“If you can think that, it is useless to say more. I thought ill-fortune had done its worst; but no; blow upon blow, and wound upon wound. Don't spare me, child. Nobody else has, and why should you? Marry my enemy's son, his younger son, and break your father's heart.”
At this, what could a sensitive girl of sixteen do but burst out crying, and promise, round her father's neck, never to marry any one whom he disliked.
When she had made this promise, her father fondled and petted her, and his tenderness consoled her, for she was not passionately in love with her cousin.
Yet she cried a good deal over the letter in which she communicated this to Compton.
He lay in wait for her; but she baffled him for three weeks.
After that she relaxed her vigilance, for she had no real wish to avoid him, and was curious to see whether she had cured him.
He met her; and his conduct took her by surprise. He was pale, and looked very wretched.
He said solemnly, “Were you jesting with me when you promised to marry no one but me?”
“No, Compton. But you know I could never marry you without papa's consent.”
“Of course not; but, what I fear, he might wish you to marry somebody else.”