“Oh yes, papa.”
“To all others you are quite indifferent?”
“Yes—indeed, papa.”
“I am sure you are. But not quite indifferent to this one? Give me a kiss, my darling, and I will take that for your speech.” Then she kissed him—giving him her very best kiss. “And now, my child, what shall I say to the Earl?”
“I don’t know, papa.”
“Nor do I, quite. I never do know what to say till I’ve got the pen in my hand. But you’ll commission me to write as I may think best?”
“Oh yes, papa.”
“And I may presume that I know your mind?”
“Yes, papa.”
“Very well. Then you had better leave me, so that I can go to work with the paper straight before me, and my pen fixed in my fingers. I can never begin to think till I find myself in that position.” Then she left him, and went back to her mother.
“Well, my dear,” said Mrs. Wortle.
“He is going to write to Lord Bracy.”
“But what does he mean to say?”
“I don’t know at all, mamma.”
“Not know!”
“I think he means to tell Lord Bracy that he has got no objection.”
Then Mrs. Wortle was sure that the Doctor meant to face all the dangers, and that therefore it would behove her to face them also.
The Doctor, when he was left alone, sat a while thinking of the matter before he put himself into the position fitted for composition which he had described to his daughter. He acknowledged to himself that there was a difficulty in making a fit reply to the letter which he had to answer. When his mind was set on sending an indignant epistle to the Bishop, the words flew from him like lightning out of the thunderclouds. But now he had to think much of it before he could make any light to come which should not bear a different colour from that which he intended. “Of course such a marriage would suit my child, and would suit me,” he wished to say;—“not only, or not chiefly, because your son is a nobleman, and will be an earl and a man of great property. That goes a long way with us. We are too true to deny it. We hate humbug, and want you to know simply the truth about us. The title and the money go far—but not half so far as the opinion which we entertain of the young man’s own good gifts. I would not give my girl to the greatest and richest nobleman under the British Crown, if I did not think that he would love her and be good to her, and treat her as a husband should treat his wife. But believing this young man to have good gifts such as these, and a fine disposition, I am willing, on my girl’s behalf—and she also is willing—to encounter the acknowledged danger of a long engagement in the hope of realising all the good things which would, if things went fortunately, thus come within her reach.” This was what he wanted to say to the Earl, but he found it very difficult to say it in language that should be natural.
“My dear Lord Bracy—When I learned, through Mary’s mother, that Carstairs had been here in our absence and made a declaration of love to our girl, I was, I must confess, annoyed. I felt, in the first place, that he was too young to have taken in hand such a business as that; and, in the next, that you might not unnaturally have been angry that your son, who had come here simply for tuition, should have fallen into a matter of love. I imagine that you will understand exactly what were my feelings. There was, however, nothing to be said about it. The evil, so far as it was an evil, had been done, and Carstairs was going away to Oxford, where, possibly, he might forget the whole affair. I did not, at any rate, think it necessary to make a complaint to you of his coming.
“To all this your letter has given altogether a different aspect. I think that I am as little likely as another to spend my time or thoughts in looking for external advantages, but I am as much alive as another to the great honour to myself and advantage to my child of the marriage which is suggested to her. I do not know how any more secure prospect of happiness could be opened to her than that which such a marriage offers. I have thought myself bound to give her your letter to read because her heart and her imagination have naturally been affected by what your son said to her. I think I may say of my girl that none sweeter, none more innocent, none less likely to be overanxious for such a prospect could exist. But her heart has been touched; and though she had not dreamt of him but as an acquaintance till he came here and told his own tale, and though she then altogether declined to entertain his proposal when it was made, now that she has learnt so much more through you, she is no longer indifferent. This, I think, you will find to be natural.
“I and her mother also are of course alive to the dangers of a long engagement, and the more so because your son has still before him a considerable portion of his education. Had he asked advice either of you or of me he would of course have been counselled not to think of marriage as yet. But the very passion which has prompted him to take this action upon himself shows—as you yourself say of him—that he has a stronger will than is usual to be found at his years. As it is so, it is probable that he may remain constant to this as to a fixed idea.
“I think
