Sorry for it, child!—Why then so very obstinate?—Come, sit down, my dear. I will sit next to you; taking my hand.
My uncle placed Mr. Solmes on the other side of me: himself over-against me, almost close to me. Was I not finely beset, my dear?
Your brother, child, said my aunt, is too passionate—his zeal for your welfare pushes him on a little too vehemently.
Very true, said my uncle: but no more of this. We would now be glad to see if milder means will do with you—though, indeed, they were tried before.
I asked my aunt, If it were necessary, that the gentleman should be present?
There is a reason that he should, said my aunt, as you will hear by-and by.—But I must tell you, first, that, thinking you was a little too angrily treated by your brother, your mother desired me to try what gentler means would do upon a spirit so generous as we used to think yours.
Nothing can be done, Madam, I must presume to say, if this gentleman's address be the end.
She looked upon my uncle, who bit his lip; and looked upon Mr. Solmes, who rubbed his cheek; and shaking her head, Good, dear creature, said she, be calm. Let me ask you, If something would have been done, had you been more gently used, than you seem to think you have been?
No, Madam, I cannot say it would, in this gentleman's favour. You know, Madam, you know, Sir, to my uncle, I ever valued myself upon my sincerity: and once indeed had the happiness to be valued for it.
My uncle took Mr. Solmes aside. I heard him say, whispering, She must, she shall, still be yours.—We'll see, who'll conquer, parents or child, uncles or niece. I doubt not to be witness to all this being got over, and many a good-humoured jest made of this high phrensy!