“Folly and nonsense! Deference, indeed! How much deference is due from eight thousand a year to a dispensary doctor, or his daughter? I 'll have none of these absurd notions. If they made any mistake towards you, it was by over-attention,—too much notice.”
“That is very possible, papa; and it was not always very flattering for that reason.”
“Why, what is your head full of? Do you fancy you are one of Lord Carricklough's daughters, eh?”
“No, papa; for they are shockingly freckled, and very plain.”
“Do you know your real station?” cried he, more angrily, “and that if, by the courtesy of society, my position secures acceptance anywhere, it entails nothing—positively nothing—to those belonging to me?”
“Such being the case, is it not wise of us not to want anything,—not to look for it,—not to pine after it? You shall see, papa, whether I fret over my exclusion from Cobham.”
The doctor was not in a mood to approve of such philosophy, and he drove on, only showing—by an extra cut of his whip—the tone and temper that beset him.
“You are to have a visit from Captain Stapylton tomorrow, papa?” said she, in the manner of a half question.
“Who told you so?” said he, with a touch of eagerness in his voice; for suddenly it occurred to him if Polly knew of this appointment, she herself might be interested in its object.
“He asked me what was the most likely time to find you at home, and also if he might venture to hope he should be presented to mamma.”