“Young Roberts--his father and myself have had the matter for some time in deliberation. But do not speak of it, Edward--my confidence in you, alone, induces me to state this fact.” “I am very much obliged to you, sir;--but you do not surely mean to force young Roberts upon Julia, if she is unwilling?” “Ah, she will not be unwilling. She's a dutiful child, who will readily recognise the desires of her parents as the truest wisdom.” “But, Mr. Clifford--you forget that Julia has already admitted to me a preference--” “So you tell me, Edward, and it is with regret that I feel myself compelled to say that I wholly disapprove of your seeking my daughter's consent, before you first thought proper to obtain mine. This seems to me very muck like an abuse of confidence.” “Really, sir, you surprise me more than ever. Now that you force me to speak, let me say that, regarding myself as of blood scarcely inferior to that of my cousin, I can not see how the privilege of which I availed myself in proposing for her hand, can be construed into a breach of confidence. I trust, sir, that you have not contemplated your brother's son in any degrading or unbecoming attitude.” “No, no, surely not, Edward; but mere equality of birth does not constitute a just claim, by itself, to the affections of a lady.” “I trust the equality of birth, sir, is not impaired on my part by misconduct--by a want of industry, capacity--by inequalities in other respects--” “And talents!” He finished the sentence with the ancient sneer. But I was now a man--a strong one, and, at this moment particularly a stern one. “Stop, sir,” I retorted; “there must be an end to this. Whether you accede to my application or not, sir, there is nothing to justify you in an attempt to goad and mortify my feelings. I have proffered to you a respectful application for the hand of of your daughter, and though I were poorer, and humbler, and less worthy in all respects than I am, I should still be entitled to respectful treatment. At another time, with my sensibilities less deeply interested than they are, I should probably submit, as I have already frequently submitted, to the unkind and ungenerous sarcasms in which you have permitted yourself to indulge at my expense. But my regard for your daughter alone would prompt me to resent and repel them now. The object of my interview with you is quite too sacred--too solemnly invested--to suffer me to stand silently under the scornful usage even of her father.”