"I mean, have you imbibed your sister's ideas on this subject? the notions of ninety-nine hundredths of girls in your walk of life. Do you intend to seek a husband, boldly and unblushingly, in all public places? to degrade yourself by practising the arts they understand so well to catch an 'eligible' partner, who may repay your insincerity and mercenary views by insult and infidelity—at best by indifference! Child! you do not know the risk match-making mothers and husband-hunting daughters run; the terrible retribution that may be—that often is in store for such! I had rather see you and your sister dead, than the victims of that most hateful of heartless shows—a fashionable marriage! Poor Lucy! poor Lucy!"
"I hope you are distressing yourself without reason, sir. Mother is not the person to surrender her child to one whose character and respectability are not indisputable. Nor is Lucy sentimental. I do not fear her suffering very acutely from any cause."
"I grant that. You would be more to be pitied as an unloved or unloving wife, than she. I tremble for you sometimes, when I think of this chance. My daughter, when you marry, look beyond the outside show. Seek for moral worth and a true heart, instead of dollars and cents!"
"I will! I promise!" said Sarah, her amazement at his earnestness and choice of topics combining to shake her voice and constrain her smile. "But there is time enough for that, father dear. When the man of heart and worth sues for my poor hand, I will refer him to you, and abide entirely by your decision."
"Mr. Hammond is downstairs," said the servant at the door. And Sarah, gathering up her papers, escaped from the room before he entered.
CHAPTER VII.
Mr. Hunt was able to resume his place in the bank several days before his wife returned. Uncle Nathan had brought Jeannie home as soon as her father could leave his room, and the boys had likewise been written for; so that the family reunion was apparently near at hand.
Weak as he was, Mr. Hunt met his spouse and daughter at the depot, and the noise of their entrance in the lower hall first apprised Sarah of their arrival. To the bound of pleasurable excitement her heart gave at the certainty that they had come, succeeded a sigh at the termination of the free, yet busy life she had led of late—the probability that she would be compelled to resume her old habits of feeling and action. Driving back the selfish regret, she ran down to welcome the travellers.
"How well you're looking, Sarah!" said Mrs. Hunt, after kissing her. "I declare, if you was to arrange your hair different, and study dress a bit, you would come near being right down handsome."