“Well, to be still plainer, this is how the matter stands: If you were a party in our rank of life, coming to court Margaret with your father’s full approval and permission when once you had consented to the year’s engagement, everything would be done and settled; the bargain would have been struck on both sides; and there would be an end of it. But, situated as you are, I can’t stop here safely—I mean, I can’t end the agreement exactly in this way.”
He evidently felt that he got fluent on wine; and helped himself, at this juncture, to another glass.
“You will see what I am driving at, my dear Sir, directly,” he continued. “Suppose now, you came courting my daughter for a year, as we settled; and suppose your father found it out—we should keep it a profound secret of course: but still, secrets are sometimes found out, nobody knows how. Suppose, I say, your father got scent of the thing, and the match was broken off; where do you think Margaret’s reputation would be? If it happened with somebody in her own station, we might explain it all, and be believed: but happening with somebody in yours, what would the world say? Would the world believe you had ever intended to marry her? That’s the point—that’s the point precisely.”
“But the case could not happen—I am astonished you can imagine it possible. I have told you already, I am of age.”
“Properly urged—very properly, indeed. But you also told me, if you remember, when I first had the pleasure of seeing you, that your father, if he knew of this match, would stick at nothing to oppose it— at nothing —I recollect you said so. Now, knowing this, my dear Sir—though I have the most perfect confidence in your honour, and your resolution to fulfil your engagement—I can’t have confidence in your being prepared