` But, Helen! How many such men do you expect to meet with in the world? Upright, honourable, sensible, sober, respectable!--Is this such an everyday 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 il 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--'
`But I have thoughts of it.'
`Or that you desire a further acquaintance.'
`But I don't desire a further acquaintance--quite the contrary.'
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.