Alice instantly suspected the individual from whom the proposal came, and turned pale as death.
“That does not cheer my spirits, then, papa.”
“That may be, my dear Alice,” replied her father; “but, in the opinion of your mother and me, it ought.”
“From what quarter has it come, papa, may I ask? I am living very lonely and retired here, you know.”
“The proposal, then, my dear child, has come from Henry Woodward, this day; and what will surprise you more, through his mother, too—who has been of late such an inveterate enemy to our family. So far as I have seen of Henry himself, he is everything I could wish for a son-in-law.”
“But you have seen very little of him, papa.”
“What I have seen of him has pleased me very much, Alice.”
“How strange,” said she musingly, “that father and daughter should draw such different conclusions from the same premises. The very thought of that young man sinks the heart within me. I beg, once for all, that you will never mention his name to me on this subject, and in this light, again. It is not that I hate him—I trust I hate nobody—but I feel an antipathy against him; and what is more, I feel a kind of terror when I even think of him; and an oppression, for which I cannot account, whilst I am in his society.”
“This is very strange, Alice,” replied her father; “and, I am afraid, rather foolish, too. There is nothing in his face, person, manner, or conversation that, in my opinion, is not calculated to attract any young woman in his own rank of life—at least, I think so.”
“Well, but the poor child,” said her mother, “knows nothing about love—how could she? Sure, my dear Alley, true love never begins until after marriage. You don't know what a dislike I had to your father, there, whilst our friends on both sides were making up the courtship. They literally dragged me into it.”