“Poor fellow. I do believe he is very fond of me.”
“And you?”
“Oh, I like him—like him excessively. If I didn't, what should I marry him for?”
“What, indeed!”
“There is one objection papa may have; his being younger than I, I forget how much, but it is very little. How surprised papa will be when he gets the letter to-morrow.”
“Does Sir William know?”
“Not yet; but that will be soon settled, he tells me. He can persuade his mother, and she, his father. Besides, they can have no possible objection to me.”
She looked again in the mirror as she said this. Yes, that “me” was not a daughter-in-law likely to be objected to, even at Treherne Court.
“I hope it will not vex Penelope,” she continued. “It may be all the better for her, since when I am married, I shall have so much influence. We may make the old gentleman do something handsome for Francis, and get a richer living for papa, if he will consent to leave Rockmount. And I'd find a nice husband for you, eh, Dora?”
“Thank you, I don't want one. I hate the very mention of the thing. I wish, instead of marrying, we could all be dead and buried.” And, whether from weariness, or excitement, or a sudden, unutterable pang at seeing my sister, my playfellow, my handsome Lisa, sitting there, talking as she talked, and acting as she acted, I could bear up no longer. I burst out sobbing.