CHAPTER XII.

ouldeasilygethimtowritethatheknewnofactsinproofofthereportyouspeakof,thoughitmightleadtounpleasantness.ButIcouldhardlyaskhimtowritedownwhathebelievesordoesnotbelieveaboutme.”Fredpausedaninstant,andthenadded,inpoliticappealtohisuncle’svanity,“Thatishardlyathingforagentlemantoask.”Buthewasdisappointedintheresult. “Ay,Iknowwhatyoumean.You’dsooneroffendmethanBulstrode.Andwhat’she?—he’sgotnolandhereaboutthateverIheardtellof.Aspeckilatingfellow!Hemaycomedownanyday,whenthedevilleavesoffbackinghim.Andthat’swhathisreligionmeans:hewantsGodA’mightytocomein.That’snonsense!There’sonethingImadeoutprettyclearwhenIusedtogotochurch—andit’sthis:GodA’mightystickstotheland.Hepromisesland,andHegivesland,andHemakeschapsrichwithcornandcattle.Butyoutaketheotherside.YoulikeBulstrodeandspeckilationbetterthanFeatherstoneandland.” “Ibegyourpardon,sir,”saidFred,rising,standingwithhisbacktothefireandbeatinghisbootwithhiswhip.“IlikeneitherBulstrodenorspeculation.”Hespokerathersulkily,feelinghimselfstalemated. “Well,well,youcandowithoutme,that’sprettyclear,”saidoldFeatherstone,secretlydislikingthepossibilitythatFredwouldshowhimselfatallindependent.“Youneitherwantabitoflandtomakeasquireofyouinsteadofastarvingparson,noraliftofahundredpoundbytheway.It’sallonetome.IcanmakefivecodicilsifIlike,andIshallkeepmybank-notesforanest-egg.It’sallonetome.” Fredcoloredagain.Featherstonehadrarelygivenhimpresentsofmoney,andatthismomentitseemedalmosthardertopartwiththeimmediateprospectofbank-notesthanwiththemoredistantprospectoftheland. “Iamnotungrateful,sir.Inevermeanttoshowdisregardforanykindintentionsyoumighthavetowardsme.Onthecontrary.” “Verygood.Thenproveit.YoubringmealetterfromBulstrodesayinghedoesn’tbelieveyou’vebeencrackingandpromisingtopayyourdebtsouto’myland,andthen,ifthere’sanyscrapeyou’vegotinto,we’llseeifIcan’tbackyouabit.Comenow!That’sabargain.Here,givemeyourarm.I’lltryandwalkroundtheroom.” Fred,inspiteofhisirritation,hadkindnessenoughinhimtobealittlesorryfortheunloved,unveneratedoldman,whowithhisdropsicallegslookedmorethanusuallypitiableinwalking.Whilegivinghisarm,hethoughtthatheshouldnothimselfliketobeanoldfellowwithhisconstitutionbreakingupandhewaitedgood-temperedly,firstbeforethewindowtohearthewontedremarksabouttheguinea-fowlsandtheweather-cock,andthenbeforethescantybook-shelves,ofwhichthechiefgloriesindarkcalfwereJosephus,Culpepper,Klopstock’s“Messiah,”andseveralvolumesofthe“Gentleman’sMagazine.” “Readmethenameso’thebooks.Comenow!you’reacollegeman.” Fredgavehimthetitles. “Whatdidmissywantwithmorebooks?Whatmustyoubebringinghermorebooksfor?” “Theyamuseher,sir.Sheisveryfondofreading.” “Alittletoofond,”saidMr.Featherstone,captiously.“Shewasforreadingwhenshesatwithme.ButIputastoptothat.She’sgotthenewspapertoreadoutloud.That’senoughforoneday,Ishouldthink.Ican’tabidetoseeherreadingtoherself.Youmindandnotbringheranymorebooks,doyouhear?” “Yes,sir,Ihear.”Fredhadreceivedthisorderbefore,andhadsecretlydisobeyedit.Heintendedtodisobeyitagain. “Ringthebell,”saidMr.Featherstone“Iwantmissytocomedown.” RosamondandMaryhadbeentalkingfasterthantheirmalefriends.Theydidnotthinkofsittingdown,butstoodatthetoilet-tablenearthewindowwhileRosamondtookoffherhat,adjustedherveil,andappliedlittletouchesofherfinger-tipstoherhair—hairofinfantinefairness,neitherflaxennoryellow.MaryGarthseemedalltheplainerstandingatananglebetweenthetwonymphs—theoneintheglass,andtheoneoutofit,wholookedateachotherwitheyesofheavenlyblue,deepenoughtoholdthemostexquisitemeaningsaningeniousbeholdercouldputintothem,anddeepenoughtohidethemeaningsoftheowneriftheseshouldhappentobelessexquisite.OnlyafewchildreninMiddlemarchlookedblondbythesideofRosamond,andtheslimfiguredisplayedbyherriding-habithaddelicateundulations.Infact,mostmeninMiddlemarch,exceptherbrothers,heldthatMissVincywasthebestgirlintheworld,andsomecalledheranangel.MaryGarth,onthecontrary,hadtheaspectofanordinarysinner:shewasbrownhercurlydarkhairwasroughandstubbornherstaturewaslowanditwouldnotbetruetodeclare,insatisfactoryantithesis,thatshehadallthevirtues.Plainnesshasitspeculiartemptationsandvicesquiteasmuchasbeautyitisapteithertofeignamiability,or,notfeigningit,toshowalltherepulsivenessofdiscontent:atanyrate,tobecalledanuglythingincontrastwiththatlovelycreatureyourcompanion,isapttoproducesomeeffectbeyondasenseoffineveracityandfitnessinthephrase.Attheageoftwo-and-twentyMaryhadcertainlynotattainedthatperfectgoodsenseandgoodprinciplewhichareusuallyrecommendedtothelessfortunategirl,asiftheyweretobeobtainedinquantitiesreadymixed,withaflavorofresignationasrequired.Hershrewdnesshadastreakofsatiricbitternesscontinuallyrenewedandnevercarriedutterlyoutofsight,exceptbyastrongcurrentofgratitudetowardsthosewho,insteadoftellingherthatsheoughttobecontented,didsomethingtomakeherso.Advancingwomanhoodhadtemperedherplainness,whichwasofagoodhumansort,suchasthemothersofourracehaveverycommonlyworninalllatitudesunderamoreorlessbecomingheadgear.Rembrandtwouldhavepaintedherwithpleasure,andwouldhavemadeherbroadfeatureslookoutofthecanvaswithintelligenthonesty.Forhonesty,truth-tellingfairness,wasMary’sreigningvirtue:sheneithertriedtocreateillusions,norindulgedinthemforherownbehoof,andwhenshewasinagoodmoodshehadhumorenoughinhertolaughatherself.WhensheandRosamondhappenedbothtobereflectedintheglass,shesaid,laughingly— “WhatabrownpatchIambythesideofyou,Rosy!Youarethemostunbecomingcompanion.” “Ohno!Noonethinksofyourappearance,youaresosensibleanduseful,Mary.Beautyisofverylittleconsequenceinreality,”saidRosamond,turningherheadtowardsMary,butwitheyesswervingtowardsthenewviewofherneckintheglass. “Youmeanmybeauty,”saidMary,rathersardonically. Rosamondthought,“PoorMary,shetakesthekindestthingsill.”Aloudshesaid,“Whathaveyoubeendoinglately?” “I?Oh,mindingthehouse—pouringoutsyrup—pretendingtobeamiableandcontented—learningtohaveabadopinionofeverybody.” “Itisawretchedlifeforyou.” “No,”saidMary,curtly,withalittletossofherhead.“IthinkmylifeispleasanterthanyourMissMorgan’s.” “YesbutMissMorganissouninteresting,andnotyoung.” “Sheisinterestingtoherself,IsupposeandIamnotatallsurethateverythinggetseasierasonegetsolder.” “No,”saidRosamond,reflectively“onewonderswha