‘From Mr Edward Chester, of course. And you are the bearer of the answer?’
Dolly hesitated again, and not being able to decide upon any other course of action, burst into tears.
‘You alarm yourself without cause,’ said Mr Haredale. ‘Why are you so foolish? Surely you can answer me. You know that I have but to put the question to Emma and learn the truth directly. Have you the answer with you?’
Dolly had what is popularly called a spirit of her own, and being now fairly at bay, made the best of it.
‘Yes, sir,’ she rejoined, trembling and frightened as she was. ‘Yes, sir, I have. You may kill me if you please, sir, but I won’t give it up. I’m very sorry,—but I won’t. There, sir.’
‘I commend your firmness and your plain-speaking,’ said Mr Haredale. ‘Rest assured that I have as little desire to take your letter as your life. You are a very discreet messenger and a good girl.’
Not feeling quite certain, as she afterwards said, whether he might not be ‘coming over her’ with these compliments, Dolly kept as far from him as she could, cried again, and resolved to defend her pocket (for the letter was there) to the last extremity.
‘I have some design,’ said Mr Haredale after a short silence, during which a smile, as he regarded her, had struggled through the gloom and melancholy that was natural to his face, ‘of providing a companion for my niece; for her life is a very lonely one. Would you like the office? You are the oldest friend she has, and the best entitled to it.’
‘I don’t know, sir,’ answered Dolly, not sure but he was bantering her; ‘I can’t say. I don’t know what they might wish at home. I couldn’t give an opinion, sir.’
‘If your friends had no objection, would you have any?’ said Mr Haredale. ‘Come. There’s a plain question; and easy to answer.’