“He dreads that you should never forgive him.”
“Forgive him!—I have read of parents forgiving their children, but I never remember to have read of a daughter forgiving her father. Forgive! you should not have used that word. I cannot forgive my father: but I can love him, and I will make him quite forget all his sorrows—I mean, all his sorrows about me.”
After this conversation Virginia spent her time in imagining what sort of person her father would be; whether he was like Mr. Hervey; what words he would say; where he would sit; whether he would sit beside her; and, above all, whether he would give her his blessing.
“I am afraid,” said she, “of liking my father better than any body else.”
“No danger of that, my dear,” said Mrs. Ormond, smiling.
“I am glad of it, for it would be very wrong and ungrateful to like any thing in this world so well as Mr. Hervey.”
The carriage now came to the door: Mrs. Ormond instantly ran to the window, but Virginia had not power to move—her heart beat violently.
“Is he come?” said she.
“Yes, he is getting out of the carriage this moment!”
Virginia stood with her eyes eagerly fixed upon the door: “Hark!” said she, laying her hand upon Mrs. Ormond’s arm, to prevent her from moving: “Hush! that we may hear his voice.”