Pa looked in her face, and looked at the ground, and looked in her face again, and declared he could never guess.
“ Mr. Rokesmith.”
“You don’t tell me so, my dear!”
“Mis—ter Roke—smith, Pa,” said Bella separating the syllables for emphasis. “What do you say to that ?”
Pa answered quietly with the counter-question, “What did you say to that, my love?”
“I said No,” returned Bella sharply. “Of course.”
“Yes. Of course,” said her father, meditating.
“And I told him why I thought it a betrayal of trust on his part, and an affront to me,” said Bella.
“Yes. To be sure. I am astonished indeed. I wonder he committed himself without seeing more of his way first. Now I think of it, I suspect he always has admired you though, my dear.”
“A hackney coachman may admire me,” remarked Bella, with a touch of her mother’s loftiness.
“It’s highly probable, my love. Number two, my dear?”
“Number two, Pa, is much to the same purpose, though not so preposterous. Mr. Lightwood would propose to me, if I would let him.”
“Then I understand, my dear, that you don’t intend to let him?”
Bella again saying, with her former emphasis, “Why, of course not!” her father felt himself bound to echo, “Of course not.”