“Am I right in saying, that however nobly adorned in other respects, the object of your attachment was not wealthy?”
Mr. Ford bowed his head.
“Unfortunately for your happiness, your father wished you to wed a wealthy wife, and withheld his approbation from your choice. You, my dear sir, with a magnanimity, which, I am sure, does you infinite credit, clung to your chosen bride, portionless though she was, and, in spite of your father’s disapprobation, married her.”
“I did,” said Robert Ford, with emotion; “and however grieved I may have been, and still am, at my father’s continued resentment, that step I never regretted. You have seen Helen. It may have been a parent’s partiality, but I have always regarded her as uncommonly sweet and attractive.”
Mr. Sharp, in a very high-flown eulogium, intimated that such was his own estimate.
“When I tell you,” pursued Mr. Ford, “that Helen bears a very striking resemblance to her mother, not in person only, but in sweetness and amiability, your heart will suggest an excuse for my perhaps unfilial conduct.”
“Sir,” said Mr. Sharp, warmly, “had you done otherwise than you did, had you abandoned, at the bidding of a paltry self-interest, the heart that had learned to love and trust you, I should not have felt one half the respect for you which I now entertain. But, to resume my story. The first difficulty between your father and yourself was hailed with delight by your cousin. It was an occasion for which he had long been watching. It is needless to say, that he used every means to widen the breach, so artfully, however, as not to allow either your father or yourself to suspect his purpose. Possibly you can recall some circumstances which will confirm what I have said.”
“I remember,” said Robert, thoughtfully, “that my cousin professed to sympathize with me most warmly, and counselled me, by all means, to carry out my purpose, in opposition to my father’s will. He assured me that my father would finally yield, when he learned that my heart was unalterably fixed, and that opposition would prove unavailing.”
“At the same time,” said the lawyer, “he was giving similar assurances to your father. He told him, that when you were satisfied that his consent could not be obtained, you would yield the point, and conform to his wishes.”
“Was my cousin indeed so wicked?” asked Robert, with more pain than anger in his tone.