Mr. Palmer still sat bending forward to listen with the most composed deference, but pressed not in the slightest degree upon her confidence by any question or look down towards the letter, or up towards the lady’s face, but straightforward looked he, till, quite provoked by his dulness, Mrs. Beaumont took the matter up again, and, in a new tone, said, “To be candid with you, my dear friend, this is a subject on which I feel some awkwardness and reluctance in speaking to you--for of all men breathing, I should in any important action of my life wish for your approbation; and yet, on the present occasion, I fear, and so does Sir John, that you will utterly disapprove of the match.” She paused again, to be asked--What match? But compelled by her auditor’s invincible silence to make out her own case, she proceeded: “You must know, my good sir, that Sir John Hunter is, it seems, unconquerably bent upon a connexion with this family; for being refused by the daughter, he has proposed for the mother!” “Yes,” said Mr. Palmer, bowing. “I thought you would have been more surprised,” said Mrs. Beaumont: “I am glad the first sound of the thing does not, as I was afraid it would, startle or revolt you.” “Startle me, it could not, madam,” said Mr. Palmer, “for I have been prepared for it some time past.” “Is it possible? And who could have mentioned it to you--Captain Lightbody?” “Captain Lightbody!” cried Mr. Palmer, with a sudden flash of indignation: “believe me, madam, I never thought of speaking to Captain Lightbody of your affairs, I am not in the habit of listening to such people.” “But still, he might have spoken.” “No, madam, no; he would not have dared to bring me secret information.” “Honourable! quite honourable! But then, my dear sir, how came you to know the thing?” “I saw it. You know, madam, those who stand by always see more than the players.” “And do you think my son and daughter, and Captain Walsingham, know it too?” “I fancy not; for they have not been standers by: they have been deeply engaged themselves.” “That’s well--for I wished to have your opinion and advice in the first place, before I hinted it even to them, or any one else living. As I feared the match would not meet your approbation, I told Sir John so, and I gave him only a provisional consent.” “Like the provisional consent of that young Irish lady,” said Mr. Palmer, laughing, “who went through the marriage service with her lover, adding at the end of each response, ‘provided my father gives his consent.’[7] But, madam, though I am old enough certainly to be your father, yet even if I had the honour to be so in reality, as you are arrived at years of discretion, you know you cannot need my consent.” “But seriously, my excellent friend,” cried she, “I never could be happy in marrying against your approbation. And let me, in my own vindication, explain to you the whole of the affair.”