"Will you go with me, Celia?" said I, kissing her rosy cheek. "There will be room enough in the curricle."
"Oh, I should like to go," said she, "if Lucilla may go with us. Do, dear Charles, do let Lucilla go to the Priory. She will be very good: won't you, Lucilla?"
I ventured to look at Miss Stanley, who tried to laugh without succeeding, and blushed without trying at it. On my making no reply, for fear of adding to her confusion, Celia looked up piteously in my face and cried:
"And so you won't let Lucilla go home with you? I am sure the curricle will hold us all nicely; for I am very little, and Lucilla is not very big."
"Will you persuade her, Celia?" said I.
"O," said she, "she does not want persuading; she is willing enough, and I will run to papa and mamma and ask their leave, and then Lucilla will go and glad: won't you, Lucilla?"
So saying, she sprang out of my arms, and ran out of the room; Lucilla would have followed and prevented her. I respectfully detained her. How could I neglect such an opportunity? Such an opening as the sweet prattler had given me it was impossible to overlook. The impulse was too powerful to be resisted; I gently replaced her on her seat, and in language, which, if it did any justice to my feelings, was the most ardent, tender, and respectful, poured out my whole heart. I believe my words were incoherent; I am sure they were sincere.
She was evidently distressed. Her emotion prevented her replying. But it was the emotion of surprise, not of resentment. Her confusion bore no symptoms of displeasure. Blushing and hesitating, she at last said: "My father, sir—my mother." Here her voice failed her. I recollected with joy that on the application of Lord Staunton she had allowed of no such reference, nay, she had forbidden it.
"I take your reference joyfully," said I, "only tell me that if I am so happy as to obtain their consent, you will not withhold yours." She ventured to raise her timid eyes to mine, and her modest but expressive look encouraged me almost as much as any words could have done.
At that moment the door opened, and in came Sir John with the other drawing of the conservatory in his hand. After having examined us both with his keen, critical eye; "Well, Miss Stanley," said he, with a look and tone which had more meaning than she could well stand, "here is the other drawing. As you look as if you had been calmly examining the first, you will now give me your cool, deliberate opinion of the merits of both." He had the cruelty to lay so much stress on the words, cool, calm, and deliberate, and to pronounce them in so arch a manner, and so ironical a tone, as clearly showed, he read in her countenance that no epithets could possibly have been so ill applied.