The faint customary blush on Dorothy's cheeks which Mr. Gibson's name had produced now covered her whole face even up to the roots of her hair. "If he believes bad of mamma, I'm sure, Aunt Stanbury, I don't want to see him again."
"That's all very fine, my dear, but a man has to think of himself, you know."
"Of course he thinks of himself. Why shouldn't he? I dare say he thinks of himself more than I do."
"Dorothy, don't be a fool. A good husband isn't to be caught every day."
"Aunt Stanbury, I don't want to catch any man."
"Dorothy, don't be a fool."
"I must say it. I don't suppose Mr. Gibson thinks of me the least in the world."
"Psha! I tell you he does."
"But as for mamma and Priscilla, I never could like anybody for a moment who would be ashamed of them."
She was most anxious to declare that, as far as she knew herself and her own wishes at present, she entertained no partiality for Mr. Gibson,—no feeling which could become partiality even if Mr. Gibson was to declare himself willing to accept her mother and her sister with herself. But she did not dare to say so. There was an instinct within her which made it almost impossible to her to express an objection to a suitor before the suitor had declared himself to be one. She could speak out as touching her mother and her sister,—but as to her own feelings she could express neither assent nor dissent.