“Will you?” said Ladybird.
“Ladybird,” he said, “you are indeed a true, loyal, and warm-hearted friend; and you are sinning through ignorance, and not through any wrong intent.”
“Will you?” said Ladybird.
“When you are older you will learn that people do not marry, or allow themselves to be given in marriage, at the whim of a wayward child. But as you cannot seem to grasp that fact now, you must accept the wisdom of your elders, and drop at once and forever this well-meant but impossible plan of yours.”
“Will you?” said Ladybird.
She had not seemed to hear anything Mr. Humphreys had said, but sat with her sharp elbows on her knees, and her chin in her little brown hands, while her great dark eyes looked at him wistfully, pleadingly, and insistently.
“Ladybird,” said Aunt Dorinda’s gentle voice, “you don’t seem to comprehend what Mr. Humphreys has been saying, and perhaps it is because you are not capable of understanding it; but I want to say this to you: you know that your aunts, who love you very dearly, would not advise you except for your own good and the good of your friend. And so, dearie, because we love you, and because you love us, won’t you give up this foolishness and do as we tell you?”
“Aunt Dorinda,” said Ladybird, “you and Aunt Priscilla do love me, and I love you both; but you see you’ve never been married, either of you, and so you don’t know anything about it; but if you would do a little realizing yourself, and just think of the difference whether my sweet, beautiful, angel Stella marries that horrid, awkward, ignorant Charley Hayes, or this handsome, refined, and nobly educated Mr. Humphreys!”
Ladybird waved her hands dramatically, and with a triumphant air of having incontrovertibly proved her case, she continued: “And so we’ll consider that matter settled. And now the only thing to find out is if Mr. Humphreys will marry Stella. Will you?”
Impressed by the futility of further argument of any sort, Chester Humphreys sat looking at Ladybird in a helpless sort of way.