"Because, before I left her, I thought I saw some ground for hope that her refusal was not caused by any personal dislike to me."
"Really!..." interrupted Lady Elizabeth.
"Nay, my dear aunt!" resumed Hubert, "you may in your kind and long-enduring partiality fancy this impossible; but, unhappily for my peace at that moment, I remembered that I was more than five-and-thirty, and she not quite eighteen."
"But she told you I suppose that you were still a very handsome fellow.... Only she had some other objection,—and pray, what was it, sir?"
"She feared the connexion would be displeasing to you and Lady Stephenson."
"And you assured her most earnestly, perhaps that she was mistaken?"
"No, Lady Elizabeth, I did not. There are circumstances in her position that MUST make my marrying her appear objectionable to my family; and though my little independence is, as your ladyship observes, my own, I would not wish to share it with any woman who would be indifferent to their reception of her. All my hope, therefore, rests in the confidence I feel that, when the first unpleasing surprise of this avowal shall have passed away, you ... both of you ... for there is no one else whose approbation I should wait for ... you will suffer your hearts and heads to strike a fair and reasonable balance between all that my sweet Agnes has in her favour and all she has against her. Do this, Lady Elizabeth, but do it as kindly as you can.... Emily will help you ... to-morrow morning you shall tell me your decision.... I can resolve on nothing till I hear it."
Colonel Hubert, as soon as he had said this left the room, nor did they see him again that night.
The morning came, and he met Lady Stephenson at the breakfast table, but Lady Elizabeth did not appear, sending down word, as was not unusual with her, that she should take her chocolate in her own room. Sir Edward was not in the room when he entered, and he seized the opportunity to utter a hasty and abrupt inquiry as to the answer he might expect from herself and their aunt.
"From me, Montague," she replied, "you cannot fear to hear anything very harshly disagreeable. In truth, I have been so long accustomed to believe that whatever my brother did, or wished to do, was wisest—best, that it would be very difficult for me to think otherwise now; besides, I cannot deny, though perhaps it hardly ought to be taken into the account, that I too am very much in love with Agnes Willoughby, and that ... though I would give my little finger she had no aunt Barnaby belonging to her ... I never saw any woman in any rank whom I could so cordially love and welcome as a sister."