“I never detected them,” said she, curtly.
“Perhaps not, but rely upon one thing. It was not such a letter as he would have addressed to a man. If I, for instance, had been the guardian instead of you, the whole tone of the epistle would have been very different.”
“Do you think so?”
“Think so! I know it I had not read ten lines till I said to myself, ‘This was meant for very different eyes from mine.’”
“If I thought that—”
“Go on,” said he; “finish, and let me hear what you would say or do, when arrived at the conclusion I have come to.”
So far, however, from having come to any decision, she really did not see in the remotest distance anything to guide her to one.
“What would you advise me to do, Mr. Calvert?” said she, at last, and after a pause of some time.
“Refer him to me; say the point is too difficult for you; that while your feelings for your niece might overbear all other considerations, those very feelings might be the sources of error to you. You might, for instance, concede too much to the claim of affection; or, on the other hand, be too regardful of the mere worldly consideration. Not that, on second thoughts, I’d enter upon this to him, I’d simply say a friend in whom I repose the fullest confidence, has consented to represent me in this difficult matter. Not swayed as I am by the claims of affection, he will be able to give a calmer and more dispassionate judgment than I could. Write to Mr. Calvert, therefore, who is now here, and say what the mere business aspect of the matter suggests to you to urge. Write to him frankly, as to one who already is known to your son, and has lived on terms of intimacy with him. His reply will be mine.”
“Is not that a very cold and repelling answer to the good vicar’s letter?”