"What I want to know is this;--are you prepared to marry Lawrence
Twentyman?" To this question, as Mary could not give a favourable
answer, she thought it best to make none at all. "There is a man as
has got a house fit for any woman, and means to keep it; who can
give a young woman everything that she ought to want;--and a
handsome fellow too, with some life in him; one who really dotes on
you,--as men don't often do on young women now as far as I can see.
I wonder what it is you would have?"
"I want nothing, mamma."
"Yes you do. You have been reading books of poetry till you don't
know what it is you do want. You've got your head full of claptraps
and tantrums till you haven't a grain of sense belonging to you. I
hate such ways. It's a spurning of the gifts of Providence not to
have such a man as Lawrence Twentyman when he comes in your way.
Who are you, I wonder, that you shouldn't be contented with such as
him? He'll go and take some one else and then you'll be fit to
break your heart, fretting after him, and I shan't pity you a bit.
It'll serve you right and you'll die an old maid, and what there
will be for you to live upon God in heaven only knows. You're
breaking your father's heart, as it is." Then she sat down in a
rocking-chair and throwing her apron over her eyes gave herself up
to a deluge of hysterical tears.
Pages:
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265