Here Ferdinand seemed plunged in thought, but he pressed her hand, though he said nothing.
‘He will think we have known each other too short a time,’ continued Miss Temple. ‘He will be mortified, perhaps alarmed, when I inform him I am no longer his.’
‘Then do not inform him,’ said Ferdinand.
She started.
‘Let me inform him,’ continued Ferdinand, giving another turn to his meaning, and watching her countenance with an unfaltering eye.
‘Dearest Ferdinand, always prepared to bear every burthen!’ exclaimed Miss Temple. ‘How generous and good you are! No, it would be better for me to speak first to my father. My soul, I will never have a secret from you, and you, I am sure, will never have one from your Henrietta. This is the truth; I do not repent the past, I glory in it; I am yours, and I am proud to be yours. Were the past to be again acted, I would not falter. But I cannot conceal from myself that, so far as my father is concerned, I have not conducted myself towards him with frankness, with respect, or with kindness. There is no fault in loving you. Even were he to regret, he could not blame such an occurrence: but he will regret, he will blame, he has a right both to regret and blame, my doing more than love you—my engagement—without his advice, his sanction, his knowledge, or even his suspicion!’
‘You take too refined a view of our situation,’ replied Ferdinand. ‘Why should you not spare your father the pain of such a communication, if painful it would be? What has passed is between ourselves, and ought to be between ourselves. If I request his permission to offer you my hand, and he yields his consent, is not that ceremony enough?’
‘I have never concealed anything from papa,’ said Henrietta, ‘but I will be guided by you.’
‘Leave, then, all to me,’ said Ferdinand; ‘be guided but by the judgment of your own Ferdinand, my Henrietta, and believe me all will go right. I will break this intelligence to your father. So we will settle it?’ he continued enquiringly.
‘It shall be so.’