“Just so.”
“For the lasting good of both of us, and the lasting happiness of both of us?”
“Just so.”
“That we might be to one another even much more than they had been to one another?”
“Just so.”
“It was not bound upon Eddy, and it was not bound upon me, by any forfeit, in case—”
“Don’t be agitated, my dear. In the case that it brings tears into your affectionate eyes even to picture to yourself—in the case of your not marrying one another—no, no forfeiture on either side. You would then have been my ward until you were of age. No worse would have befallen you. Bad enough perhaps!”
“And Eddy?”
“He would have come into his partnership derived from his father, and into its arrears to his credit (if any), on attaining his majority, just as now.”
Rosa, with her perplexed face and knitted brow, bit the corner of her attested copy, as she sat with her head on one side, looking abstractedly on the floor, and smoothing it with her foot.
“In short,” said Mr. Grewgious, “this betrothal is a wish, a sentiment, a friendly project, tenderly expressed on both sides. That it was strongly felt, and that there was a lively hope that it would prosper, there can be no doubt. When you were both children, you began to be accustomed to it, and it has prospered. But circumstances alter cases; and I made this visit today, partly, indeed principally, to discharge myself of the duty of telling you, my dear, that two young people can only be betrothed in marriage (except as a matter of convenience, and therefore mockery and misery) of their own free will, their own attachment, and their own assurance (it may or may not prove a mistaken one, but we must take our chance of that), that they are suited to each other, and will make each other happy. Is it to be supposed, for example, that if either of your fathers were living now, and had any mistrust on that subject, his mind would not be changed by the change of circumstances involved in the change of your years? Untenable, unreasonable, inconclusive, and preposterous!”
Mr. Grewgious said all this, as if he were reading it aloud; or, still more, as if he were repeating a lesson. So expressionless of any approach to spontaneity were his face and manner.
“I have now, my dear,” he added, blurring out “Will” with his pencil, “discharged myself of what is doubtless a formal duty in this case, but still a duty in such a case. Memorandum, ‘Wishes.’ My dear, is there any wish of yours that I can further?”
Rosa shook her head, with an almost plaintive air of hesitation in want of help.
“Is there any instruction that I can take from you with reference to your affairs?”
“I—I should like to settle them with Eddy first, if you please,” said Rosa, plaiting the crease in her dress.
“Surely, surely,” returned Mr. Grewgious. “You two should be of one mind in all things. Is the young gentleman expected shortly?”
“He has gone away only this morning. He will be back at Christmas.”
“Nothing could happen better. You will, on his return at Christmas, arrange all matters of detail with him; you will then communicate with me; and I will discharge myself (as a mere business acquaintance) of my business responsibilities towards the accomplished lady in the corner window. They will accrue at that season.” Blurring pencil once again. “Memorandum, ‘Leave.’ Yes. I will now, my dear, take my leave.”
“Could I,” said Rosa, rising, as he jerked out of his chair in his ungainly way: “could I ask you, most kindly to come to me at Christmas, if I had anything particular to say to you?”
“Why, certainly, certainly,” he rejoined; apparently—if such a word can be used of one who had no apparent lights or shadows about him—complimented by the question. “As a particularly Angular man, I do not fit smoothly into the social circle, and consequently I have no other engagement at Christmas-time than to partake, on the twenty-fifth, of a boiled turkey and celery sauce with a—with a particularly Angular clerk I have the good fortune to possess, whose father, being a Norfolk farmer, sends him up (the turkey up), as a present to me, from the neighbourhood of Norwich. I should be quite proud of your wishing to see me, my dear. As a professional Receiver of rents, so very few people do wish to see me, that the novelty would be bracing.”
For his ready acquiescence, the grateful Rosa put her hands upon his shoulders, stood on tiptoe, and instantly kissed him.
“Lord bless me!” cried Mr. Grewgious. “Thank you, my dear! The honour is almost equal to the pleasure. Miss Twinkleton, madam, I have had a most satisfactory conversation with my ward, and I will now release you from the incumbrance of my presence.”
“Nay, sir,” rejoined Miss Twinkleton, rising with a gracious condescension: “say not incumbrance. Not so, by any means. I cannot permit you to say so.”
“Thank you, madam. I have read in the newspapers,” said Mr. Grewgious, stammering a little, “that when a distinguished visitor (not that I am one: far from it) goes to a school (not that this is one: far from it), he asks for a holiday, or some sort of grace. It being now the afternoon in the—College—of which you are the eminent head, the young ladies might gain nothing, except in name, by having the rest of the day allowed them. But if there is any young lady at all under a cloud, might I solicit—”
“Ah, Mr. Grewgious, Mr. Grewgious!” cried Miss Twinkleton, with a chastely-rallying forefinger. “Oh,
