“You are a good fellow, Chillingly, and I know not, at least in these parts, a man to whom I would unburden myself more freely. I am put out, I confess; disappointed unreasonably, in a cherished wish, and,” he added, with a slight laugh, “it always annoys me when I don’t have my own way.”
“So it does me.”
“Don’t you think that George Belvoir is a very fine young man?”
“Certainly.”
“I call him handsome; he is steadier, too, than most men of his age, and of his command of money; and yet he does not want spirit nor knowledge of life. To every advantage of rank and fortune he adds the industry and the ambition which attain distinction in public life.”
“Quite true. Is he going to withdraw from the election after all?”
“Good heavens, no!”
“Then how does he not let you have your own way?”
“It is not he,” said Travers, peevishly; “it is Cecilia. Don’t you understand that George is precisely the husband I would choose for her; and this morning came a very well written manly letter from him, asking my permission to pay his addresses to her.”
“But that is your own way so far.”