# Marriage (Ferrier)/Chapter V

"Why, all delights are vain; but that most vain,  Which, with pain purchased, doth inherit pain."
 SHAKESPEARE.
IN addition to her mother's implacable wrath and unceasing animadversion Mary found she was looked upon as a sort of alarming character by the whole family. Lord Courtland seemed afraid of being drawn into a religious controversy every time he addressed her. Dr. Redgill retreated at her approach and eyed her askance, as much as to say, "'Pon my honour, a young lady that can fly in her mother's face about such a trifle as going to church is not very safe company." And Adelaide shunned her more than ever, as if afraid of coming in contact with a professed Methodist. Lady Emily, however, remained staunch to her; and though she had her own private misgivings as to her cousin's creed, she yet stoutly defended her from the charge of Methodism, and maintained that, in many respects, Mary was no better than her neighbours.
"Well, Mary," cried she, as she entered her room one day with an air of exultation, "here is an opportunity for you to redeem your character. There," throwing down a card, "is an invitation for you to a fancy ball."
Mary's heart bounded at the mention of a ball. She had never been at one, and it was pictured in her imagination in all the glowing colours with which youth and inexperience deck untried pleasures.
"Oh, how charming!" exclaimed she, with sparkling eyes, "how my aunts Becky and Bella will love to hear an account of a ball! And a fancy ball!—what is that?"
Lady Emily explained to her the nature of the entertainment, and Mary was in still greater raptures.
"It will be a perfect scene of enchantment, I have no doubt," continued her cousin, "for Lady M. understands giving balls, which is what every one does not; for there are dull balls as well as dull every things else in the world. But come, I have left Lady Juliana and Adelaide in grand debate as to their dresses. We must also hold a cabinet council upon ours. Shall I summon the inimitable Slash to preside?"
"The mention of her mother recalled Mary's thoughts from the festive scene to which they had already flown.
"But are you quite sure," said she, "that I shall have my mother's consent to go?"
"Quite the contrary," answered her cousin coolly. "She won't hear of your going. But what signifies that? You could go to church in spite of her, and surely you can't think her consent of much consequence to a ball?"
Poor Mary's countenance fell, as the bright vision of her imagination melted into air.
"Without my mother's permission," said she, "I shall certainly not think of, or even wish—" with a sigh—"to go to the ball, and if she has already refused it that is enough."
Lady Emily regarded her with astonishment. "Pray, is it only on Sundays you make a point of disobeying your mother?"
"It is only when I conceive a higher duty is required of me," answered Mary.
"Why, I confess I used to think that to honour one's father and mother was a duty, till you showed me the contrary. I have to thank you for ridding me of that vulgar prejudice. And now, after setting me such a noble example of independence, you seem to have got a new light on the subject yourself."
"My obedience and disobedience both proceed from the same source," answered Mary. "My first duty, I have been taught, is to worship my Maker—my next to obey my mother. My own gratification never can come in competition with either."
"Well, I really can't enter into a religious controversy with you; but it seems to me the sin, if it is one, is precisely the same, whether you play the naughty girl in going to one place or another. I can see no difference."
"To me it appears very different," said Mary; "and therefore I should be inexcusable were I to choose the evil, believing it to be such."
"Say what you will," cried her cousin pettishly, "you never will convince me there can be any harm in disobeying such a mother as yours—so unreasonable—so—"
"The Bible makes no exceptions," interrupted Mary gently; "it is not because of the reasonableness of our parents' commands that we are required to obey them, but because it is the will of God."
"You certainly are a Methodist—there's no denying it. I have fought some hard battles for you, but I see I must give you up. The thing won't conceal." This was said with such an air of vexation that Mary burst into a fit of laughter.
"And yet you are the oddest compound," continued her cousin, "so gay and comical, and so little given to be shocked and scandalised at the wicked ways of others; or to find fault and lecture; or, in short, to do any of the insufferable things that your good people are so addicted to. I really don't know what to think of you."
"Think of me as a creature with too many faults of her own to presume to meddle with those of others," replied Mary, smiling at her cousin's perplexity.
"Well, if all good people were like you, I do believe I should become a saint myself. If you are right, I must be wrong; but fifty years hence we shall settle that matter with spectacles on nose over our family Bibles. In the meantime the business of the ball-room is much more pressing. We really must decide upon something. Will you choose your own style, or shall I leave it to Madame Trieur to do us up exactly alike?"
"You have only to choose for yourself, my dear cousin," answered Mary. "You know I have no interest in it—at least not till I have received my mother's permission."
"I have told you already there is no chance of obtaining it. I had a brouillerie with her on the subject before I came to you."
"Then I entreat you will not say another word. It is a thing of so little consequence, that I am quite vexed to think that my mother should have been disturbed about it. Dear Lady Emily, if you love me, promise that you will not say another syllable on the subject."
"And this is all the thanks I get for my trouble and vexation," exclaimed Lady Emily, angrily; "but the truth is, I believe you think it would be a sin to go to a ball; and as for dancing—oh, shocking! That would be absolute —-. I really can't say the bad word you good people are so fond of using."
"I understand your meaning," answered Mary, laughing; "but, indeed, I have no such apprehensions. On the contrary, I am very fond of dancing; so fond, that I have often taken Aunt Nicky for my partner in a Strathspey rather than sit still—and, to confess my weakness, I should like very much to go to a ball."
"Then you must and shall go to this one. It is really a pity that you should have enraged Lady Juliana so much by that unfortunate church-going; but for that, I think she might have been managed; and even now, I should not despair, if you would, like a good girl, beg pardon for what is past, and promise never to do so any more."
"Impossible!" replied Mary. "You surely cannot be serious in supposing I would barter a positive duty for a trifling amusement?"
"Oh, hang duties! they are odious things. And as for your amiable, dutiful, virtuous Goody Two-Shoes characters, I detest them. They never would go down with me, even in the nursery, with all he attractions of a gold watch and coach and six. They were ever my abhorrence, as every species of canting and hypocrisy still is—-"
Then struck with a sense of her own violence and impetuosity, contrasted with her cousin's meek unreproving manner, Lady Emily threw her arms round her, begging pardon, and assuring her she did not mean her.
"If you had," said Mary, returning her embrace, "you would only have told me what I am in some respects. Dull and childish, I know I am; for I am not the same creature I was at Lochmarlie"—and a tear trembled in her eye as she spoke—"and troublesome, I am sure, you have found me."
"No, no!" eagerly interrupted Lady Emily; "you are the reverse of all that. You are the picture of my Edward, and everything that is excellent and engaging; and I see by that smile you will go to the ball—there's a darling!"
Mary shook her head.
"I'll tell you what we can do," cried her persevering patroness; "we can go as masks, and Lady Juliana shall know nothing about it. That will save the scandal of an open revolt or a tiresome dispute. Half the company will be masked; so, if you keep your own secret, nobody will find it out. Come, what characters shall we choose?"
"That of Janus, I think, would be the most suitable for me," said Mary. Then, in a serious tone, she added, "I can neither disobey nor deceive my mother. Therefore, once for all, my dear cousin, let me entreat of you to be silent on a subject on which my mind is made up. I am perfectly sensible of your kindness, but any further discussion will be very painful to me."
Lady Emily was now too indignant to stoop to remonstrance. She quitted her cousin in great anger, and poor Mary felt as if she had lost her only friend.
"Alas!" sighed she, "how difficult it is to do right, when even the virtues of others throw obstacles in our way! And how easy our duties would be could we kindly aid one another in the performance of them!"
But such is human nature. The real evils of life, of which we so loudly complain, are few in number, compared to the daily, hourly pangs we inflict on one another.
Lady Emily's resentment, though violent, was short-lived; and in the certainty that either the mother would relent or the daughter rebel, she ordered a dress for Mary; but the night of the ball arrived, and both remained unshaken in their resolution. With a few words Adelaide might have obtained the desired permission for her sister; but she chose to remain neuter, coldly declaring she never interfered in quarrels.
Mary beheld the splendid dresses and gay countenances of the party for the ball with feelings free from envy, though perhaps not wholly unmixed with regret. She gazed with the purest admiration on the extreme beauty of her sister, heightened as it was by the fantastic elegance of her dress, and contrasted with her own pale visage and mourning habiliments.
"Indeed," thought she, as she turned from the mirror, with rather a mournful smile, "my Aunt Nicky was in the right: I certainly am a poor shilpit thing."
As she looked again at her sister she observed that her earrings were not so handsome as those she had received from Mrs. Macshake; and she instantly brought them, and requested Adelaide would wear them for that night.
Adelaide took them with her usual coolness—remarked how very magnificent they were—wished some old woman would take it into her head to make her such a present; and, as she clasped them in her ears, regarded herself with increased complacency. The hour of departure arrived; Lord Courtland and Lady Juliana were at length ready, and Mary found herself left to a tete-à-tete with Dr. Redgill; and, strange as it may seem, neither in a sullen nor melancholy mood. But after a single sigh, as the carriage drove off, she sat down with a cheerful countenance to play backgammon with the Doctor.
The following day she heard of nothing but the ball and its delights; for both her mother and her cousin sought (though from different motives) to heighten her regret at not having been there. But Mary listened to the details of all she had missed with perfect fortitude, and only rejoiced to hear they had all been so happy.