'Well--I suppose we must.'
FRIENDS IN COUNCIL.
Mr. Thornton had had some difficulty in working up his mother to
the desired point of civility. She did not often make calls; and
when she did, it was in heavy state that she went through her
duties. Her son had given her a carriage; but she refused to let
him keep horses for it; they were hired for the solemn occasions,
when she paid morning or evening visits. She had had horses for
three days, not a fortnight before, and had comfortably 'killed
off' all her acquaintances, who might now put themselves to
trouble and expense in their turn. Yet Crampton was too far off
for her to walk; and she had repeatedly questioned her son as to
whether his wish that she should call on the Hales was strong
enough to bear the expense of cab-hire. She would have been
thankful if it had not; for, as she said, 'she saw no use in
making up friendships and intimacies with all the teachers and
masters in Milton; why, he would be wanting her to call on
Fanny's dancing-master's wife, the next thing!'
'And so I would, mother, if Mr. Mason and his wife were friend
less in a strange place, like the Hales.'
'Oh! you need not speak so hastily. I am going to-morrow. I only
wanted you exactly to understand about it.'
'If you are going to-morrow, I shall order horses.'
'Nonsense, John. One would think you were made of money.'
'Not quite, yet. But about the horses I'm determined. The last
time you were out in a cab, you came home with a headache from
the jolting.' 'I never complained of it, I'm sure.'
'No. My mother is not given to complaints,' said he, a little
proudly. 'But so much the more I have to watch over you. Now as
for Fanny there, a little hardship would do her good.'
'She is not made of the same stuff as you are, John. She could
not bear it.' Mrs. Thornton was silent after this; for her last
words bore relation to a subject which mortified her. She had an
unconscious contempt for a weak character; and Fanny was weak in
the very points in which her mother and brother were strong. Mrs.
Thornton was not a woman much given to reasoning; her quick
judgment and firm resolution served her in good stead of any long
arguments and discussions with herself; she felt instinctively
that nothing could strengthen Fanny to endure hardships
patiently, or face difficulties bravely; and though she winced as
she made this acknowledgment to herself about her daughter, it
only gave her a kind of pitying tenderness of manner towards her;
much of the same description of demeanour with which mothers are
wont to treat their weak and sickly children. A stranger, a
careless observer might have considered that Mrs. Thornton's
manner to her children betokened far more love to Fanny than to
John. But such a one would have been deeply mistaken. The very
daringness with which mother and son spoke out unpalatable
truths, the one to the other, showed a reliance on the firm
centre of each other's souls, which the uneasy tenderness of Mrs.
Thornton's manner to her daughter, the shame with which she
thought to hide the poverty of her child in all the grand
qualities which she herself possessed unconsciously, and which
she set so high a value upon in others--this shame, I say,
betrayed the want of a secure resting-place for her affection.
She never called her son by any name but John; 'love,' and
'dear,' and such like terms, were reserved for Fanny. But her
heart gave thanks for him day and night; and she walked proudly
among women for his sake.