“I have no secrets in my heart, papa,” she said, quietly, “and I feel urged to say that I will not answer your question; but I will answer it,” she continued with her dark, clear eyes fixed on his. “No, papa, I never have cared for any one else, neither do I. I might almost say that I never thought of such a thing as marriage.”
Mr Penwynn uttered a sigh of relief.
“And you will see Tregenna when he calls. I beg, I implore you to, Rhoda.”
“I will see him then, papa; but—”
“No, no. Let me have no hasty declarations, my dear,” he said, rising, and taking her hand. “Marriages are a mystery. See Mr Tregenna, and take time. Hear what he has to say; give him time too, as well—months, years if you like—and, meanwhile, shut your ears against all paltry scandal.”
“I will, papa.”
“And, my darling, if it should come off, you will have won a good husband for yourself, and a valuable friend and counsellor for me.”
“But—”
“No more new, my dear; no more now. We have said enough. Take time, and get cool. Then we shall see.”
Evidently with the idea of himself getting cool he began to walk slowly and thoughtfully up and down the room, his hands behind him, his feet carefully placed one before the other, heel to toe, as if he were measuring off the carpet,—rather a ridiculous proceeding to a stranger, but his daughter was accustomed to the eccentricity, and now saw nothing absurd in his struggles to retain his balance.