'I had the great pleasure, Sir, and profit, and—and, indeed, advantage—of being shown over your town residence last year, when the family were absent from London. A very beautiful house—I happen to be acquainted with the steward of your respected father: he was kind enough to allow me to walk through the rooms. A treat; quite an intellectual treat—the furniture and hangings, and so on, arranged in such a chaste style—and the pictures, some of the finest pieces I ever saw—I was delighted—quite delighted, indeed.'
He spoke in under-tones, laying great stress upon particular words that were evidently favourites with him— such as, 'indeed.' Not only his eyes, but his whole face, seemed to be nervously blinking and winking all the time he was addressing me, In the embarrassment and anxiety which I then felt, this peculiarity fidgetted and bewildered me more than I can describe. I would have given the world to have had his back turned, before I spoke to him again.
'I am delighted to hear that my family and my name are not unknown to you, Mr. Sherwin,' I resumed. 'Under those circumstances, I shall feel less hesitation and difficulty in making you acquainted with the object of my visit.'
'Just so. May I offer you anything?—a glass of sherry, a—'
'Nothing, thank you. In the first place, Mr. Sherwin, I have reasons for wishing that this interview, whatever results it may lead to, may be considered strictly confidential. I am sure I can depend on your favouring me thus far?'
'Certainly—most certainly—the strictest secrecy of course—pray go on.'
He drew his chair a little nearer to me. Through all his blinking and winking, I could see a latent expression of cunning and curiosity in his eyes. My card was in his hand: he was nervously rolling and unrolling it, without a moment's cessation, in his anxiety to hear what I had to say.
'I must also beg you to suspend your judgment until you have heard me to the end. You may be disposed to view—to view, I say, unfavourably at first—in short, Mr. Sherwin, without further preface, the object of my visit is connected with your daughter, with Miss Margaret Sherwin—'
'My daughter! Bless my soul—God bless my soul, I really can't imagine—'
He stopped, half-breathless, bending forward towards me, and crumpling my card between his fingers into the smallest possible dimensions.
'Rather more than a week ago,' I continued, 'I accidentally met Miss Sherwin in an omnibus, accompanied by a lady older than herself—'
'My wife; Mrs. Sherwin,' he said, impatiently motioning with his hand, as if 'Mrs. Sherwin' were some insignificant obstacle to the conversation, which he wished to clear out of the way as fast as possible.
'You will not probably be surprised to hear that I was struck by Miss Sherwin's extreme beauty. The impression she made on me was something more, however, than a mere momentary feeling of admiration. To speak candidly, I felt—You have heard of such a thing as love at first sight, Mr. Sherwin?'
'In books, Sir.' He tapped one of the morocco-bound volumes on the table, and smiled—a curious smile, partly deferential and partly sarcastic.
'You would be inclined to laugh, I dare say, if I asked you to believe that there is such a thing as love at first sight,
'Upon my soul this is the most extraordinary proceeding——!'
'Pray hear me out, Mr. Sherwin: you will not condemn my conduct, I think, if you hear all I have to say.'
He muttered something unintelligible; his complexion turned yellower; he dropped my card, which he had by this time crushed into fragments; and ran his hand rapidly through his hair until he had stretched it out like a penthouse over his forehead—blinking all the time, and regarding me with a lowering, sinister expression of countenance. I saw that it was useless to treat him as I should have treated a gentleman. He had evidently put the meanest and the foulest construction upon my delicacy and hesitation in speaking to him: so I altered my plan, and came to the point abruptly—'came to business,' as he would have called it.
'I ought to have been plainer, Mr. Sherwin; I ought perhaps to have told you at the outset, in so many words, that I came to—' (I was about to say, 'to ask your daughter's hand in marriage;' but a thought of my father moved darkly over my mind at that moment, and the words would not pass my lips).
'Well, Sir! to what?'
The tone in which he said this was harsh enough to rouse me. It gave me back my self-possession immediately.
'To ask your permission to pay my addresses to Miss Sherwin—or, to be plainer still, if you like, to ask of you her hand in marriage.'
The words were spoken. Even if I could have done so, I would not have recalled what I had just said; but still, I trembled in spite of myself as I expressed in plain, blunt words what I had only rapturously thought over, or delicately hinted at to Margaret, up to this time.
'God bless me!' cried Mr. Sherwin, suddenly sitting back bolt upright in his chair, and staring at me in such surprise, that his restless features were actually struck with immobility for the moment—'God bless me, this is quite another story. Most gratifying, most astonishing—highly flattered I am sure; highly indeed, my dear Sir! Don't suppose, for one moment, I ever doubted your honourable feeling. Young gentlemen in your station of life do sometimes fail in respect towards the wives and daughters of their—in short, of those who are not in their rank exactly. But that's not the question—quite a misunderstanding—extremely stupid of me, to be sure.
'No wine, thank you, Mr. Sherwin. I must beg your attention a little longer, while I state to you, in confidence, how I am situated with regard to the proposals I have made. There are certain circumstances—'
'Yes—yes?'
He bent forward again eagerly towards me, as he spoke; looking more inquisitive and more cunning than ever.
