Courtship -- Fiction; England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Mate selection -- Fiction
We may as well confess that there lurked in him a half-unconscious
hope that some day or other, in some strange collision or combination
of parties, a man profound in county business, zealous in county
interests, personally obnoxious to nobody, might drop into the seat of
county member; and, if this should be, would not he have the sense to
hold his tongue upon the noisy questions that waste Parliament's time,
and the nation's; but, on the first of those periodical attacks to
which the wretched landowner is subject, wouldn't he speak, and show
the difference between a mere member of the Commons and a member for
the county?
If anyone had asked this man plump which is the most important,
England or ----shire, he would have certainly told you England; but
our opinions are not the notions we repeat, and can defend by reasons
or even by facts: our opinions are the notions we feel and act on.
Could you have looked inside Mr. Fountain's head, you would have seen
ideas corresponding to the following diagrams:
[drawing]
Mr. Fountain courted the stomach of the county.
Without this, he knew, an angel could not reach its heart; and here
one of his eccentricities broke out. He drew a line, in his
dictatorial way, between dinner and feeding parties. “A dinner party
is two rubbers. Four gentlemen and four ladies sit round a circular
table; then each can hear what anyone says, and need not twist the
neck at every word. Foraging parties are from fourteen to thirty, set
up and down a plank, each separated from those he could talk to as
effectually as if the ocean rolled between, and bawling into one
person's ear amid the din of knives, forks, and multitude. I go to
those long strings of noisy duets because I must, but I give
_society_ at home.”
The county people had just strength of mind to like the old boy's
sociable dinners, though not to imitate them, and an invitation from
him was very rarely declined when Lucy was with him.
And she was in her glory. She could carry complaisance such a long way
at Font Abbey--she was mistress of the house.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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