And in less than three days from that time, he called at the Clarendon, and made it.
Favoured by an opportunity in which he found her alone, it was done direct to the young lady herself.
But the answer was not direct—nor definite in any way. It was neither a “yes” nor a “no.” He was simply referred to her mother.
The equivocation was not exactly to his taste. It certainly seemed strange enough. Still, though a little chagrined, he was not altogether discomforted by it; for how could he anticipate refusal in the quarter to which he had been referred?
Obedient to the permission given him, he waited upon Girdwood mère; and to her repeated the proposal with all the eloquent advocacy he could command.
If the daughter’s answer had not been definite, that of the mother was; and to a degree that placed Mr Swinton in a dilemma.
“Sir!” said she, “we feel very much honoured—both myself and daughter. But your lordship will excuse me for pointing out to you, that, in making this proposal, you appear to have forgotten something.”
“Pway what, madam, may I ask?”
“Your lordship has not made it in your own name; nor have you yet told us your title. Until that is done, your lordship will see, how absurd it would be for either my daughter, or myself, to give you a decisive answer. We cannot!”
Mrs Girdwood did not speak either harshly, or satirically. On the contrary, she unburdened herself in the most conciliatory tone—in fear of offending his lordship, and causing him to declare “off.”