CHAPTER II

Mr. Weston was a native of Highbury, and born of a respectable family,rnwhich for the last two or three generations had been rising intorngentility and property. He had received a good education, but, onrnsucceeding early in life to a small independence, had become indisposedrnfor any of the more homely pursuits in which his brothers were engaged,rnand had satisfied an active, cheerful mind and social temper byrnentering into the militia of his county, then embodied.rnrnCaptain Weston was a general favourite; and when the chances of hisrnmilitary life had introduced him to Miss Churchill, of a greatrnYorkshire family, and Miss Churchill fell in love with him, nobody wasrnsurprized, except her brother and his wife, who had never seen him, andrnwho were full of pride and importance, which the connexion wouldrnoffend.rnrnMiss Churchill, however, being of age, and with the full command of herrnfortune—though her fortune bore no proportion to the family-estate—wasrnnot to be dissuaded from the marriage, and it took place, to therninfinite mortification of Mr. and Mrs. Churchill, who threw her offrnwith due decorum. It was an unsuitable connexion, and did not producernmuch happiness. Mrs. Weston ought to have found more in it, for she hadrna husband whose warm heart and sweet temper made him think every thingrndue to her in return for the great goodness of being in love with him;rnbut though she had one sort of spirit, she had not the best. She hadrnresolution enough to pursue her own will in spite of her brother, butrnnot enough to refrain from unreasonable regrets at that brother’srnunreasonable anger, nor from missing the luxuries of her former home.rnThey lived beyond their income, but still it was nothing in comparisonrnof Enscombe: she did not cease to love her husband, but she wanted atrnonce to be the wife of Captain Weston, and Miss Churchill of Enscombe.rnrnCaptain Weston, who had been considered, especially by the Churchills,rnas making such an amazing match, was proved to have much the worst ofrnthe bargain; for when his wife died, after a three years’ marriage, hernwas rather a poorer man than at first, and with a child to maintain.rnFrom the expense of the child, however, he was soon relieved. The boyrnhad, with the additional softening claim of a lingering illness of hisrnmother’s, been the means of a sort of reconciliation; and Mr. and Mrs.rnChurchill, having no children of their own, nor any other youngrncreature of equal kindred to care for, offered to take the whole chargernof the little Frank soon after her decease. Some scruples and somernreluctance the widower-father may be supposed to have felt; but as theyrnwere overcome by other considerations, the child was given up to therncare and the wealth of the Churchills, and he had only his own comfortrnto seek, and his own situation to improve as he could.rnrnA complete change of life became desirable. He quitted the militia andrnengaged in trade, having brothers already established in a good way inrnLondon, which afforded him a favourable opening. It was a concern whichrnbrought just employment enough. He had still a small house in Highbury,rnwhere most of his leisure days were spent; and between usefulrnoccupation and the pleasures of society, the next eighteen or twentyrnyears of his life passed cheerfully away. He had, by that time,rnrealised an easy competence—enough to secure the purchase of a littlernestate adjoining Highbury, which he had always longed for—enough tornmarry a woman as portionless even as Miss Taylor, and to live accordingrnto the wishes of his own friendly and social disposition.rnrnIt was now some time since Miss Taylor had begun to influence hisrnschemes; but as it was not the tyrannic influence of youth on youth, itrnhad not shaken his determination of never settling till he couldrnpurchase Randalls, and the sale of Randalls was long looked forward to;rnbut he had gone steadily on, with these objects in view, till they werernaccomplished. He had made his fortune, bought his house, and obtainedrnhis wife; and was beginning a new period of existence, with everyrnprobability of greater happiness than in any yet passed through. He hadrnnever been an unhappy man; his own temper had secured him from that,rneven in his first marriage; but his second must shew him how delightfulrna well-judging and truly amiable woman could be, and must give him thernpleasantest proof of its being a great deal better to choose than to bernchosen, to excite gratitude than to feel it.rnrnHe had only himself to please in his choice: his fortune was his own;rnfor as to Frank, it was more than being tacitly brought up as hisrnuncle’s heir, it had become so avowed an adoption as to have him assumernthe name of Churchill on coming of age. It was most unlikely,rntherefore, that he should ever want his father’s assistance. His fatherrnhad no apprehension of it. The aunt was a capricious woman, andrngoverned her husband entirely; but it was not in Mr. Weston’s nature tornimagine that any caprice could be strong enough to affect one so dear,rnand, as he believed, so deservedly dear. He saw his son every year inrnLondon, and was proud of him; and his fond report of him as a very finernyoung man had made Highbury feel a sort of pride in him too. He wasrnlooked on as sufficiently belonging to the place to make his merits andrnprospects a kind of common concern.rnrnMr. Frank Churchill was one of the boasts of Highbury, and a livelyrncuriosity to see him prevailed, though the compliment was so littlernreturned that he had never been there in his life. His coming to visitrnhis father had been often talked of but never achieved.rnrnNow, upon his father’s marriage, it was very generally proposed, as arnmost proper attention, that the visit should take place. There was notrna dissentient voice on the subject, either when Mrs. Perry drank tearnwith Mrs. and Miss Bates, or when Mrs. and Miss Bates returned thernvisit. Now was the time for Mr. Frank Churchill to come among them; andrnthe hope strengthened when it was understood that he had written to hisrnnew mother on the occasion. For a few days, every morning visit inrnHighbury included some mention of the handsome letter Mrs. Weston hadrnreceived. “I suppose you have heard of the handsome letter Mr. FrankrnChurchill has written to Mrs. Weston? I understand it was a veryrnhandsome letter, indeed. Mr. Woodhouse told me of it. Mr. Woodhouse sawrnthe letter, and he says he never saw such a handsome letter in hisrnlife.”rnrnIt was, indeed, a highly prized letter. Mrs. Weston had, of course,rnformed a very favourable idea of the young man; and such a pleasingrnattention was an irresistible proof of his great good sense, and a mostrnwelcome addition to every source and every expression of congratulationrnwhich her marriage had already secured. She felt herself a mostrnfortunate woman; and she had lived long enough to know how fortunaternshe might well be thought, where the only regret was for a partialrnseparation from friends whose friendship for her had never cooled, andrnwho could ill bear to part with her.rnrnShe knew that at times she must be missed; and could not think, withoutrnpain, of Emma’s losing a single pleasure, or suffering an hour’s ennui,rnfrom the want of her companionableness: but dear Emma was of no feeblerncharacter; she was more equal to her situation than most girls wouldrnhave been, and had sense, and energy, and spirits that might be hopedrnwould bear her well and happily through its little difficulties andrnprivations. And then there was such comfort in the very easy distancernof Randalls from Hartfield, so convenient for even solitary femalernwalking, and in Mr. Weston’s disposition and circumstances, which wouldrnmake the approaching season no hindrance to their spending half thernevenings in the week together.rnrnHer situation was altogether the subject of hours of gratitude to Mrs.rnWeston, and of moments only of regret; and her satisfaction—her morernthan satisfaction—her cheerful enjoyment, was so just and so apparent,rnthat Emma, well as she knew her father, was sometimes taken by surprizernat his being still able to pity ‘poor Miss Taylor,’ when they left herrnat Randalls in the centre of every domestic comfort, or saw her go awayrnin the evening attended by her pleasant husband to a carriage of herrnown. But never did she go without Mr. Woodhouse’s giving a gentle sigh,rnand saying, “Ah, poor Miss Taylor! She would be very glad to stay.”rnrnThere was no recovering Miss Taylor—nor much likelihood of ceasing tornpity her; but a few weeks brought some alleviation to Mr. Woodhouse.rnThe compliments of his neighbours were over; he was no longer teased byrnbeing wished joy of so sorrowful an event; and the wedding-cake, whichrnhad been a great distress to him, was all eat up. His own stomach couldrnbear nothing rich, and he could never believe other people to berndifferent from himself. What was unwholesome to him he regarded asrnunfit for any body; and he had, therefore, earnestly tried to dissuadernthem from having any wedding-cake at all, and when that proved vain, asrnearnestly tried to prevent any body’s eating it. He had been at thernpains of consulting Mr. Perry, the apothecary, on the subject. Mr.rnPerry was an intelligent, gentlemanlike man, whose frequent visits werernone of the comforts of Mr. Woodhouse’s life; and upon being applied to,rnhe could not but acknowledge (though it seemed rather against the biasrnof inclination) that wedding-cake might certainly disagree withrnmany—perhaps with most people, unless taken moderately. With such anrnopinion, in confirmation of his own, Mr. Woodhouse hoped to influencernevery visitor of the newly married pair; but still the cake was eaten;rnand there was no rest for his benevolent nerves till it was all gone.rnrnThere was a strange rumour in Highbury of all the little Perrys beingrnseen with a slice of Mrs. Weston’s wedding-cake in their hands: but Mr.rnWoodhouse would never believe it.