposition. But of this propensity Selina had seen no symptoms; on the contrary, the steadiness of her lover in his attachment to her--the only point on which she had yet seen him tried--decided her to trust to the persuasive voice of love and hope, and to believe that Russell's friendship had in this instance, been too harsh or too timorous in its forebodings.

Nothing now delayed the marriage of Vivian and Selina but certain legal rites, which were to be performed on his coming of age, and before marriage settlements could be drawn;--and the parties were doomed to wait for the arrival of some trustee who was with his regiment abroad.

All these delays Vivian of course cursed: but, upon the whole, they were borne by him with heroic patience, and by Selina with all the tranquillity of confiding love, happy in the present, and not too anxious for the future.