“I am certain of that,” said Helen, “but I am not clear that your mind is made up.”
The general looked at her with astonishment.
“Your refusal is not irrevocable.”
“You do not know me, Miss Stanley.”
“I think I do.”
“Better than I know myself.”
“Yes, better, if you do yourself the injustice to think that you would not yield, if it were right to do so. At this very instant,” pursued Helen, disregarding his increasing astonishment, “you would yield if you could reasonably, honourably—would not you? If you could without injury to your ward’s fortune or character, would you not? Surely it is for his good only that you are so resolute?”
“Certainly!” He waited with eyes fixed, bending forward, but with intensity of purpose in his calmness of attention.
“There was something which I heard Mr. Beauclerc say, which, I think, escaped your attention,” said Helen. “When you spoke of the new house he intended to build for himself, which was to cost so much, he offered to give that up.”
“I never heard that offer.”