“Then show it by marrying the Captain, miss.”
“If you command me to marry the Captain, sir, I will obey you.”
“No, miss, I don’t command you. I won’t give you that excuse for saying you was forced into a marriage by your father’s tyranny. You know that it’s my strong desire that you should marry the Captain, and as you have always shown yourself a dutiful daughter until now, I expect that desire to prevail with you in the absence of any weighty reason that might make your compliance wrong. If there be any such reason, I’ll hear it with patience. If not, I look to you to justify the consideration I have extended to you in the past by your behaviour now.”
“I’ll do my best to satisfy you, sir,” I said, sighing. For oh, my dear girl, who could continue to resist when urged in such a manner by such a father? Had the parents of the noble Clarissa treated her with so reasonable a kindness (for I know my papa is only cruel to be kind), sure she must have succumbed to their softness where she was firm against their invective. But perhaps you won’t agree with me. Then, Amelia, be very sure your Sylvia en’t a Clarissa. But then, neither is Captain Colquhoun a Solmes. He’s all that is excellent—his only fault that he is not Fraser. And indeed, my dear, that’s as well, for I should be sorry to think there was two men like the lieutenant in the world. There’s a double meaning here, you’ll say? Why, so there is. I will stop.
I take up my pen again at night. During breakfast my papa preserved the same unbending sternness towards me, so that I could scarcely eat, and was like to choke more than once. The only person at their ease was Mrs Freyne, who talked and laughed with the most charming sprightliness. When the meal was over, and your unhappy Sylvia was creeping away to her own chamber, Mrs Freyne called to me as I passed her door.
“So I hear you’ve added another to the list of your conquests, miss. ’Tis a little hard on the poor gentleman to have to pay so dear for merely taking up your defence in public, en’t it?”
“Sure, madam, you’re better informed than I.”
“Why,” says she, “it seems that after mess yesterday, when the gentlemen had perhaps drunk somewhat freely, your name was mentioned among ’em, and the story which is in the mouths of all Calcutta not obscurely hinted at. Up darts Captain Colquhoun, and calls on the speaker (’twas young Waring, I fancy they told me) to withdraw his words, which he had the best authority for knowing were altogether false. The young gentleman demands with great spirit what right the Captain had to interfere in the matter, to which he replied, quick as lightning, that his right was that of a suitor for the lady’s hand. On this Waring offers his apologies, and the matter drops; but coming to your papa’s ears, he jumps at the notion, and forces the Captain to turn his expedient into a reality.”
“I’m sure, madam, I am prodigious grateful to you for telling me this,” I said, as I went on my way. And indeed, Amelia, the history comforted me not a little, for if not the Captain’s heart, but only his politeness, was engaged, it should not, surely, be impossible to turn him aside from his object. Hence, when Marianna came to tell me that Captain Colquhoun was waiting for me in the saloon, I put a bold face on the matter, and having dried my eyes and settled my cap, walked into the apartment with as easy an air as I could assume, though my heart was thumping as if it would burst.
“Madam, your most obedient!” said he, with his stiff bow.