Hilary looked doubtful. Dora went on.
“And then, after all, nobody in my station really is poor; it is all a romance of your imagination. I dare say Maurice would contrive as other people do, to get along and keep up a
respectable appearance. I need not have bad servants, I would hire good ones; and I would manage my ménage so that it should be no trouble, and I should rather like the pleasure of ordering dinner, and contriving nice little surprises for him in the way of eating. I am sure I could be happy.”
“Of one thing, Dora, we are quite sure; without your father’s consent, you will never try the experiment; and if he wishes you to marry Mr. Ufford, he is not likely to approve of your engaging yourself to Maurice.”
“You dreadfully matter-of-fact girl! how you knock down all my delightful castles. Oh! Hilary, I wish you had been crossed in love, and then you would have had some pity for me.”
And so the discussion ended. Hilary had not learned as yet, that to contradict a youthful passion, to argue against it, to overwhelm it with unanswerable reasons, and endeavor to extinguish it with detailed proofs of its absurdity or unfitness, is certain to strengthen and increase its power; so red-hot iron is hardened into tempered steel by plunging it suddenly into cold water.
CHAPTER XVII.
“In the woods where the gleams play
On the grass under the trees,
Passing the long summer’s day