‘Marriage!’ Cara’s face grew crimson; and the word came forth faltering in a tremor, half of shame, half of laughter. ‘Aunt Cherry, what can you be thinking of? There is nothing, nothing of the kind—oh, would you believe that I could do such a thing? There! You were only laughing at me.’
‘Cara, I never, never laugh on such subjects. They are far, far too important and serious. A girl’s whole future might be ruined by getting frightened or laughing at the wrong time. Oh, my Cara, don’t take it too lightly! If Oswald Meredith has not asked you, it is only for want of an opportunity: perhaps he thought it too public to-night, and so it was. I should not have liked him to ask you to-night,’ said Miss Cherry, reassuring herself. ‘It was not private enough. But he will do it the first opportunity; of that I am as sure as that I’m living. Didn’t he ask you—he must have asked you—to see him to-morrow?’
‘Aunt Cherry, you are mistaken. I know you are mistaken,’ said Cara, growing as pale as she had been red. The bow drawn at a venture had flown straight to the very red. ‘Indeed, indeed,’ she faltered, ‘I assure you he doesn’t mean anything of the sort.’
‘He asked you to see him to-morrow?’ said Miss Cherry, delighted by her success.
‘He asked me, certainly, if I would be at home to-morrow; but he often does—he often comes. Aunt Cherry, do believe me. It is not that, not that at all, whatever it is.’
‘My dearest,’ said Miss Cherry, with great dignity, ‘I know how people look when that is what is in their minds. You think I have had no experience, and so many people suppose. One does not brag of such things. But, Cara, I hope you will not allow yourself to be taken by surprise as—well, as I was. I sometimes think if I had only had someone to say to me “dear”’—Miss Cherry went on, with fresh tears coming into her mild eyes—‘“you should think a great deal, and be very sure of your own feelings before you spoil a young man’s life for him.” A girl does that sometimes out of simple want of thought, and because she is startled. I could tell you of such a thing happening—and how I—she was sorry after, but never had it in her power to mend it. Oh, Cara, my darling, it is a very serious thing to spoil another’s life!’
‘Aunt Cherry! but you are wrong. I am quite sure you are wrong,’ said Cara, trembling. She could not help feeling a certain awe at the idea of this sudden power which seemed to be thrust into her hands; and yet it was too incredible to affect her profoundly. ‘Oswald is not like that,’ she said, ‘even if he meant it. He is not so serious, he does not feel so strongly.’ But then Cara herself paused, uncertain, thinking of the revolution in his thoughts of which he had told her, the crisis in his life.
‘Ah, Cara, even while you are speaking to me your view changes—you see the truth of what I say. Oh, think of it, my dear, and pray to God to direct you. It is not a thing to laugh about, as so many people do. Good-night, my darling, good-night! I must not talk any more, or I shall say more than I want to say, and it ought to be all left to your own feelings. Run away, run away, my own child, and think it over and judge for yourself.’
Cara withdrew with a little nervous shiver, drawing her cloak round her. The seriousness of this appeal overawed the girl. That she should plunge out of her almost childhood into this serious crisis, upon which so much depended, seemed incredible. She had scarcely turned away from the door when Miss Cherry put out her head again.
‘Cara, just one word. If there should be difficulties, I will stand by you. You shall not be crossed in anything that is for your happiness. We have plenty for you both. Good-night, my darling, good-night.’