“I don’t want to quarrel. It’s
for my interest—and perhaps for yours too—that
we should be friends. I bear you no grudge;
I think no worse of you than I do of other people.
A man who half starves himself, and goes the length
in family prayers, and so on, that you do, believes
in his religion whatever it may be: you could
turn over your capital just as fast with cursing and
swearing:— plenty of fellows do.
You like to be master, there’s no denying that;
you must be first chop in heaven, else you won’t
like it much. But you’re my sister’s
husband, and we ought to stick together; and if I
know Harriet, she’ll consider it your fault if
we quarrel because you strain at a gnat in this way,
and refuse to do Fred a good turn. And I don’t
mean to say I shall bear it well. I consider
it unhandsome.”
Mr. Vincy rose, began to button his great-coat, and
looked steadily at his brother-in-law, meaning to
imply a demand for a decisive answer.
This was not the first time that Mr. Bulstrode had
begun by admonishing Mr. Vincy, and had ended by seeing
a very unsatisfactory reflection of himself in the
coarse unflattering mirror which that manufacturer’s
mind presented to the subtler lights and shadows of
his fellow-men; and perhaps his experience ought to
have warned him how the scene would end. But
a full-fed fountain will be generous with its waters
even in the rain, when they are worse than useless;
and a fine fount of admonition is apt to be equally
irrepressible.
It was not in Mr. Bulstrode’s nature to comply
directly in consequence of uncomfortable suggestions.
Before changing his course, he always needed to shape
his motives and bring them into accordance with his
habitual standard. He said, at last—
“I will reflect a little, Vincy. I will
mention the subject to Harriet. I shall probably
send you a letter.”
“Very well. As soon as you can, please.
I hope it will all be settled before I see you to-morrow.”
“Follows here the strict
receipt
For that sauce to dainty
meat,
Named Idleness, which
many eat
By preference, and call
it sweet:
First watch for morsels,
like a hound
Mix well with buffets,
stir them round
With good thick oil
of flatteries,
And froth with mean
self-lauding lies.
Serve warm: the
vessels you must choose
To keep it in are dead
men’s shoes.”
Mr. Bulstrode’s consultation of Harriet seemed
to have had the effect desired by Mr. Vincy, for early
the next morning a letter came which Fred could carry
to Mr. Featherstone as the required testimony.
The old gentleman was staying in bed on account of
the cold weather, and as Mary Garth was not to be
seen in the sitting-room, Fred went up-stairs immediately
and presented the letter to his uncle, who, propped
up comfortably on a bed-rest, was not less able than
usual to enjoy his consciousness of wisdom in distrusting
and frustrating mankind. He put on his spectacles
to read the letter, pursing up his lips and drawing
down their corners.
