In her turn Belle became silent and thoughtful.
“There is reason to fear,” continued the match-making, perhaps match-spoiling, mother, “that the General may leave Henry nothing, or at most only a maintenance. He is certainly very much dissatisfied with his conduct, and for a long time has been vainly endeavouring to change it. I won’t say the young man is loose in his habits; if he were, I would not hear of him for your husband. No, my child, poor as we are, it needn’t come to that.”
As the widow said this she looked half interrogatively towards her daughter, who replied with a smile of assenting significance.
“Henry Harding,” continued the cautious mother, “is too generous—too profuse in his expenditures.”
“But, mamma, would not marriage cure him of that? He would then have me to think of, and take better care of his money.”
“True, true; supposing him to be possessed of it. But therein lies the doubt—the difficulty, I may call it—about the prudence of your accepting him.”
“But I love him; I do indeed!”
“I am sorry for that, my child. You should have been more cautious, until better assured about his circumstances. You must leave it to time. You will, if you love me.”
“And if, as I have told you—this afternoon—what answer?”
“Evasive, my dear. Nothing easier. You have me to fall back upon. You are my only child; my consent will be necessary. Come, Belle! you need no instructions from me. You will lose nothing by a little procrastination. You have nothing to fear from it, and everything to gain. Without it, you may become the wife of one poorer than ever your father was; and, instead of having to turn your silk dresses, you may have none to turn. Be prudent, therefore, in the step you are about to take.”