“Oh, mamma!” exclaimed Hope, clapping her hands as the conjunction of these two names threw sudden light upon the mystery, “are they going to be married?”
“I very much fear you are not the sensible person you call yourself,” said her mother; “your father will not let them be married, Hope.”
Hope’s bright face became suddenly blank.
“Mother, there is nobody like Helen Buchanan in all Fendie! why will my father not let them be married?”
“Because her father did him wrong, Hope; and because she is poor.”
“Because she is poor!—Helen is a gentlewoman, mother!—and because her father did wrong! But that is not Helen’s fault. If my father did wrong, no one would blame William or me.”
“Take care, Hope; you are treading on dangerous ground,” said Mrs Oswald; “and though it is not Helen’s fault, your father has made up his mind, and William must submit.”
“But, mother,” said Hope doubtfully, “William is old—William is a man.”
“And what then?”
“I don’t know,” said Hope, hesitating; “perhaps it would be quite wrong, but—mother, is William always to do what my father bids him?”