CHAPTER VIII.
LAWRENCE AND HIS FATHER.
“Lawrence, step in here for a moment,” said Mr. Thornton; and Lawrence, equipped for travelling, with carpet-bag, duster, and shawl, followed his father into the library, where all the family edicts were issued and all the family secrets told. “Lawrence, Geraldine tells me you are going to Beechwood for three or four days.”
“Why, yes,” returned the son. “I received a letter from Lilian last night inviting me to come. I told you of it at the time, else my memory is very treacherous.”
“It may be,—I don’t remember,” said the father; “but Geraldine has given me a new idea about your going there, and it is for this that I have called you in. Lawrence do you love Lilian Veille?”
“Why do you ask me that question, when you know that I have always loved her?” was the reply, and Mr. Thornton continued: “Yes, yes, but how do you love her,—as a sister,—as a cousin,—or as one whom you intend to make your wife?”
“I have been taught to think of her as one who was to be my wife, and I have tried to follow my instructions.”
“Sit down, sit down,” said Mr. Thornton, for Lawrence had risen to his feet. “I have not finished yet. Lilian has been with us for years, and I who have watched her carefully, know that in all the world there is not a purer, more innocent young girl. She is suited to you in every way. She has money,—her family is one of the first in the land, and more than all, she has been trained to believe that you would some day make her your bride.”
“Please come to the point,” interrupted Lawrence, consulting his watch. “What would you have me do?”