“I have saved nearly three thousand pounds. If you think you are too poor to marry without money, I will give it all to Caroline. I am strong, and can go on working; but she is weak, and this disappointment will kill her.” She sat down suddenly, and covered her face with her hands. Then she looked up.
“You are unwilling, I see. Don’t suppose I would have urged you if it had been for myself; but she has had so much sorrow.” And now she fairly cried aloud. I tried to explain; but she would not listen, but kept saying, “Leave the house, sir! leave the house!” But I would be heard.
“I have never had any feeling warmer than respect for Miss Caroline, and I have never shown any different feeling. I never for an instant thought of making her my wife, and she has had no cause in my behaviour to imagine I entertained any such intention.”
“This is adding insult to injury,” said she. “Leave the house, sir, this instant!”
I went, and sadly enough. In a small town such an occurrence is sure to be talked about, and to make a great deal of mischief. When I went home to dinner I was so full of it, and foresaw so clearly that I should need some advocate soon to set the case in its right light, that I determined on making a confidante of good Mrs. Rose. I could not eat. She watched me tenderly, and sighed when she saw my want of appetite.
“I am sure you have something on your mind, Mr. Harrison. Would it be—would it not be—a relief to impart it to some sympathising friend?”
It was just what I wanted to do.
“My dear kind Mrs. Rose,” said I, “I must tell you, if you will listen.”
She took up the hand-screen, and held it, as yesterday between me and her.
“The most unfortunate misunderstanding has taken place. Miss Tomkinson thinks that I have been paying attentions to Miss Caroline; when, in fact—may I tell you, Mrs. Rose?—my affections are placed elsewhere. Perhaps you have found it out already?” for indeed I thought I had been too much in love to conceal my attachment to Sophy from anyone who knew my movements as well as Mrs. Rose.