Sweethearts and Wives CHAPTER 3.
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He is always finding some fault with me, was the reply of Grace to her aunt, who had asked her the reason of her never feeling happy after being in Armstrong's company.
"That is not very pleasant, certainly," Mrs. Ellis said. "Still, the friend who tells us our faults, may be far more sincerely attached to us — than the one who is ever agreeing with all we say, regardless whether we are right or wrong. The true question for you to ask yourself is, whether Mr. Armstrong is right when he differs from you."
"He is sometimes right and sometimes wrong; but then I don't like his manner of opposing me. It is dogmatic; and, besides, it is a breach of courtesy for a young man to beforever differing in opinion from a woman."
"In what did he differ from you today?"
Grace hesitated for a few moments, and then said,
"A few evenings ago, as you remember, I was at Mrs. Speare's. Mrs. Putnam was there, whom we all know to be strongly opposed to dancing. Mary Speare wanted to have a cotillion, and had the set made up, all except one. Knowing Mrs. Putnam's prejudice against this innocent and healthy amusement, I declined dancing, simply out of respect to her feelings; and so the cotillion could not be formed. I had occasion to mention this today, and Mr. Armstrong at once declared that I acted wrong. It is too bad to have even ourinnocent acts, and those, too, in which we practice self-denial — condemned, and that, too, as if they were heinous offences!"
"Upon what ground did he condemn the act?"
"Upon the ground that it is wrong to refrain from doing a thing right in itself — because it may offend another's prejudices."
"Well, did he not prove his position to be true?"
"I can't say that he altogether convinced my reason. To me it seems that polite and courteous fellowship with society, will always lead us to respect the prejudices of those we meet. Why should we needlessly offend them?"
"We should not do so needlessly, Grace; but when an act, innocent in itself, is to be done, then no considerations of respect for weak prejudices should be allowed to influence us, as in the case to which you have alluded. Dancing has its uses. It is the ultimate activity of certain innocent and joyful feelings, which, unless they found their true expression, would be choked up in the mind, and perhaps perish. These innocent affections were stirring within the minds of your young friends at Mrs. Speare's, and seeking their corresponding external expression, when you, out of a blind respect to a frigid, puritanical prejudice, perverted their happy expression. Was that right or wrong, Grace? I am sure your own good sense will at once decide the question. If it is right thus to check innocent amusements, so necessary and so useful to the young, out of respect to a single individual — then how much more binding is the duty of respecting the general prejudices of a large class in society, and out of regard to these — never to dance at all, and never to take any kind of bodily or mental recreation? Establish this principle in regard to dancing — and the reasons for it will hold good in hundreds of other instances of prejudice. If it is right in the least things to regard prejudices — and from them to refrain from doing things innocent in themselves — then it is right in complex things. Depend upon it, my child, Mr. Armstrong is right."
"But why need he feel himself under such pressing obligations to correct every little error into which I may happen to fall, and that, too, as if it was some very serious matter? It is not pleasant, by any means."
"It arises, no doubt, from his strong love of the truth, united, perhaps, with a reluctance to see one for whom he has a respect, adopting opinions which he clearly sees to be wrong."
"I feel that he is influenced by some different impulse. A man who really respects a woman, will not be always seeking to reveal her errors and weaknesses. For my part, Mr. Armstrong's manner towards me constantly offends me. I hardly ever spend an hour with him, that I am not made to feel a sense of inferiority. It is not so with other men. There is Mr. Milnor, for instance. I see that he is as sound as Mr. Armstrong, and yet he never reproves me in the way that the other does. If he does not agree with me, he never seems to feel the necessity to say so."
"That is, Mr. Armstrong honors your judgment by presenting reasons for changing your views — while Mr. Milnor flatters your pride of opinion by not opposing you, even when he sees you to be wrong. Is not this so?"
"I cannot see that it is, Aunt Mary. The one I believe to be governed by the rules of polite and gentlemanly fellowship with ladies — while the other is influenced by the pride of self-intelligence, and a love of being thought superior to everyone else."
While this conversation was going on — Milnor, now a very frequent visitor, came in. He perceived, instantly, two things: that Grace was unpleasantly excited about something, and that his entrance gave her a particular pleasure. He knew that she had been riding out with Armstrong, and guessed pretty nearly the cause of the apparent disturbance. Dexterously he managed to induce her to speak of it, and then turned the whole thing to his own advantage.
"I never think it necessary to be always differing from people," he found the opportunity of saying. "Opinions are of no great consequence, after all, and break no heads. It never seems to me to be either polite or necessary — to be ever advancing our notions in opposition to what others may think to be true. In nine cases out of ten — we are as likely to be in error as they are. Let us be tolerant of each other. All will come out right in the end. As for opposition and conflict, they often confirm others in, instead of leading them out of error. This has long been my opinion, and is one from which I uniformly act; and, especially in my fellowship with ladies, do I avoid, particularly, the fault of argument and theintroduction of differences."
"But would you not, Mr. Milnor," asked Mrs. Ellis, who was present, "if you heard a lady-friend advance erroneous opinions, and saw that she was acting from them, and thus doing harm in her social fellowship — endeavor to lead her to see her error?"
"Most certainly," was the prompt reply; "but, in doing so, I would act with delicacy and prudence, and would endeavor to lead her rather to see in the light of her own mind, that she was wrong — than to convince her by direct opposition in the form of argument."
"And in pursuing that course, you would be successful in nine cases out of ten — while in the other, you would fail as often," remarked Grace, in an approving tone, and with an approving expression.
Milnor felt that he was winning his way into the maiden's heart.
"Let him," he said to himself, with a feeling of satisfaction, "go on as he has begun, and I am safe. She is a lovely, intelligent girl, and where she can once be made to love — will love with a strength and depth of passion which nothing can move. She has her faults, though they are of little consequence, and can be easily looked over. No one is faultless."
From that time, Milnor was more than ever careful not to offend the good opinion of herself that Grace entertained. He even went so far as to insinuate, at times, a little well-directed flattery, which was very pleasant to her ear.
As for Armstrong, he was too firm a lover of honesty and truth to modify, in any degree, his manner towards the maiden. He soon perceived that the gentle warmth that he had felt breathing out towards him — was withdrawing itself, and that Grace did not receive him as cordially as before, and seemed far less interested in his company. He guessed the reason, from indications not to be mistaken, but could not gain his own consent to act differently. If the maiden he wished to choose out from the rest of womankind as a companion through life, could not bear the touchstone of truth — he did not desire a union with her. If she would not permit him to point out an error before marriage, what guarantee had he who she would allow him to do so after marriage? Under the influence of such thoughts, he gradually permitted his affections to subside into an ordinary, polite, but rather reserved manner, thus leaving to Milnor a clear field.
Warned against the rock upon which Armstrong had been cast away, he took especial care in no instance to oppose the wishes or opinions of Grace. Besides this negative position towards her — he spared no thought nor pains in seeking out the means of giving her pleasure, no matter how great the inconvenience to himself. Things that had before been to him altogether undelightful, as soon as he found that they gave her pleasure, were proposed and entered into with the liveliest enjoyment. If she expressed a wish to ride — he never thought of asking a postponement on account of pressing duties. Even engagements with others would be broken without a moment's hesitation, in order to meet the smallest of her expressed wishes.
Thus, instead of her being led to feel that, in the anticipated marriage relation — for Milnor had offered her his hand — there were reciprocal considerations, and even sacrifices— her mind was flattered into the impression that she would be the passive recipient of all kinds of attentions; that her will would, in all subsequent relations, be his pleasure. In all this, there was in her mind, no consciousness of duties to be performed; or, if a consciousness of duty, it was exceedingly vague in its character.
A short time before her marriage with Milnor, which took place about a year after her relocation to Westbrook, in a conversation with her lover, she was led to remark that some married women seemed as full of care and trouble as if they had the duties of a whole nation to perform. To which Milnor replied,
"I have often noticed as much myself, and it has always appeared to me a most repulsive feature in marriage, as we perceive it around us."
"And so it is. I can't see how a man can love a woman whose soul is narrowed down to the limits of a cook book, or whose activities never go beyond the little circle of her own family."
"Nor can I," was the response. "In marriage, as I view it, are centered the purest joys; and those who are married, if united, as they should be, upon a just appreciation of moral qualities, come into a state of greater happiness than they have ever yet experienced. But, if we were to judge from the habits, appearance, and countenances of the great body of wives — we would be led to the inevitable conclusion that the married life was, to women at least — a condition of slavery and unhappiness. Surely this need not be! And I am also sure that men do not wish it to be so. They certainly would much rather find a cheerful wife at home, than one pressed down with a thousand household cares!"
"So I would think. Strange that so many married women fall into this unamiable habit of shutting themselves up from society, putting on long faces, and burying themselves amid the thousand and one domestic duties pertaining to a family — which had far better be committed to the supervision of someone more capable, and to employ whom would be a real charity. But the word domestic seems to fill every wife's head with the notion that she ought to become little more than a mere slave."
"A very just remark. To me, there has never been that charm about the word domestic which there has seemed to be in it for most people's ears," Milnor replied, scarcely reflecting upon what he was saying. Grace had expressed a sentiment — and he, as a matter of course, passively assented to it.
"If I had said as much as this to Mr. Armstrong — I would have been compelled to listen to a sermon on domestic virtues," Grace said, laughing.
"Oh, as to Armstrong, he is more petty than wise sometimes," returned Milnor, joining in the laugh. "He would have everyone walk by his line and rule."
"If he had me for a wife, he would have a hard subject in his hands, I can tell him. I am as much for line and rule as he is — but it is my own line and rule. I flatter myself that I have wit enough to keep out of the fire."
"I would be sorry if you had not; but some people are always concerned about others, and seem to imagine that none but themselves have any true perception of life and its duties."
"And that is precisely Mr. Armstrong's character! Why, I would be the unhappiest creature in the world, were I wedded to a man who had no confidence in my judgment, and who would be forever looking out for little indiscretions or wrong views — that he might hold them out and magnify them."
"A most unhappy state, I would think, for any woman to be placed in."
"Unhappy, indeed! In a husband, a woman wants a companion and an equal — not a mentor. And any man who assumes the mentorial air towards a woman, as Mr. Armstrong did towards me — shows that he has no true respect for her judgment. So I felt at the time. Why, towards the close of his visits to our house, his company became absolutely intolerable to me!"
"And yet," remarked Milnor, whose real respect for Mr. Armstrong's good sense, and strong, honest love of truth for its own sake — would not permit him to hear him condemned too entirely, "he is honest and sincere; and it is for these qualities that he is led to speak plainly to everyone."
"Well, it is not in good taste, to be ever intruding his censorious remarks upon those who are unwilling to hear them," Grace responded, with some warmth.
"Very true," was the quiet acquiescence of her devoted lover.
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