“Ridiculous, Mr. Hazleton! I should like to see Julia disposing of her affections without my consent. Pray, where did you hear this nonsense?”
“From Julia herself,” answered Mr. Hazleton. “She would have made a confidante of you, Anna, but you would not listen to her. She has acknowledged to me, therefore, her long attachment for Frank Reeve, and has requested me to intercede with you to sanction their engagement.”
“That I will never do,” cried Mrs. Hazleton, in a towering passion. “What!—consent to her marrying a poor midshipman? No, never!”
“But he will rise—he will be promoted.”
“No matter if he is—he shall never marry Julia Ketchim!”
“She loves him, my dear, sincerely,” interposed Mr. Hazleton. “It has been an attachment since childhood—would you break her heart?”
“Yes, I would—before I would consent to her becoming his wife.”
“But, my dear, will you not see your nephew, and let him plead his own cause? Do, my dear, reflect upon the consequences of what you are now doing.”
“No, Mr. Hazleton—I tell you I will not see him, and I have already forbidden Julia. If it had not been for him, and for the artful machinations of your niece, I might have seen Julia properly allied—rank with rank.”
Mr. Hazleton could swallow a great deal, and he therefore swallowed this, though with something of a take-physic face. He then resumed: