“You have no mercy on the child.”
“I ought to have no mercy on glaring faults which she should ere this have corrected.”
“But she is so young—only seventeen! Think of it!”
Dr. Grey frowned, and partially withdrew his hand from his sister’s clasp.
“Janet, you grieve me. Surely you are not pleading with me in behalf of Salome?”
Tears trickled over Miss Jane’s sallow cheeks and dripped on the doctor’s hand, as she replied,—
“Bear with me, Ulpian. The girl is very dear to me; and, loving you as she unquestionably does, I know that you could make her a noble, admirable woman,—for she has some fine traits, and your influence would perfect her character. Believe me, my dear boy, you, and you only, can remould her heart.”
“Possibly,—if I loved her; for then I would be patient and forbearing towards her faults. But I cannot even respect that handsome, fiery, impulsive, unreasonable child, much less love her; and, if I ever marry, my wife must be worthy to remould my own defective life and erring nature. I am surprised, my dear sister, that you, whose sincere affection I can not doubt, should be willing to see me link my life with that of one so much younger, and, I grieve to say it, so far inferior 170 in all respects. What congenial companionship could I promise myself? What confidence could I repose—what esteem could I entertain—for a silly girl, who, without warrant and utterly unsought, bestows her love (if, indeed, what you say be true) upon a man who never even dreamed of such folly, and is old enough to be her father?”
“I can not comprehend the logic that condemns Salome, and justifies your own mother; for, if there be any difference in their lines of conduct, I am too stupid to see it.”
Miss Jane lifted her head from her brother’s shoulder, resolutely dried her eyes, and settled her cap.