“But,” I feebly essayed, convinced perhaps by the tone of sarcasm in which this was uttered that she was not far from my way of thinking after all, “if in two weeks you have learned to love this man more than everything else, even the riches which make your uncle’s favor a thing of such moment—”
“Well,” said she, “what then?”
“Why, then I would say, secure your happiness with the man of your choice, if you have to marry him in secret, trusting to your influence over your uncle to win the forgiveness he never can persistently deny.”
You should have seen the arch expression which stole across her face at that. “Would it not be better,” she asked, creeping to my arms, and laying her head on my shoulder, “would it not be better for me to make sure of that uncle’s favor first, before undertaking the hazardous experiment of running away with a too ardent lover?”
Struck by her manner, I lifted her face and looked at it. It was one amused smile.
“Oh, my darling,” said I, “you have not, then dismissed Mr. Clavering?”
“I have sent him away,” she whispered demurely.
“But not without hope?”
She burst into a ringing laugh.
“Oh, you dear old Mamma Hubbard; what a matchmaker you are, to be sure! You appear as much interested as if you were the lover yourself.”