“I am glad you can view my father’s ideas on social subjects in so favourable a light, Mr. Sherwin. You will be less surprised to hear how they are likely to affect me in the step I am now taking.”
“He disapproves of it, of course—strongly, perhaps. Well, though my dear girl is worthy of any station; and a man like me, devoted to mercantile interests, may hold his head up anywhere as one of the props of this commercial country,” (he ran his fingers rapidly through his hair, and tried to look independent), “still I am prepared to admit, under all the circumstances—I say under all the circumstances—that his disapproval is very natural, and was very much to be expected—very much indeed.”
“He has expressed no disapproval, Mr. Sherwin.”
“You don’t say so!”
“I have not given him an opportunity. My meeting with your daughter has been kept a profound secret from him, and from every member of my family; and a secret it must remain. I speak from my intimate knowledge of my father, when I say that I hardly know of any means that he would not be capable of employing to frustrate the purpose of this visit, if I had mentioned it to him. He has been the kindest and best of fathers to me; but I firmly believe, that if I waited for his consent, no entreaties of mine, or of anyone belonging to me, would induce him to give his sanction to the marriage I have come to you to propose.”
“Bless my soul! this is carrying things rather far, though—dependent as you are on him, and all that. Why, what on earth can we do—eh?”
“We must keep both the courtship and the marriage secret.”
“Secret! Good gracious, I don’t at all see my way—”