"Cousin Tom," I said, "I am both glad and sorry that you have spoken of
this; and I will tell you the whole truth, which I think perhaps you may
have guessed. The reason why I could not give you advice before was that
I was not sure of my own mind. Well; I am sure of it now; and I wish to
ask my Cousin Dolly, so soon as I see an opportunity to do so, if she
will marry me. But I must say this--that I am going to take no risks. I
shall not ask her so long as I think she will refuse me; and I think, to
tell the truth, that she would not have me if I asked her now."
My Cousin Tom began to speak: but I prevented him.
"One moment," I said, "and you shall say what you will. There is one
reason that comes to my mind which perhaps may explain her
unwillingness; and that is that she may think that she is being thrown
at my head. You have been very kind, Cousin, in allowing me to make this
my home in the country; and I know"--(here I lied vehemently)--"I know
that nothing was further from your thoughts than this. Yet it may seem
so, to a foolish maid who knows nothing of the world. I do not know if
you have ever said anything to her--"
"Why, Cousin--" cried Tom, in such a manner that I knew he was lying
too--"what do you think--"
"Just so," I said; for I did not wish him to lie more than he need; "I
was sure--"
"I may have said a word or two, once or twice," pursued Cousin Tom,
intent on his own exposure--"that she must think soon about getting
married, and so forth. But to say that I have thrown her at your head,
Cousin, is not, I think, a kindly thing--"
"My dear man!" cried I. "I have been saying expressly that I knew you
had done nothing of the sort; but that perhaps Dolly thought so." (This
quieted him a little, for I watched his face.) "So the best way, I
think, is for us all to be quiet for a little and say nothing. You know
now what my own wishes are; and that is enough for you and me. As to
estates, I will make a settlement, if ever the marriage is arranged,
that will satisfy you; but I think we need not trouble about that at
present. I will do my utmost to push my suit; but it must be in my own
way; and that way will be to say nothing at all for a while, but to
establish easy relations with her. She is a little perturbed at present:
I saw that, for I watched her to-night; and unless she can grow quiet
again, all will come to nothing."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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