“Honourable! quite honourable! But then, my dear sir, how came you to know the thing?”
“I saw it. You know, madam, those who stand by always see more than the players.”
“And do you think my son and daughter, and Captain Walsingham, know it too?”
“I fancy not; for they have not been standers by: they have been deeply engaged themselves.”
“That’s well—for I wished to have your opinion and advice in the first place, before I hinted it even to them, or any one else living. As I feared the match would not meet your approbation, I told Sir John so, and I gave him only a provisional consent.”
“Like the provisional consent of that young Irish lady,” said Mr. Palmer, laughing, “who went through the marriage service with her lover, adding at the end of each response, ‘provided my father gives his consent.‘[7] But, madam, though I am old enough certainly to be your father, yet even if I had the honour to be so in reality, as you are arrived at years of discretion, you know you cannot need my consent.”
“But seriously, my excellent friend,” cried she, “I never could be happy in marrying against your approbation. And let me, in my own vindication, explain to you the whole of the affair.”
Here Mr. Palmer, dreading one of her long explanations, which he knew he should never comprehend, besought her not to invest him with the unbecoming character of her judge. He represented that no vindication was necessary, and that none could be of any use. She however persisted in going through a sentimental defence of her conduct. She assured Mr. Palmer, that she had determined never to marry again; that her inviolable respect for her dear Colonel Beaumont’s memory had induced her to persist in this resolution for many years. That motives of delicacy and generosity were what first prevailed with her to listen to Sir John’s suit; and that now she consoled and supported herself by the proud reflection, that she was acting as her dear Colonel Beaumont himself, could he know the circumstances and read her heart, would wish and enjoin her to act.
Here a smile seemed to play upon Mr. Palmer’s countenance; but the smile had vanished in an instant, and was followed by a sudden gush of tears, which were as suddenly wiped away; not, however, before they reminded Mrs. Beaumont to spread her handkerchief before her face.
“Perhaps,” resumed she, after a decent pause, “perhaps I am doing wrong with the best intentions. Some people think that widows should never, on any account, marry again, and perhaps Mr. Palmer is of this opinion?”