“Don’t say so, dear, dearest father; ah! how glad I am that I am not in any danger of being tempted away. Would I leave you in solitary darkness for any thing this world can offer; or, would I throw such a burden on my younger sisters,
as to expect them to take the duties I deserted. I hope nothing would tempt me to such selfish wickedness. But, indeed, papa, I do not love Mr. Huyton in the least; I can not tell why, but the more I tried the less I found I could; so now I have given up trying, and mean to devote myself to one dearer, better, more precious than he, or twenty such;” kissing him over and over again as she spoke.
“Dear Hilary, I will not say a word to urge you to wed where you do not love; but be quite sure, before you decide for life. I should like to see you safely housed at ‘the Ferns,’ with such a guardian and husband as Charles Huyton.”
“You never will, papa—do not talk of it; I will not leave you; I never mean to marry. I have made up my mind to be your single daughter for life, and to give away my sisters, as if I were an old maiden-aunt, or a lady-abbess, at least.”
He smiled, and passed his hand over her forehead, putting back her hair, and looking lovingly at her face; then he added, in a sort of regretful tone,
“Charles Huyton loves you very much, Hilary.”
“I believe he does now, papa; but I daresay it will not last; you do not think a man could go on loving a woman who did not care for him, do you? He will find some one else to marry; and when I am an old woman of thirty-five, he will be thankful that he has so much more charming a wife.”
“You do not do yourself or him justice, my dear; I expect he will be constant!”
“Constant for a man, dear papa; but that is not constant to one woman, only to one idea—that of marrying somebody.”
“What do you know of men, Hilary?” inquired her father, laughingly.