Instantly Mary became antagonistic. She pretended not to understand; she asked for reasons and explanations. Finally, she announced in idle words, beneath which ran a current of determination, that neither her father nor Morris could really wish this hurried marriage, since had they done so one or other of them would have spoken to her on the subject. When pressed, she intimated very politely, but in language whereof the meaning could hardly be mistaken, that she held this fixing of the date to be peculiarly her own privilege; and when still further pressed said plainly that she considered her father too ill for her to think of being married at present. “But they both desire it,” expostulated the Colonel. “They have not told me so,” Mary answered, setting her red lips. “If that is all, they will tell you so soon enough, my dear girl.” “Perhaps, uncle, after they have been directed to do so, but that is not quite the same thing.” The Colonel saw that he had made a mistake, and too late changed his tactics. “You see, Mary, your father’s state of health is precarious; he might grow worse.” She tapped her foot upon the ground. Of these allusions to the possible, and, indeed, the certain end of her beloved father’s illness, she had a kind of horror. “In that event, that dreadful event,” she answered, “he will need me, my whole time and care to nurse him. These I might not be able to give if I were already married. I love Morris very dearly. I am his for whatever I may be worth; but I was my father’s before Morris came into my life, and he has the first claim upon me.” “What, then, do you propose?” asked the Colonel curtly, for opposition and argument bred no meekness in his somewhat arbitrary breast. “To be married on New Year’s Day, wherever we are, if Morris wishes it and the state of my father’s health makes it convenient. If not, Uncle Richard, to wait till a more fitting season.” Then she rose—for this conversation took place at Seaview—saying that it was time she should give her father his medicine. Thus the project of an early marriage fell through; for, having once been driven into announcing her decision in terms so open and unmistakable, Mary would not go back on her word. Morris, who was much disappointed, pleaded with her. Her father also spoke upon the subject, but though the voice was the voice of Mr. Porson, the arguments, she perceived, were the arguments of Colonel Monk. Therefore she hardened her heart and put the matter by, refusing, indeed, to discuss it at any length. Yet—and it is not the first time that a woman has allowed her whims to prevail over her secret wishes—in truth she desired nothing more than to be married to Morris so soon as it was his will to take her.