<h2>CHAPTER XII.</h2>
<p>That vanity which presided over every thought and deed of Lady
Clementina was the protector of young Henry within her
house. It represented to her how amiable her conduct would
appear in the eye of the world should she condescend to treat
this destitute nephew as her own son; what envy such heroic
virtue would excite in the hearts of her particular friends, and
what grief in the bosoms of all those who did not like her.</p>
<p>The dean was a man of no inconsiderable penetration. He
understood the thoughts which, upon this occasion, passed in the
mind of his wife, and in order to ensure her kind treatment of
the boy, instead of reproaching her for the cold manner in which
she had at first received him, he praised her tender and
sympathetic heart for having shown him so much kindness, and thus
stimulated her vanity to be praised still more.</p>
<p>William, the mother’s own son, far from apprehending a
rival in this savage boy, was convinced of his own pre-eminence,
and felt an affection for him—though rather as a foil than
as a cousin. He sported with his ignorance upon all
occasions, and even lay in wait for circumstances that might
expose it; while young Henry, strongly impressed with everything
which appeared new to him, expressed, without reserve, the
sensations which those novelties excited, wholly careless of the
construction put on his observations.</p>
<p>He never appeared either offended or abashed when laughed at;
but still pursued his questions, and still discovered his wonder
at many replies made to him, though “simpleton,”
“poor silly boy,” and “idiot,” were
vociferated around him from his cousin, his aunt, and their
constant visitor the bishop.</p>
<p>His uncle would frequently undertake to instruct him; so
indeed would the bishop; but Lady Clementina, her son, and the
greatest part of her companions, found something so irresistibly
ridiculous in his remarks, that nothing but immoderate laughter
followed; they thought such folly had even merit in the way of
entertainment, and they wished him no wiser.</p>
<p>Having been told that every morning, on first seeing his
uncle, he was to make a respectful bow; and coming into the
dean’s dressing-room just as he was out of bed, his wig
lying on the table, Henry appeared at a loss which of the two he
should bow to. At last he gave the preference to his uncle,
but afterwards bowed reverently to the wig. In this he did
what he conceived was proper, from the introduction which the
dean, on his first arrival, had given him to this venerable
stranger; for, in reality, Henry had a contempt for all finery,
and had called even his aunt’s jewels, when they were first
shown to him, “trumpery,” asking “what they
were good for?” But being corrected in this
disrespect, and informed of their high value, he, like a good
convert, gave up his reason to his faith; and becoming, like all
converts, over-zealous, he now believed there was great worth in
all gaudy appearances, and even respected the earrings of Lady
Clementina almost as much as he respected herself.</p>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />