“Well, well—I beg pardon for using that unguarded word—of course your pride must neither hope nor fear upon the occasion; you must quite forget yourself to stone. As you please, or rather as you think proper; but you will allow me to hope and fear for you. Since I have not, thank Heaven! made proud and vain professions of stoicism—have not vowed to throw away the rose, lest I should be pricked by the thorn.”
“Laugh, but hear me,” said Caroline. “I make no professions of stoicism; it is because I am conscious that I am no stoic that I have endeavoured to guard well my heart.—I have seen and admired all Colonel Hungerford’s good and amiable qualities; I have seen and been grateful for all that you and Mrs. Hungerford hoped and wished for my happiness—have not been insensible to any of the delightful, any of the romantic circumstances of the vision; but I saw it was only a vision—and one that might lead me into waking, lasting misery.”
“Misery! lasting! How?” said Rosamond.
“Neither your wishes nor Mrs. Hungerford’s, you know, can or ought to decide, or even to influence the event, that is to be determined by Colonel Hungerford’s own judgment and feelings, and by mine. In the mean time, I cannot forget that the delicacy, honour, pride, prudence of our sex, forbid a woman to think of any man, as a lover, till he gives her reason to believe that he feels love for her.”
“Certainly,” said Rosamond; “but I take it for granted that Colonel Hungerford does love you.”
“But why should we take it for granted?” said Caroline: “he has not shown me any preference.”
“Why—I don’t know, I am not skilled in these matters,” said Rosamond—“I am not sure—but I think—and yet I should be sorry to mislead you—at any rate there is no harm in hoping—”
“If there be no harm, there might be much danger,” said Caroline: “better not to think of the subject at all, since we can do no good by thinking of it, and may do harm.”
After a pause of surprise, disappointment, and reflection, Rosamond resumed: “So I am to understand it to be your opinion, that a woman of sense, delicacy, proper pride, honour, and prudence, must, can, and ought to shut her eyes, ears, understanding, and heart, against all the merit and all the powers of pleasing a man may possess, till said man shall and do make a matrimonial proposal for her in due form—hey! Caroline?”
“I never thought any such thing,” answered Caroline, “and I expressed myself very ill if I said any such thing. A woman need not shut her eyes, ears, or understanding to a man’s merit—only her heart.”