“Oh, it must be some mistake—it must be some mistake!” cried Sophy, burrowing with her head in her aunt’s bosom. Mrs. Norton encircled her with tender arms. She felt that her child was behaving herself at this wonderful emergency exactly as she ought.
“You see how much overcome she is! You must let us have a little time, dear Mr. Hunstanton. You can imagine the excitement, the agitation. She is so young. And when I am so much upset myself, what should she be—at her age? But, indeed, it is I who have the most occasion,” said the little lady, beginning to cry: “for what shall I do without my Sophy?—not that I should think of that when her happiness is concerned.”
“Oh, auntie!” cried Sophy, clasping her close, and burrowing more than ever, “I could never leave you—how could I ever leave you? You must always—always stay with me.”
Mr. Hunstanton rubbed his hands. “I see—I see!” he said, “it is too early for a direct answer; but I don’t think Pandolfini need be cast down. I think there are indications that he will gain the day.”
At this moment it became apparent to Mrs. Norton that Sophy’s agitation was too sacred to be witnessed by strange eyes, especially by a gentleman’s eyes. Encircling her child with one arm, and holding her close to her breast, she extended the other hand to Mr. Hunstanton. It was too exquisite a moment for ceremony. “Dear friend,” she said, amid her tears, “you see how it is. Leave me alone with her, and if you will come later—or I will write you a note: yes, that is the best, I will write you a note. No, I do not think he need despair.”
“I understand—I understand—a note will be the best, which I can show him,” cried Mr. Hunstanton, delighted. “Good-bye—good-bye, Sophy. Yes—yes, I shall take myself off. Let her have it out; but it will not be long till Miss will be turned into Madame, I can see. Never mind the door. I hope I can open it for myself. Yes—yes, it is she that wants you most, poor little soul!”
Sophy raised herself from her shelter when the ambassador was heard to go; her pretty little face was all stained like a child’s with tears. “Oh, auntie!” she cried, looking her aunt in the face, then giving her a still closer hug; and then there followed a moment of mutual endearment, sobs, and kisses. “Oh, auntie, do you think it can be true? Him. I thought him so far above me. I never thought he would look twice at a little insignificant thing like me.”
This was selon les règles too; and Mrs. Norton felt with unfeigned satisfaction that Sophy was fully equal to the circumstances, and was saying and doing exactly what she ought. She pressed her to her breast with mingled love, respect, and admiration. Nothing inappropriate or out of place had come from Sophy’s lips. In everything she had comported herself as the most anxious of aunts could wish; and all the girls of England might have been there to take a lesson. Mrs. Norton breathed a sigh of content as she pressed her child to her heart.
“My darling, you are too humble—not that I wish you different, Sophy. I like to see that my child is the only one that is unconscious of her own merits. But Love sees further. Dear fellow! Oh, what a happiness for me, my pet, to think, if anything happened to me, that I could leave you in such good hands!”
“But oh, auntie, him! I thought it was Diana he would care for——”