While, however, her mother was thus discussing the question with so strong a bias in favour of Millefleurs, Edith was standing in her father’s library waiting for him, not entering into any argument with herself at all. She would not sit down, which would have seemed somehow like yielding, but stood with her hand upon the mantelpiece, her heart beating loudly. She had not summoned herself to the bar of her own judgment, or asked with any authority how it was that she neither could nor would for a moment take the qualities of Millefleurs into consideration. The question had been given against him before even it was put; but Edith would not allow herself to consider why. No doubt she knew why; but there are occasions in which we do not wish to see what is going on in our spirits, just as there are occasions when we turn out all the corners and summon everything to the light. She heard the door of the dining-room open, then the voices of the gentlemen as they came out, with a sudden tightening of her breath. What if little Millefleurs himself were coming instead of her father? This idea brought a gleam of a smile over her face; but that was driven away as she heard the heavy familiar step approaching. Lord Lindores, as he came along the corridor, had time enough to say to himself that perhaps he had been foolish. Why had he determined upon speaking to Edith before he allowed her lover to speak to her? Perhaps it was a mistake. He had his reasons, but it might be that they were not so powerful as he had supposed, and that he would have done better not to have interfered. However, it was now too late to think of this. He went into the library, shutting the door deliberately, asking himself why he should have any trouble about the matter, and what Edith could feel but happiness in having such a proposal made to her; but when he turned round and met Edith’s eye his delusions fled. Surely there was nobody so unfortunate as he was in his children. Instead of their perceiving what was for their own interest, he was met by a perpetual struggle and attempt to put him in the wrong. It was inconceivable. Was it not their interest solely which moved him? and yet they would resist as if he were plotting nothing but wrong. But though these thoughts passed through his mind with a sweep of bitterness, he would not indulge them. He went up to Edith with great urbanity, putting down all feelings less pleasant. “I am glad to find you here,” he said.
“Yes, papa; you wanted me, my mother told me.”
“I wanted you. As I came along the corridor, I began to ask myself whether I was doing right in wanting you. Perhaps I ought to have let you hear what I am going to say from—someone who might have made it more agreeable, Edith.”
“Oh, let me hear what you want, please, from yourself, papa.”
He took her hand, which trembled in his hold, and looked down on her with fatherly eyes—eyes which were tender, and admiring, and kind. Could anyone doubt that he wished her well? He wished her everything that was best in the world—wealth and title, and rank and importance—everything we desire for our children. He was not a bad man, desiring the sacrifice of his child’s happiness. If he had, perhaps, made something of a mistake about Carry, there was no mistake here.
“Edith, I want to speak to you about Lord Millefleurs. He came here, I believe, on your own invitation—”
At this Edith started with sudden alarm, and her hand trembled still more in her father’s easy clasp. She had an indefinite pang of fear, she could not tell why.
“He has been here now for some time. I was glad to ratify your invitation by mine—nothing could have pleased me better. I like his family. His father and I have always thought alike, and the Duchess is a most excellent woman. That your mother and you should have taken him up so much, was very good for him, and quite a pleasure to me.”
“I don’t know why you should say we took him up very much,” said Edith, with some confusion. “He took us up—he came to us wherever we were. And then he was Robin’s friend. It was quite natural—there was nothing—” She paused, with a painful eagerness to excuse herself: and yet there was nothing to excuse. This changed the position for the moment, and made everything much more easy for the indulgent father, who was so ready to approve what his child herself had done.
“It is perfectly natural, my dear—everything about it is natural. Lord Millefleurs has been quite consistent since he first saw you. He has explained himself to me in the most honourable way. He wishes—to marry you, Edith. I don’t suppose this is any surprise to you?”
Edith was crimson; her temples throbbed with the rush of the blood, which seemed to rise like an angry sea. “If it is so, he has had opportunity enough to tell me so. Why has he taken so unfair an advantage? Why—why has he gone to you?”
“He has behaved like an honourable man. I see no unfair advantage. He has done what was right—what was respectful at once to you and to me.”
“Oh, papa—honourable! respectful!” cried the girl. “What does that mean in our position? Could he have been anything but honourable—to me? You forget what kind of expressions you are using. If he had that to say, it is to me he ought to have come. He has taken an unkind—a cruel advantage!” Edith cried.
“This is ridiculous,” said her father. “He has done what it is seemly and right to do—in his position and yours.
