“I know it,” she replied; “you’ve always been so good to me—and you are so kind and generous.” There isn’t a better manner anywhere than Natalie’s. She has a character as strong and fine as her face.
“I’m getting old,” I went on, “and I want to see my boy settled. I want to see you my daughter, ready to take up your duties as head of my house.”
“Don’t try to hurry me,” she said, a trace of irritation in her voice. “I’m only twenty-one. I wish to have a little pleasure before I become as serious as I’ll have to be when I’m—your daughter.”
I noticed that she pointedly avoided saying “Walter’s wife.” This confirmed my suspicion. The habit of judging everything and everybody calmly and dispassionately has made me see the members of my own family just as I see outsiders. And I couldn’t blame her for balking at Walter, exasperating though it was to have her thus impede my plans.
“Is there anything wrong, Natalie?” I asked, gently. “Speak frankly to me—perhaps I can smooth it out.”
“Oh, thank you!” she exclaimed. It’s really delightful to see a person who can be warmhearted, yet stop short of indiscreet and dangerous sentimentality. “But,” she went on, “how can I tell you?”
“Is it Walter?” I asked, with a smile that invited confidence and guaranteed sympathy.
She was silent.
“Has he been disagreeable to you?”
“Oh, no!—he’s kindness itself. But—I don’t know—I simply can’t make up my mind to marry.”