“The choice I have made,” said Ernest quickly, “suits me.”
“Then there is nothing more to be said,” replied Mr. Hillston coolly.
“But you do not seem to like it.”
“That has nothing to do with it. It is your affair, and if you are pleased, no one else has the right to say a word.”
“Mr. Hillston,” said Ernest, suddenly lowering his voice from the high key of self-sufficiency and independence to a subdued tone, “you have been a father to me, and you know I have been guided by you. I have confidence in your judgment; and now if you see me about to commit an error, one that may wreck my happiness, ought not common charity, to say nothing of the relation you sustain to me, induce you to kindly point out my mistake? I can see clearly that you are not pleased at my prospective marriage. Now tell me plainly what is the matter?”
“My dear Ernest,” said the old man, with the tenderness of a parent, “you know that I have ever treated you as one of my own children, and have ever consulted your interest. I would not hesitate to give you advice in this important matter if I knew how. I will only say this, if you will take no offence—”
“No, no,” interrupted Ernest eagerly, “I will not. Go on, say what you please.”
“Well, then, I fear that the great dissimilarity between your characters may prove a source of annoyance, if not trouble. You are grave and serious in your disposition, while Miss Clara is the very opposite.”
“That may be true,” replied Ernest, “but might not this very dissimilarity be an advantage to both of us?”