“I know I have; and I thank God for it.”
“So you have reason to do; for a more lovely girl and a better, in my opinion, never existed.”
“One must not praise one’s own, or I should agree with you,” said the proud father.
Again there was silence. And again Marvel picked up his primroses.
“In short,” said he, “Mr. Harrison, would you like me for a son-in-law?”
“Would Lucy like you for a husband? I must know that first,” said the good father.
“That is what I do not know,” replied Marvel; “but, if I was to ask her, she would ask you, I am sure, whether you would like me for a son-in-law.”
“At this rate, we shall never get forwards,” said Harrison. “Go you back to Miss Milly, and send my Lucy here to me.”
We shall not tell how Lucy picked up the flowers, which had been her lover’s grand resource; nor how often she blushed upon the occasion: she acknowledged that she thought Mr. Marvel very agreeable, but that she was afraid to marry a person who had so little steadiness. That she had heard of a great number of schemes, undertaken by him, which had failed; or which he had given up as hastily as he had begun them. “Besides,” said she, “may be he might change his mind about me as well as about other things; for I’ve heard from my cousin Milly—I’ve heard—that—he was in love, not very long since, with an actress in York. Do you think this is all true?”
“Yes, I know it is all true,” said Mr. Harrison, “for he told me so himself. He is an honest, open-hearted young man; but I think as you do, child, that we cannot be sure of his steadiness.”