Sir, I am afraid I have done an unjustifiable thing. [My conscience then first smote me, with a conviction that what I had persuaded myself was a defensible artifice was neither more nor less than a direct falsehood; which of all crimes, you know, I think one of the most mean, hateful, and pernicious. The just confusion I felt had nearly ruined my cause.] Why!--What!--What do you mean?--Where is your aunt? She is not here, sir. It was I who wished to speak to you. You! And send in your aunt's name? My name is Wenbourne, sir. Your name is St. Ives, miss. I feel, sir, how exceedingly culpable I am; and perhaps do not deserve that you should pardon me. [My father began to suspect the reason of my wishing to speak with him, and did not know whether good nature or ill would serve his cause the best. I perceived him cast an eye toward the door.] This is extraordinary!--Very extraordinary, upon my soul! [I saw it was time to recover my spirits.] I have heard something which I scarcely can believe to be true, sir. What have you heard? What have you heard? That you are going back to Wenbourne-Hill. Well, what then? And that you do not intend we should visit France. Who told you so? The servants have orders to that effect. The servants are a parcel of busy blockheads! What can have occasioned you, sir, to change your opinion so suddenly? My affairs. [He looked again toward the door, but he felt it was too late; and that he must now either defend or abandon his cause.] The journey will be too expensive. If, sir, the journey would in the least embarrass your affairs, and if I did not daily see you entering into expences so infinitely greater than this, I would not answer a word to such an argument. I think it my duty to be as careful of your property as you yourself could be; and for that reason have often wished I could prevail on you, in some measure, to alter your plans. I have no doubt, miss, of your prodigious wisdom; you remind me of it daily. Your plans to be sure would, as you say, be infinitely better than mine. When you are married, or I am dead, you may do as you please; but, in the mean time, suffer me to act for myself. I do not choose to be under tutelage. I am sorry, my dear papa, to see that I offend you; but indeed I mean the very reverse. Indeed I do! It is my zeal for your interest, my love of you, [I ventured to take his hand] that oblige me to speak-- And plainly to tell me you do not approve of my proceedings! Plainly to tell you the truth, because I believe it to be my duty. Upon my word! A very dutiful daughter! I thought the duty of children was to obey the wills of their parents. Obedience--[Pardon my sincerity, sir.]--Obedience must have limits. Children should love and honour their parents for their virtues, and should cheerfully and zealously do whatever they require of them, which is not in itself wrong. Of which _children_ are to judge? Yes, sir: of which children are to judge.