'He said he would not interfere in the matter; if you liked to accept Mr.
Boarham's obliging offer, you - '
'No; he said if you liked to take him you might; and if not, you might please
yourself.'
'It is no matter what I said. What will you say? - that is the question. He
is now waiting to ask you himself; but consider well before you go; and if you
intend to refuse him, give me your reasons.'
'I shall refuse him, of course; but you must tell me how, for I want to be
civil and yet decided - and when I've got rid of him, I'll give you my reasons
afterwards.'
'But stay, Helen; sit down a little and compose yourself. Mr. Boarham is in
no particular hurry, for he has little doubt of your acceptance; and I want to
speak with you. Tell me, my dear, what are your objections to him? Do you deny
that he is an upright, honourable man?'
'But, Helen! How many such men do you expect to meet with in the world?
Upright, honourable, sensible, sober, respectable! Is this such an every-day
character that you should reject the possessor of such noble qualities without a
moment's hesitation? Yes, noble I may call them; for think of the full meaning
of each, and how many inestimable virtues they include (and I might add many
more to the list), and consider that all this is laid at your feet. It is in
your power to secure this inestimable blessing for life - a worthy and excellent
husband, who loves you tenderly, but not too fondly so as to blind him to your
faults, and will be your guide throughout life's pilgrimage, and your partner in
eternal bliss. Think how - '
'But I hate him, aunt,' said I, interrupting this unusual flow of
eloquence.
'Hate him, Helen! Is this a Christian spirit? - you hate him? and he so good
a man!'
'I don't hate him as a man, but as a husband. As a man, I love him so much
that I wish him a better wife than I - one as good as himself, or better - if
you think that possible - provided she could like him; but I never could, and
therefore - '
'But why not? What objection do you find?'
'Firstly, he is at least forty years old - considerably more, I should think
- and I am but eighteen; secondly, he is narrow-minded and bigoted in the
extreme; thirdly, his tastes and feelings are wholly dissimilar to mine;
fourthly, his looks, voice, and manner are particularly displeasing to me; and,
finally, I have an aversion to his whole person that I never can surmount.'
'Then you ought to surmount it. And please to compare him for a moment with
Mr. Huntingdon, and, good looks apart (which contribute nothing to the merit of
the man, or to the happiness of married life, and which you have so often
professed to hold in light esteem), tell me which is the better man.'
'I have no doubt Mr. Huntingdon is a much better man than you think him; but
we are not talking about him now, but about Mr. Boarham; and as I would rather
grow, live, and die in single blessedness - than be his wife, it is but right
that I should tell him so at once, and put him out of suspense - so let me
go.'
'But don't give him a flat denial; he has no idea of such a thing, and it
would offend him greatly: say you have no thoughts of matrimony at present -
'
And without waiting for further admonitions I left the room and went to seek
Mr. Boarham. He was walking up and down the drawing- room, humming snatches of
tunes and nibbling the end of his cane.
'My dear young lady,' said he, bowing and smirking with great complacency, 'I
have your kind guardian's permission - '
'I know, sir,' said I, wishing to shorten the scene as much as possible, 'and
I am greatly obliged for your preference, but must beg to decline the honour you
wish to confer, for I think we were not made for each other, as you yourself
would shortly discover if the experiment were tried.'
My aunt was right. It was quite evident he had had little doubt of my
acceptance, and no idea of a positive denial. He was amazed, astounded at such
an answer, but too incredulous to be much offended; and after a little humming
and hawing, he returned to the attack.
'I know, my dear, that there exists a considerable disparity between us in
years, in temperament, and perhaps some other things; but let me assure you, I
shall not be severe to mark the faults and foibles of a young and ardent nature
such as yours, and while I acknowledge them to myself, and even rebuke them with
all a father's care, believe me, no youthful lover could be more tenderly
indulgent towards the object of his affections than I to you; and, on the other
hand, let me hope that my more experienced years and graver habits of reflection
will be no disparagement in your eyes, as I shall endeavour to make them all
conducive to your happiness. Come, now! What do you say? Let us have no young
lady's affectations and caprices, but speak out at once.'
'I will, but only to repeat what I said before, that I am certain we were not
made for each other.'
'No, I don't. I know you as well as I ever shall, and better than you know
me, or you would never dream of uniting yourself to one so incongruous - so
utterly unsuitable to you in every way.'
'But, my dear young lady, I don't look for perfection; I can excuse - '
'Thank you, Mr. Boarham, but I won't trespass upon your goodness. You may
save your indulgence and consideration for some more worthy object, that won't
tax them so heavily.'
'But let me beg you to consult your aunt; that excellent lady, I am sure,
will - '
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