How often, how very often in his early
life--before he can remember'--(this clause was strictly true) 'have I
deduced little easy moral lessons from its pages, for my dear son Ned!
You know Ned?'
Mrs Varden had that honour, and a fine affable young gentleman he was.
'You're a mother, Mrs Varden,' said Mr Chester, taking a pinch of snuff,
'and you know what I, as a father, feel, when he is praised. He gives me
some uneasiness--much uneasiness--he's of a roving nature, ma'am--from
flower to flower--from sweet to sweet--but his is the butterfly time of
life, and we must not be hard upon such trifling.'
He glanced at Dolly. She was attending evidently to what he said. Just
what he desired!
'The only thing I object to in this little trait of Ned's, is,' said Mr
Chester, '--and the mention of his name reminds me, by the way, that I
am about to beg the favour of a minute's talk with you alone--the only
thing I object to in it, is, that it DOES partake of insincerity. Now,
however I may attempt to disguise the fact from myself in my affection
for Ned, still I always revert to this--that if we are not sincere, we
are nothing. Nothing upon earth. Let us be sincere, my dear madam--'
'--and Protestant,' murmured Mrs Varden.
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