“Indeed!—Well then sit down, my dear, sit down. Have you been practising this morning? I have not heard you. You must learn that new song before you go to the castle, for it is a great favourite with Lady Smatterton.”
“I have practised this morning, and I sang it over two or three times after breakfast. I think I know it now quite perfectly.”
“That’s a good girl. But I cannot say I wish you to make a business of singing. It is always very well for an amusement but no farther. The Countess is very kind to you, and you ought to oblige her as much as possible; yet I would not wish that you should give your exclusive attention to that science.”
“I have no such wish myself, sir; I feel very much embarrassed and confused even when I sing at the castle, when no one is present but Lord and Lady Smatterton. I am sure I could never bring myself to perform in public.”
“Very good; you have a very proper feeling on the subject. I know the Countess would be very happy to bring you out under her patronage, and very respectable patronage it would be; but I have very great objections to such publicity for a young person like you.”
“But, my dear uncle, I have been thinking—I have been thinking—”
Penelope, in thus speaking, hesitated and blushed, and trembled, and a tear would have been seen starting into her eye, but the doctor observing that she was confused, did not look at her to increase her confusion. Suspecting what was the cause of this embarrassment, he said:
“Yes, yes, my dear, I know what you have been thinking about, and I have been thinking of the same subject. You think it very strange that you have not heard from Robert Darnley.”
The doctor was right, and the doctor was wrong. Penelope had indeed been so thinking, but it was not of these thoughts that she was then about to speak. The suspicion however increased her confusion and she wept. Sobbing, she exclaimed with great earnestness:
“Oh no, my dear uncle! I had no such meaning, but I was going—”