"Does your love carry you so far, that you would, for her sake, continue a Quaker, and marry her?"
"I have asked myself that question at least a hundred times during the last twenty-four hours, and I cannot decide. If she would dress as others do, and allow me to do the same, I would marry her to-morrow; whether I shall ever make up my mind to adhere to the persuasion, and live and die a Quaker for her sake, is quite another matter—but I am afraid not—I am too worldly-minded. The fact is, I am in a very awkward position with respect to her. I have never acknowledged my affection, or asked for a return, but she knows I love her, and I know that she loves me."
"Like all vain boys, you flatter yourself."
"I leave you to judge, sir," replied I, repeating to him our parting tête-à-tête, and how I had returned, and found her in tears.
"All that certainly is very corroborative evidence; but tell me, Japhet, do you think she loves you well enough to abandon all for your sake?"
"No, nor ever will, sir, she is too high principled, too high-minded. She might suffer greatly, but she never would swerve from what she thought was right."
"She must be a fine character, Japhet, but you will be in a dilemma: indeed, it appears to me, that your troubles are now commencing instead of ending, and that you would have been much happier where you were, than you will be by being again brought out into the world. Your prospect is not over cheerful. You have an awkward father to deal with: you will be under a strong check, I've a notion, and I am afraid you will find that, notwithstanding you will be once more received into society, all is vanity and vexation of spirit."
"I am afraid you are right, sir," replied I, "but, at all events, it will be something gained, to be acknowledged to the world by a father of good family, whatever else I may have to submit to. I have been the sport of fortune all my life, and probably she has not yet done playing with me; but it is late, and I will now wish you good-night."
"Good-night, Japhet; if I have any intelligence I will let you know. Lady de Clare's address is No. 13, Park Street. You will, of course, go there as soon as you can."
"I will, sir, after I have written my letters to my friends at Reading."