“No, sir, if you please, not perfect; for I have heard—though I own I never saw it—that perfection is always stupid: now certainly that the Annalys are not.”
“Well, well, they shall be as imperfect as you like—any thing to please you.”
“But, sir, you used to be so fond of the Annalys. I remember.”
“True, and did I tell you that I had changed my opinion?”
“Your manner, though not your words, tells me so.”
“You mistake: the fact is—for I always treat you, Harry, with perfect candour—I was hurt and vexed by their refusal of my son. But, after all,” added he, with a deep sigh, “it was Marcus’s own fault—he has been very dissipated. Miss Annaly was right, and her mother quite right, I own. Lady Annaly is one of the most respectable women in Ireland—and Miss Annaly is a charming girl—I never saw any girl I should have liked so much for my daughter-in-law. But Marcus and I don’t always agree in our tastes—I don’t think the refusal there, was half as great a mortification and disappointment to him, as it was to me.”
“You delight me, dear sir,” cried Ormond; “for then I may feel secure that if ever in future—I don’t mean in the least that I have any present thought—it would be absurd—it would be ridiculous—it would be quite improper—you know I was only there ten days; but I mean if, in future, I should ever have any thoughts—any serious thoughts—”
“Well, well,” said Sir Ulick, laughing at Ormond’s hesitation and embarrassment, “I can suppose that you will have thoughts of some kind or other, and serious thoughts in due course; but, as you justly observe, it would be quite ridiculous at present.”
“I beg your pardon, sir,” interrupted Harry, “but it would even at present be an inexpressible satisfaction to me to know, that if in future such a thing should occur, I should be secure, in the first place, of your approbation.”
“As to that, my dear boy,” said Sir Ulick, “you know in a few days you will be at years of discretion—then my control ceases.”