“I do not love Mr Glyddyr,” replied Claude coldly.
“Tut, tut, tut. Nonsense, my dear, not yet. It is the man who loves first; that makes an impression upon the woman, who, as soon as she feels the influence of the man’s affection, begins to love him in return. A man’s love begins like a flash; a woman’s is a slow growth. That is nature, my dear, and you cannot improve upon her.”
“Papa, I—”
“Now, don’t be hasty, my child. Glyddyr is a very good fellow—a thorough gentleman. I like him, he loves you, and if you will only put aside all that boy and girl nonsense of the past, you will soon like him too—more than you can conceive. But, as he reasonably enough says, you don’t give him a chance.”
“Did Mr Glyddyr say that?” said Claude, with her lip curling.
“Yes; and really, Claude, you are sometimes almost rude to him with your coldness. Come, my dear, I want you to see that it is the dearest wish of my life to have you happy.”
“Yes, papa dear, I know it is, but—”
“Now, let’s have no buts. I favour Glyddyr’s suit because he is all one could desire, and he came to me like a frank gentleman and told me how he saw you first and took a fancy to you, but thought he should forget it all; then felt his love grow stronger, and, as he has shown us—he has waited months and months to prove himself—felt that you were the woman who would make him happy and—”
“I could not make Mr Glyddyr happy, papa.”
“Nonsense, dear! What do you know of such things? I say you can, and that he can make you very happy and me, too, in seeing you married well.”