“You may leave us, Keppel,” said Lady Jane to her maid, as she went into her dressing-room—“I will ring when I want you.—My love,” said she to Caroline, who stood beside her dressing-table, “why did not you let Keppel dress your hair to-day?—But no matter—when I once get you to town, we’ll manage it all our own way. I have a notion that you are not of a positive temper.”
Caroline coloured at this speech.
“I see what are you thinking of,” said Lady Jane, mistaking her countenance; “and to tell you the truth, I also am sadly afraid, by what I see, that we shall hardly gain our point. I know your father—some difficulty will be started, and ten to one he will not allow me to have you at last, unless you try and persuade him yourself.”
“I never try to persuade my father to do any thing.”
“What, then, he is not a man to be persuaded?”
“No,” said Caroline, smiling; “but what is much better, he is a man to be convinced.”
“Better!” exclaimed Lady Jane: “Why surely you had not rather live with a man you were to convince than one you could persuade?”
“Would it not be safer?” said Caroline: “the arts of persuasion might be turned against us by others, but the power of conviction never could.”
“Now, my dear, you are too deep for me,” replied Lady Jane. “You said very little in our long debate this morning, and I’m afraid I said too much; but I own I could not help speaking candidly. Between ourselves, your father has some notions, which, you know, are a little odd.”
“My father!” exclaimed Caroline.