“Only let me tell you my reasons.—It was but last week that Mrs. Beaumont told me that she did not wish to encourage Sir John Hunter, and that she should be perfectly happy if she could see Amelia united to such a man as Captain Walsingham.”
“Such a man as Captain Walsingham! nicely guarded expression!”
“But you have not heard all yet.—Mrs. Beaumont anxiously inquired from me whether he had made any prize-money, whether there was any chance of his returning soon; and she added, with particular emphasis, ‘You don’t know how much I wish it! You don’t know what a favourite he is of mine!’”
“That last, I will lay any wager,” cried Mr. Walsingham, “she said in a whisper, and in a corner.”
“Yes, but she could not do otherwise, for Amelia was present. Mrs. Beaumont took me aside.”
“Aside; ay, ay, but take care, I advise you, of her asides, and her whisperings, and her cornerings, and her inuendoes, and semiconfidences, lest your own happiness, my dear, unsuspecting, enthusiastic daughter, should be the sacrifice.”
Miss Walsingham now stood perfectly silent, in embarrassed and breathless anxiety.
“I see,” continued her father, “that Mrs. Beaumont, for whose mighty genius one intrigue at a time is not sufficient, wants also to persuade you, my dear, that she wishes to have you for a daughter-in-law: and yet all the time she is doing every thing she can to make her son marry that fool, Miss Hunter, merely because she has two hundred thousand pounds fortune.”
“There I can assure you that you are mistaken,” said Miss Walsingham; “Mrs. Beaumont dreads that her son should marry Miss Hunter. Mrs. Beaumont thinks her as silly as you do, and complained to me of her having no taste for literature, or for any thing, but dress, and trifling conversation.”
“I wonder, then, that Mrs. Beaumont selects her continually for her companion.”