"No, my father, I will never marry without your consent, and I do not expect you to give that consent to a man whom you treat as you would a beggar; but I want you to understand how impossible it is for me to accept any one else, even if he were as rich as Crœsus. Ah, papa," she continued, clinging to his arm, "suppose mamma's relations had treated you as you have treated Mr. Henry Halford!"
"But I had money, child."
"And can money make amends for the absence of everything else? are rich people always happy? Oh, papa," continued the young girl, who knew not with what a firm grasp the demon of gold had seized upon her father's heart, "you were not always like this; only promise me that I shall not be asked to marry a man just for money and position, and I shall not care about being married at all. I would rather live at home with you and dear mamma, for I am sure I shall never be happier anywhere else."
The pleading voice, the consciousness that he had not acted rightly respecting Henry Halford's letter, and that in many points his daughter's remarks were correct, softened the father. He drew her closely to his heart, and said—
"Mary, my child, although I cannot consent to your marriage with Mr. Henry Halford, yet I promise you that you shall not be troubled with any other suitors till you choose one for yourself of whom I can approve. And now," he continued, rising, "let us go to your mother."
But at this kindness on her father's part Mary felt her firmness giving way. Hastily returning his proffered kiss, she rushed upstairs to her room, and gave vent to her long-controlled feelings in a burst of tears.
Meanwhile Mr. Armstrong was cheering his wife's heart by relating what he had promised to Mary; and when she appeared on the announcement that tea was ready, there was a look of calm happiness on her face in spite of the reddened eyelids, which alone remained to bear testimony to the tears which had relieved her over-charged heart.