“I quite wonder you consider it correct to put us in the same sentence, when you seem so determined to keep us apart,” continued Dora.
“Now, please, dear Dora, do be reasonable,” said Hilary, imploringly; “can I ask you to come here that you may carry on a clandestine correspondence with my brother? What would your father say?”
“My dear Hilary, every body has their peculiarities; yours is to be haunted with the idea that every body is doing something improper, unless they will proclaim their deeds at the market cross.”
“What is clandestine must be wrong,” said Hilary, decidedly.
“But can you not comprehend, my dear young friend, that there is a difference between secrecy and improper concealment? It is not necessary to publish every thing one knows, neither is it wrong to avoid some topics. Even to a father there may be things which it is better not to repeat; there may be subjects concealed from the best of motives.”
“This is all very true, perhaps, but the difference between discretion and dissimulation is positive, Dora. If you feel sure that when he knows your conduct he will approve it, and consider your secrecy was justifiable and proper, you may venture to practice it, I suppose, without fear.”
Dora was silent.
“Neither is it fair to Maurice,” continued Hilary; “you are misleading him; I do not blame you for learning to prefer another, but—”
“No,” interrupted Dora, “you could hardly do that, at least with justice, since it is not the case.”
“Dora, you deceive yourself, surely; your manners to Mr. Ufford—”