Mr. Carden had seen the proposal coming this year and more; so he was not surprised; but he was gratified. The letter was put into his hand while he was dressing for dinner. Of course he did not open the subject before the servants: but, as soon as they had retired, he said, “Grace, I want your attention on a matter of importance.” Grace stared a little, but said faintly, “Yes, papa,” and all manner of vague maidenly misgivings crowded through her brain. “My child, you are my only one, and the joy of the house; and need I say I shall feel your loss bitterly whenever your time comes to leave me?” “Then I never will leave you,” cried Grace, and came and wreathed her arms round his neck. He kissed her, and parting her hair, looked with parental fondness at her white brow, and her deep clear eyes. “You shall never leave me, for the worse,” said he: “but you are sure to marry some day, and therefore it is my duty to look favorably on a downright good match. Well, my dear, such a match offers itself. I have a proposal for you.” “I am sorry to hear it.” “Wait till you hear who it is. It is Mr. Coventry, of Bollinghope.” Grace sighed, and looked very uncomfortable. “Why, what is the matter? you always used to like him.” “So I do now; but not for a husband.” “I see no one to whom I could resign you so willingly. He is well born and connected, has a good estate, not too far from your poor father.” “Dear papa!” “He speaks pure English: now these Hillsborough manufacturers, with their provincial twang, are hardly presentable in London society.” “Dear papa, Mr. Coventry is an accomplished gentleman, who has done me the highest honor he can. You must decline him very politely: but, between ourselves, I am a little angry with him, because he knows I do not love him; and I am afraid he has made this offer to YOU, thinking you might be tempted to constrain my affections: but you won't do that, my own papa, will you? you will not make your child unhappy, who loves you?” “No, no. I will never let you make an imprudent match; but I won't force you into a good one.” “And you know I shall never marry without your consent, papa. But I'm only nineteen, and I don't want to be driven away to Bollinghope.” “And I'm sure I don't want to drive you away anywhere. Mine will be a dull, miserable home without you. Only please tell me what to say to him.” “Oh, I leave that to you. I have often admired the way you soften your refusals. 'Le seigneur Jupiter sait dorer la pillule'--there, that's Moliere.” “Well, I suppose I must say--” “Let me see what HE says first.” She scanned the letter closely, to see whether there was any thing that could point to Henry Little. But there was not a word to indicate he feared a rival, though the letter was any thing but presumptuous.