“I should be very sorry if he had to leave the parish on my account.”
“We all shall feel that, dearest; but what can we do? I presume you don’t wish him to remain as your lover?”
“I don’t know, mamma,” said Fanny.
It was then as Mrs. Clavering had feared. Indeed from the first word that Fanny had spoken on the present occasion, she had almost been sure of the facts, as they now were. To her father it would appear wonderful that his daughter should have come to love such a man as Mr. Saul, but Mrs. Clavering knew better than he how far perseverance will go with women—perseverance joined with high mental capacity, and with high spirit to back it. She was grieved but not surprised, and would at once have accepted the idea of Mr. Saul becoming her son-in-law, had not the poverty of the man been so much against him. “Do you mean, my dear, that you wish him to remain here after what he has said to you? That would be tantamount to accepting him. You understand that, Fanny;—eh, dear?”
“I suppose it would, mamma.”
“And is that what you mean? Come, dearest, tell me the whole of it. What have you said to him yourself? What has he been led to think from the answer you have given him today?”
“He says that he means to see papa tomorrow.”
“But is he to see him with your consent?” Fanny had hitherto placed herself in the nook of a bow-window which looked out into the garden, and there, though she was near to the dressing-table at which her mother was sitting, she could so far screen herself as almost to hide her face when she was speaking. From this retreat her mother found it necessary to withdraw her; so she rose, and going to a sofa in the room, bade her daughter come and sit beside her. “A doctor, my dear, can never do any good,” she said, “unless the patient will tell him everything. Have you told Mr. Saul that he may see papa—as coming from you, you know?”
“No, mamma;—I did not tell him that. I told him that it would be altogether impossible, because we should be so poor.”
“He ought to have known that himself.”
“But I don’t think he ever thinks of such things as that, mamma. I can’t tell you quite what he said, but it went to show that he didn’t regard money at all.”
“But that is nonsense; is it not, Fanny?”
“What he means is, not that people if they are fond of each other ought to marry at once when they have got nothing to live upon, but that they ought to tell each other so and then be content to wait. I suppose he thinks that some day he may have a living.”
“But, Fanny, are you fond of him;—and have you ever told him so?”
“I have never told him so, mamma.”
“But you are fond of him?” To this question Fanny made no answer, and now Mrs. Clavering knew it all. She felt no inclination to scold her daughter, or even to point out in very strong language how foolish Fanny had been in allowing a man to engage her affections merely by asking for them. The thing was a misfortune, and should have been avoided by the departure of Mr. Saul from the parish after his first declaration of love. He had been allowed to remain for the sake of the rector’s comfort, and the best must now be made of it. That Mr. Saul must now go was certain, and Fanny must endure the weariness of an attachment with an absent lover to which her father would not consent. It was very bad, but Mrs. Clavering did not think that she could make it better by attempting to scold her daughter into renouncing the man.
“I suppose you would like me to tell papa all this before Mr. Saul comes tomorrow?”
“If you think it best, mamma.”
“And you mean, dear, that you would wish to accept him, only that he has no income?”
“I think so, mamma.”
“Have you told him so?”
“I did not tell him so, but he understands it.”
“If you did not tell him so, you might still think of it again.”
But Fanny had surrendered herself now, and was determined to make no further attempt at sending the garrison up to the wall. “I am sure, mamma, that if he were well off, like Edward, I should accept him. It is only because he has no income.”
“But you have not told him that?”
“I would not tell him anything without your consent and papa’s. He said he should go to papa tomorrow, and I could not prevent that. I did say that I knew it was quite impossible.”
The mischief was done and there was no help for it. Mrs. Clavering told her daughter that she would talk it all over with the rector that night, so that Fanny was able to come down to dinner without fearing any further scene on that evening. But on the following morning she did not appear at prayers, nor was she present at the breakfast table. Her mother went to her early, and she immediately asked if it was considered necessary that she should see her father before Mr. Saul came. But this was not required of her. “Papa says that it is out of the question,” said Mrs. Clavering. “I told him so myself,” said Fanny, beginning to whimper. “And there must be no engagements,” said Mrs. Clavering. “No, mamma. I haven’t engaged myself. I told him it was impossible.” “And papa thinks that Mr. Saul must leave him,” continued Mrs. Clavering. “I knew papa would say that;—but, mamma, I shall not forget him for that reason.” To this Mrs. Clavering made no reply, and Fanny was allowed to remain upstairs till Mr. Saul had come and gone.
Very soon after breakfast Mr. Saul did come. His presence at the rectory was so common that the servants
