Sir Thomas, poor Sir Thomas, a parent, and conscious of errors in his
own conduct as a parent, was the longest to suffer. He felt that he
ought not to have allowed the marriage; that his daughter's sentiments
had been sufficiently known to him to render him culpable in
authorising it; that in so doing he had sacrificed the right to the
expedient, and been governed by motives of selfishness and worldly
wisdom. These were reflections that required some time to soften; but
time will do almost everything; and though little comfort arose on Mrs.
Rushworth's side for the misery she had occasioned, comfort was to be
found greater than he had supposed in his other children. Julia's
match became a less desperate business than he had considered it at
first. She was humble, and wishing to be forgiven; and Mr. Yates,
desirous of being really received into the family, was disposed to look
up to him and be guided. He was not very solid; but there was a hope
of his becoming less trifling, of his being at least tolerably domestic
and quiet; and at any rate, there was comfort in finding his estate
rather more, and his debts much less, than he had feared, and in being
consulted and treated as the friend best worth attending to. There was
comfort also in Tom, who gradually regained his health, without
regaining the thoughtlessness and selfishness of his previous habits.
He was the better for ever for his illness. He had suffered, and he
had learned to think: two advantages that he had never known before;
and the self-reproach arising from the deplorable event in Wimpole
Street, to which he felt himself accessory by all the dangerous
intimacy of his unjustifiable theatre, made an impression on his mind
which, at the age of six-and-twenty, with no want of sense or good
companions, was durable in its happy effects. He became what he ought
to be: useful to his father, steady and quiet, and not living merely
for himself.