Margaret Maliphant

								

had grand ideas for you, I know. Oh yes; and you know she had, now,"
added I, in answer to a deprecatory "Oh, don't!" from my sister. "But I
should have hated what she wanted; and I don't believe you would ever
have consented. But Captain Forrester is not a landed proprietor; he
cares for the rights of the people as father does. He is a fine fellow;
and then he is young, and has never loved any one else," added I,
dropping my voice.
I suppose I said this in allusion to the squire's first wife.
She did not say anything, and I kneeled down beside her. "Dear Joyce,"
I whispered--and I do believe my voice trembled--"I do want you to be
happy. And though I shall feel dreadfully lonely when you have gone
away and left me, I sha'n't be sorry, because I shall be so glad you
have got what I wanted you to have."
She squeezed my hand very tight.
"Oh, but I sha'n't be married, dear, not for ever so long yet," said
she. "Why, you forget, we don't know what father and mother will say."
"Why, father and mother can only want what is best for you," answered
I. And I believed it. Nevertheless, what father and mother, or at all
events what mother thought best, was not what I thought best.
When Captain Forrester came the next morning, I knew before he passed
into father's business-room that he was not going to receive a very
satisfactory answer. He was expected; his answer was prepared, and I
was to blame that it was.
That evening, after the captain's proposal to Joyce, the squire sent
down a message to ask whether father would be disengaged; and if he
were, whether he might come down after supper to smoke a pipe with him.
We were seated around the meal when Deborah brought in the message.
"Certainly," answered father. "Say that I shall be pleased to see Mr.
Broderick." But when she was gone out, he added, gruffly: "What the
deuce can the squire want to see me for? I don't know of anything that
I need to talk to him about."
He looked at mother, but mother did not answer. She assumed her most
dignified air, and there was a kind of suppressed smile on her face
which irritated me unaccountably. As soon as the meal was over, she
reminded us that we had the orange marmalade to tie up and label, and
we were forced to leave her and father together.
I went very reluctantly, for I wanted to hear what they had to say,
and Deborah was in a very inquisitive mood--asking us how it was that
the squire had not invited us up to supper at the Manor these three
weeks, and when this fine gentleman from London was going to take
himself back again to his own home.
I left Joyce to answer her, and found an excuse to get back again to
the parlor as fast as I could. Father and mother sat opposite to one
another in their high-backed chairs by the fire. Father had not been
well since that night of the ball. I think he had caught a chill in the
east wind and was feeling his gout again a little. I think it must have