“Where’s the difficulty? I’ll go for her this instant,” said Mr. Palmer, who was not a man to let a romance trail on to six volumes for want of going six yards; or for want of somebody’s coming into a room at the right minute for explanation; or from some of those trivial causes by which adepts contrive to delude us at the very moment of expectation. Whilst Mr. Palmer was going for Mrs. Beaumont, Amelia waited in terrible anxiety. The door was open; and as she looked into the gallery which led to her room, she saw Mr. Palmer and her mother as they came along, talking together. Knowing every symptom of suppressed passion in her mother’s countenance, she was quite terrified, by indications which passed unnoticed by Mr. Palmer. As her mother approached, Amelia hid her face in her hands for a moment, but gaining courage from the consciousness of integrity, and from a determination to act openly, she looked up; and, rising with dignity, said, in a gentle but firm voice--“Mother, I hope you will not think that there is any impropriety in my speaking to our friend, Mr. Palmer, with the same openness with which I have always spoken to you?” “My dear child,” interrupted Mrs. Beaumont, embracing Amelia with a sudden change of manner and countenance, “my sweet child, I have tried you to the utmost; forgive me; all your trials now are over, and you must allow me the pleasure of telling our excellent friend, Mr. Palmer, what I know will delight him almost as much as it delights me--that the choice of Amelia’s heart, Mr. Palmer, is worthy of her, just what we all wished.” “Captain Walsingham?” exclaimed Mr. Palmer, with joyful astonishment. “Sit down, my love,” said Mrs. Beaumont, seating Amelia, who, from the surprise at this sudden change in her mother, and from the confusion of feelings which overwhelmed her at this moment, was near fainting: “we are too much for her, I have been too abrupt,” continued Mrs. Beaumont: “Open the window, will you, my good sir? and,” whispering, “let us not say any more to her at present; you see it won’t do.” “I am well, quite well again, now,” said Amelia, exerting herself. “Don’t leave, don’t forsake me, Mr. Palmer; pray don’t go,” holding out her hand to Mr. Palmer. “My dear Amelia,” said Mrs. Beaumont, “don’t talk, don’t exert yourself; pray lie still on the sofa.” “Her colour is come back; she looks like herself again,” said Mr. Palmer, seating himself beside her, regardless of Mrs. Beaumont’s prohibitory looks. “Since my little Amelia wished me to stay, I’ll not go. So, my child--but I won’t hurry you--only want one sign of the head to confirm the truth of what your mother has just told me, for nobody can tell what passes in a young lady’s heart but herself. So then, it is not that sprig of quality, that selfish spendthrift, that Sir John Hunter, who has your heart--hey?” “No, no, no,” answered Amelia; “I never did, I never could like such a man!” “Why, I thought not--I thought it was impossible; but--”