"What does your ladyship mean by _some_ fortune?"

"Why--you have such a strange way of not understanding! We who live in the world must speak as the world speaks--we cannot recur continually to a philosophical dictionary, and if we had recourse to it, we should only be sent from _a_ to _z_, and from _z_ back again to _a_; see _affluence_, see _competence_, see _luxury_, see _philosophy_, and see at last that you see nothing, and that you knew as much before you opened the book as when you shut it--which indeed is what I find to be the case with most books I read."

Triumphant from the consciousness of having hitherto had all the wit on her side, Lady Jane looked round, and continued: "Though I don't pretend to draw my maxims from books, yet this much I do know, that in matrimony, let people have ever so much sense, and merit, and love, and all that, they must have bread and b.u.t.ter into the bargain, or it won't do."

"Certainly," said Mrs. Percy: "under that head I suppose you include all the necessaries of life."

"And some of the luxuries, if you please; for in these days luxuries are become necessaries."

"A barouche and four, for instance?" said Mrs. Percy.

"Oh! no, no--my dear madam, I speak within bounds; you cannot expect a barouche and four for girls who have nothing."

"I expect it as little as I wish it for them," said Mrs. Percy, smiling; "and as little as my daughters, I believe, desire it."

"But if such a thing should offer, I presume you would not wish that Rosamond or Caroline should refuse?"

"That depends upon _who_ offers it," said Mrs. Percy. "But whatever my wishes might be, I should, as I believe I safely may, leave my daughters entirely at liberty to judge and decide for themselves."

"Yes, I believe you safely may," said Lady Jane, "as long as you keep them here. You might as well talk of leaving them at liberty in the deserts of Arabia. You don't expect that knights and squires should come hither in quest of your damsels?"

"Then you would have the damsels sally forth in quest of the knights and squires?" said Mr. Percy.

"Let them sally forth at any rate," said Lady Jane, laughing; "n.o.body has a right to ask in quest of what. We are not now in the times of ancient romance, when young ladies were to sit straight-laced at their looms, or never to stir farther than to their bower windows."

"Young ladies must now go a great deal farther," said Mr. Percy, "before the discourteous knights will deign to take any notice of them."

"Ay, indeed, it is shameful!" said Lady Jane sighing. "I declare it is shameful!" repeated she, indignantly. "Do you know, that last winter at Bath the ladies were forced to ask the gentlemen to dance?"

"Forced?" said Mr. Percy.

"Yes, forced!" said Lady Jane, "or else they must have sat still all night like so many simpletons."

"Sad alternative!" said Mr. Percy; "and what is worse, I understand that partners for life are scarcely to be had on easier terms; at least so I am informed by one of your excellent modern mothers, Mrs. Chatterton, who has been leading her three _gawky_ graces about from one watering-place to another these six years, fishing, and hunting, and hawking for husbands. 'There now! I have carried my girls to Bath, and to London, and to Tunbridge, and to Weymouth, and to Cheltenham, and every where; I am sure I can do no more for them.' I a.s.sure you,"

continued Mr. Percy, "I have heard Mrs. Chatterton say these very words in a room full of company."

"In a room full of company? Shocking!" said Lady Jane. "But then poor Mrs. Chatterton is a fool, you know; and, what is worse, not _well mannered_,--how should she? But I flatter myself, if you will trust me with your daughter Caroline, we should manage matters rather better. Now let me tell you my plan. My plan is to take Caroline with me immediately to Tunbridge, previous to her London campaign. Nothing can be a greater mistake than to keep a young lady _up_, and prevent her being seen till the moment when she is to be brought out: it is of incalculable advantage that, previously to her appearance in the great world, she should have been seen by certain fashionable _p.r.o.neurs_. It is essential that certain reports respecting her accomplishments and connexions should have had time to circulate properly."

All this Mr. and Mrs. Percy acknowledged, in as unqualified a manner as Lady Jane could desire, was fit and necessary to secure what is called a young lady's success in the fashionable world; but they said that it was not their object to _dispose of their daughters_, as it is called, _to the best advantage_. The arts which are commonly practised for this purpose they thought not only indelicate, but ultimately impolitic and absurd; for men in general are now so well aware of them, that they avoid the snares, and ridicule and detest those by whom they are contrived. If, now and then, a dupe be found, still the chance is, that the match so made turns out unhappily; at best, attachments formed in public places, and in the hurry of a town life, can seldom be founded on any real knowledge of character, or suitableness of taste and temper.

"It is much more probable," added Mrs. Percy, "that happy marriages should be made where people have leisure and opportunities of becoming really and intimately acquainted with each other's dispositions."

"Vastly well!" said Lady Jane: "so you mean to bury your daughters in the country--to shut them up, at least--all the days of their unfortunate lives?"

Mr. and Mrs. Percy, both at the same moment, eagerly declared that they had no such absurd or cruel intention towards their daughters. "On the contrary," said Mr. Percy, "we shall take every proper occasion, that our present fortune and situation will allow, of letting them see agreeable and sensible persons."

"Are they to spring out of the ground, these agreeable and sensible persons?" said Lady Jane. "Whom do you see in this desert, or expect to see?"

"We see your ladyship, in the first place," said Mr. Percy: "you cannot therefore wonder if we are proud enough to expect to see sometimes good company, persons of merit, and even of fashion, though we have lost our station and fortune."

"That is very politely turned by you, Mr. Percy. Much more polite than my desert. But I could not bear the thoughts of your sweet pretty Caroline's blushing unseen."

"Nor could we," said Mr. Percy, "bear the thoughts of her ceasing to blush from being too much seen. We could not bear the thoughts of _fitting our daughters out_, and sending them to the London market, with the portionless cla.s.s of matrimonial adventurers, of whom even the few that succeed are often doomed but to splendid misery in marriage; and the numbers who fail in their venture are, after a certain time, consigned to neglect and contempt in single wretchedness. Here, on the contrary, in the bosom of their own families, without seeking to entice or entrap, they can at all events never be disappointed or degraded; and, whether married or single, will be respected and respectable, in youth and age--secure of friends, and of a happy home."

"Happy nonsense! begging your pardon, my dear coz. Shall I tell you what the end of all this living in the bosom of their own families will be?--that they will die old maids. For mercy's sake, my dear Mrs. Percy, do not let Mr. Percy be philosophical for your daughters, whatever he may be for himself. You, I am sure, cannot wish your poor daughters to be _old maids_," said her ladyship, with a tremendous accent upon the word.

"No, I should wish them to marry, if I could ensure for them good husbands, not merely good fortunes. The warmest wish of my heart," cried Mrs. Percy, "is to see my daughters as happy as I am myself, married to men of their own choice, whom they can entirely esteem, and fondly love.

But I would rather see my daughters in their graves than see them throw themselves away upon men unworthy of them, or sell themselves to husbands unsuited to them, merely for the sake of being _established_, for the vulgar notion of _getting married_, or to avoid the imaginary and unjust ridicule of being old maids."

The warmth and energy with which these last words were spoken, by so gentle a person as Mrs. Percy, surprised Lady Jane so much, that she was silent; all her ideas being suddenly at a stand, and her sagacity at fault. Mr. Percy proposed a walk to show her the Hills; as her ladyship rose to accompany him, she said to herself, "Who could have guessed that Mrs. Percy was so romantic?--But she has caught it from her husband.--What a strange father and mother!--But for the sake of the poor girls, I will not give up the point. I will have Caroline with me to Tunbridge, and to town, in spite of their wise heads."

She renewed her attack in the evening after tea. Rising, and walking towards the window, "A word with you, Mr. Percy, if you please. The young people are going to walk, and now we can talk the matter over by ourselves."

"Why should not we talk it over before the young people?" said Mr.

Percy. "We always speak of every thing openly in this family," continued he, turning to Lady Jane; "and I think that is one reason why we live so happily together. I let my children know all my views for them, all my affairs, and my opinions, I may say all my thoughts, or how could I expect them to trust me with theirs?"

"As to that, children are bound by grat.i.tude to treat their parents with perfect openness," said Lady Jane; "and it is the duty of children, you know, to make their parents their confidants upon all occasions."

"Duty and grat.i.tude are excellent things," said Mr. Percy, "but somewhat more is necessary between parent and child to produce friendship.

Recollect the Duc d'Epernon's reply to his king, who reproached him with want of affection. 'Sire, you may command my services, my life; but your majesty knows, friendship is to be won only by friendship.'"

"Very true," said Lady Jane; "but friendship is not, properly speaking, the connexion that subsists between parents and children."

"I am sorry you think so," said Mr. Percy, smiling: "pray do not teach my children that doctrine."

"Nay," said Lady Jane, "no matter whether we call it friendship or not; I will answer for it, that without any refined notions about perfect openness and confidence, your children will be fond of you, if you are indulgent to them in certain points. Caroline, my dear," said she, turning to Caroline, who was at the farthest end of the room, "don't look so unconscious, for you are a party concerned; so come and kneel at the feet of this perverse father of yours, to plead your cause and mine--I must take you with me to Tunbridge. You must let me have her a summer and winter, and I will answer for Caroline's success."

"What does your ladyship mean by my success?" said Caroline.

"Why, child--Now don't play your father's philosophic airs upon me!

We people who live in the world, and not with philosophers, are not prepared for such entrapping interrogatories. But come, I mean in plain English, my dear, though I am afraid it will shock your ears, that you will be" (speaking loud) "pretty well admired, pretty well abused, and--oh, shocking!--pretty well married."

"Pretty well married!" repeated Mrs. Percy, in a scornful tone: "but neither Caroline nor I should be satisfied unless she be very well married."

"Heyday! There is no knowing where to have you _lady_ philosophers. This morning you did not desire a coach and four for your daughters, not you; now you quarrel with me on the other side of the question. Really, for a lady of moderation, you are a little exorbitant. _Pretty well married_, you know, implies 2000_l._ a-year; and very well married, nothing under 10,000_l._"

"Is that the language of the market? I did not understand the exact meaning of _very well married_--did you, Caroline? I own I expect something more than 10,000_l._ a-year."

"More!--you unconscionable wretch! how much more?" said Lady Jane.

"Infinitely more," said Mr. Percy: "I expect a man of sense, temper, and virtue, who would love my daughter as she deserves to be loved."

"Let me advise you," said Lady Jane, in her very gravest tone, "not to puff up Caroline's imagination with a parcel of romantic notions.--I never yet knew any good done by it. Depend on it you will be disappointed, if you expect a genius to descend from the clouds express for your daughters. Let them do as other people do, and they may have a chance of meeting with some good sort of men, who will make them as happy as--as happy as their neighbours."

"And how happy is that?" said Caroline: "as happy as we are now?"

"As you are now!" said Lady Jane: "a vastly pretty maidenly speech! But young ladies, nevertheless, usually think that the saffron robe of Hymen would not be the most unbecoming dress in the world; and whether it be in compliance with their daughters' taste, or their own convenience, most parents are in a hurry to purchase it."

"Sometimes at the expense of their daughters' happiness for life," said Mrs. Percy.