“Ha!” said Dr. May, beginning to smile. “So that is what he is at, is it? But what an opportunity to take.”
“It was in the conservatory,” said Flora, a little hurt, as her father discovered by her tone. “The music was going on, and I don’t know that there could have been—”
“A better opportunity, eh?” said Dr. May, laughing; “well, I should have thought it awkward; was he very much discomposed?”
“I thought,” said Flora, looking down and hesitating, “that he had better come to you.”
“Indeed! so you shifted the ungracious office to me. I am very glad to spare you, my dear; but it was hard on him to raise his hopes.”
“I thought,” faltered Flora, “that you could not disapprove—”
“Flora—” and he paused, completely confounded, while his daughter was no less surprised at the manner in which her news was received. Each waited for the other to speak, and Flora turned away, resting her head against the mantel-piece.
“Surely,” said he, laying his hand on her shoulder, “you do not mean that you like this man?”
“I did not think that you would be against it,” said Flora, in a choked voice, her face still averted.
“Heaven knows, I would not be against anything for your happiness, my dear,” he answered; “but have you considered what it would be to spend your life with a man that has not three ideas! not a resource for occupying himself—a regular prey to ennui—one whom you could never respect!” He had grown more and more vehement, and Flora put her handkerchief to her eyes, for tears of actual disappointment were flowing.