Basil

'I have acknowledged to you, Mr. Sherwin, that I have found means to speak to your daughter—to speak to her twice. I made my advances honourably. She received them with a modesty and a reluctance worthy of herself, worthy of any lady, the highest lady in the land.' (Mr. Sherwin looked round reverentially to his print of the Queen; then looked back at me, and bowed solemnly.) 'Now, although in so many words she directly discouraged me—it is her due that I should say this—still, I think I may without vanity venture to hope that she did so as a matter of duty, more than as a matter of inclination.'

'Ah—yes, yes! I understand. She would do nothing without my authority, of course?'

'No doubt that was one reason why she received me as she did; but she had another, which she communicated to me in the plainest terms—the difference in our rank of life.'

'Ah! she said that, did she? Exactly so—she saw a difficulty there? Yes—yes! high principles, Sir—high principles, thank God!'

'I need hardly tell you, Mr. Sherwin, how deeply I feel the delicate sense of honour which this objection shows on your daughter's part. You will easily imagine that it is no objection to me, personally. The happiness of my whole life depends on Miss Sherwin; I desire no higher honour, as I can conceive no greater happiness, than to be your daughter's husband. I told her this: I also told her that I would explain myself on the subject to you. She made no objection; and I am, therefore, I think, justified in considering that if you authorised the removal of scruples which do her honour at present, she would not feel the delicacy she does now at sanctioning my addresses.'

'Very proper—a very proper way of putting it. Practical, if I may be allowed to say so. And now, my dear Sir, the next point is: how about your own honoured family—eh?'

'It is exactly there that the difficulty lies. My father, on whom I am dependent as the younger son, has very strong prejudices—convictions I ought perhaps to call them—on the subject of social inequalities.'

'Quite so—most natural; most becoming, indeed, on the part of your respected father. I honour his convictions, sir. Such estates, such houses, such a family as his—connected, I believe, with the nobility, especially on your late lamented mother's side. My dear Sir, I emphatically repeat it, your father's convictions do him honour; I respect them as much as I respect him; I do, indeed.'

'I am glad you can view my father's ideas on social subjects in so favourable a light, Mr. Sherwin. You will be less surprised to hear how they are likely to affect me in the step I am now taking.'

'He disapproves of it, of course—strongly, perhaps. Well, though my dear girl is worthy of any station; and a man like me, devoted to mercantile interests, may hold his head up anywhere as one of the props of this commercial country,' (he ran his fingers rapidly through his hair, and tried to look independent), 'still I am prepared to admit, under all the circumstances—I say under all the circumstances—that his disapproval is very natural, and was very much to be expected—very much indeed.'

'He has expressed no disapproval, Mr. Sherwin.'

'You don't say so!'

'I have not given him an opportunity. My meeting with your daughter has been kept a profound secret from him, and from every member of my family; and a secret it must remain. I speak from my intimate knowledge of my father, when I say that I hardly know of any means that he would not be capable of employing to frustrate the purpose of this visit, if I had mentioned it to him. He has been the kindest and best of fathers to me; but I firmly believe, that if I waited for his consent, no entreaties of mine, or of any one belonging to me, would induce him to give his sanction to the marriage I have come to you to propose.'

'Bless my soul! this is carrying things rather far, though—dependent as you are on him, and all that. Why, what on earth can we do—eh?'

'We must keep both the courtship and the marriage secret.'

'Secret! Good gracious, I don't at all see my way—'

'Yes, secret—a profound secret among ourselves, until I can divulge my marriage to my father, with the best chance of—'

'But I tell you, Sir, I can't see my way through it at all. Chance! what chance would there be, after what you have told me?'

'There might be many chances. For instance, when the marriage was solemnised, I might introduce your daughter to my father's notice—without disclosing who she was—and leave her, gradually and unsuspectedly, to win his affection and respect (as with her beauty, elegance, and amiability, she could not fail to do), while I waited until the occasion was ripe for confessing everything. Then if I said to him, 'This young lady, who has so interested and delighted you, is my wife;' do you think, with that powerful argument in my favour, he could fail to give us his pardon? If, on the other hand, I could only say, 'This young lady is about to become my wife,' his prejudices would assuredly induce him to recall his most favourable impressions, and refuse his consent. In short, Mr. Sherwin, before marriage, it would be impossible to move him—after marriage, when opposition could no longer be of any avail, it would be quite a different thing: we might be sure of producing, sooner or later, the most favourable results. This is why it would be absolutely necessary to keep our union secret at first.'

I wondered then—I have since wondered more—how it was that I contrived to speak thus, so smoothly and so unhesitatingly, when my conscience was giving the lie all the while to every word I uttered.

'Yes, yes; I see—oh, yes, I see!' said Mr. Sherwin, rattling a bunch of keys in his pocket, with an expression of considerable perplexity; 'but this is a ticklish business, you know—a very queer and ticklish business indeed. To have a gentleman of your birth and breeding for a son-in-law, is of course—but then there is the money question. Suppose you failed with your father after all—my money is out in my speculations— I can do nothing. Upon my word, you have placed me in a position that I never was placed in before.'

'I have influential friends, Mr. Sherwin, in many directions—there are appointments, good appointments, which would be open to me, if I pushed my interests. I might provide in this way against the chance of failure.'

'Ah!—well—yes. There's something in that, certainly.'

'I can only assure you that my attachment to Miss Sherwin is not of a nature to be overcome by any pecuniary considerations. I speak in all our interests, when I say that a private marriage gives us a chance for the future, as opportunities arise of gradually disclosing it. My offer to you may be made under some disadvantages and difficulties, perhaps; for, with the exception of a very small independence, left me by my mother, I have no certain prospects. But I really think my proposals have some compensating advantages to recommend them—'