Volume I Part 41 (2/2)
Some mothers make a point of never seeing anything; but that may be carried too far, particularly abroad, my dear. Others are for always being dragons, but that is sure to scare off the men; and as I say, what's the use of birdlime if you 're always shouting and screaming!
My notion is, Molly, that a moderate degree of what the French call ”surveillance” is the right thing,--a manner that seems to say, ”I 'm looking at you: I'm not against innocent enjoyments, and so forth, but I won't stand any nonsense, nor falling in love.” Many 's the time the right man is scared away by a new flirtation, that meant nothing. ”She's too gay for _me_--she has a look in her eye, or a toss of the head, or a--Heaven knows--I don't like.”
”Does she care for him?” said K. I. ”Does Mary Anne care for him?--that's the question.”
”Of course she does,” said I. ”If a girl's affections are not engaged in some other quarter, she always cares for the man that proposes for her.
Is n't he a good match?”
”He as much as says so himself.”
”And a Baron?”
”Yes.”
”And has an elegant place, with a park of miles round it?”
”So he says.”
”Well, then, I 'm sure I see nothing to prevent her being attached to him.”
”At all events, let us speak to her,” said he, and sent James upstairs to fetch her down.
Short as the time was that he was away, it was enough for K. I. to get into one of his pa.s.sions, just because I gave him the friendly caution that he ought to be delicate and guarded in the way he mentioned the matter to Mary Anne.
”Is n't she my daughter?” said he, with a stamp of his foot; and just for that, Molly, I would n't give him the satisfaction to say she is.
”I ask you,” cried he again, ”isn't she my daughter?”
Not a syllable would I answer him.
”Well, maybe she is n't,” said he; ”but my authority over her is all the same.”
”Oh, you can be as cruel and tyrannical as you please,” said I.
”Look now, Mrs. D.--” said he; but, fortunately, Molly, just at that moment James and his sister came in, and he stopped suddenly.
”Oh, dearest papa,” cried Mary Anne, falling at his feet, and hiding her face in her hands, ”how can I leave you, and dear, dear mamma?”
”That's what we are going to talk over, my dear,” said he, quite dryly, and taking a pinch of snuff.
”Your father is never overpowered by his commotions, my love,” said I.
”To forsake my happy home!” sobbed Mary Anne, as if her heart was breaking. ”Oh, what an agony to think of!”
”To be sure it is,” said K. I., in the same hard, husky voice; ”but it's what we see done every day. Ask your mother--”
”Don't ask me to justify it,” said I. ”_My_ experiences go all the other way.”
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