“I do so dislike the thought of spending my whole life in teaching!” she pleaded in apology, the bitter tears streaming down her face. “You cannot tell what it is to feel dependent.”
“I’d rather sweep chimneys than marry Paul Radcliffe if I were a pretty young girl like you,” stormed the old lady.
“Since papa died you don’t know what the feeling has been,” sobbed Selina. “Many a night have I lain awake with the misery of knowing that I had no claim to a place in the wide world.”
“I am sure you are welcome to stay here,” said the Squire.
“Yes; as long as I am here myself,” added his mother. “After that—well, I suppose it wouldn’t be proper for you to stay.”
“You are all kindness; I shall never meet with such friends again; and I know that I am welcome to stay as long as I like,” she answered in the saddest of tones. “But the time of my departure must come sometime; and though the world lies before me, there is no refuge for me in it. It is very good of Mr. Radcliffe to offer to make me his wife and to give me a home at the Torr.”
“Oh, is it, though!” retorted the Squire. “Trust him for knowing on which side his bread’s buttered.”
“He is of good descent; he has a large income——”
“Six hundred a-year,” interrupted the Squire, slightingly.
“Yes, I am aware that it cannot appear much to you,” she meekly said; “but to me it seems unbounded. And that is apart from the house and land.”