Mary agreed to the truth of her cousin’s observations in some respects, though she could not help thinking that love had as much to say in her case as in most others; for if it did not blind her to her lover’s faults, it certainly made her much more tolerant of them.

Edward was, in truth, at times almost provokingly boyish and unthinking, and possessed a flow of animal spirits as inexhaustible as they were sometimes overpowering; but she flattered herself time would subdue them to a more rational tone; and she longed for his having the advantages of Colonel Lennox’s society—­not by way of pattern, as Lady Emily expressed it, but that he might be gradually led to something of more refinement, from holding intercourse with a superior mind.  And she obtained her wish sooner than she had dared to hope for it.  That battle was fought which decided the fate of Europe, and turned so many swords into ploughshares; and Mary seemed now touching the pinnacle of happiness when she saw her lover restored to her.  He had gained additional renown in the bloody field of Waterloo; and, more fortunate than others, his military career had terminated both gloriously and happily.

If Mary had ever distrusted the reality of his affection, all her doubts were now at an end.  She saw she was beloved with all the truth and ardour of a noble ingenuous mind, too upright to deceive others, too enlightened to deceive itself.  All reserve betwixt them was now at an end; and, secure in mutual affection, nothing seemed to oppose itself to their happiness.

Colonel Lennox’s fortune was small; but such as it was, it seemed sufficient for all the purposes of rational enjoyment.  Both were aware that wealth is a relative thing, and that the positively rich are not those who have the largest possessions but those who have the fewest vain or selfish desires to gratify.  From these they were happily exempt.  Both possessed too many resources in their own minds to require the stimulus of spending money to rouse them into enjoyment, or give them additional importance in the eyes of the world; and, above all, both were too thoroughly Christian in their principles to murmur at any sacrifices or privations they might have to endure in the course of their earthly pilgrimage.

But Lady Juliana’s weak, worldly mind, saw things in a very different light; and when Colonel Lennox, as a matter of form, applied to her for her consent to their union, he received a positive and angry refusal.  She declared she never would consent to any daughter of hers making so foolish, so very unsuitable a marriage.  And then, sending for Mary, she charged her, in the most peremptory manner, to break of all intercourse with Colonel Lennox.

Poor Mary was overwhelmed with grief and amazement at this new display of her mother’s tyranny and injustice, and used all the powers of reasoning and entreaty to alter her sentiments; but in vain.  Since Adelaide’s elopement Lady Juliana had been much in want of some subject to occupy her mind—­something to excite a sensation, and give her something to complain of, and talk about, and put her in a bustle, and make her angry, and alarmed, and ill-used, and, in short, all the things which a fool is fond of being.