“I know he did, madam, and perhaps I ought to have vindicated our common human nature, and told him, as I tell you now, that there is no such thing in God’s universe as low birth, that every child comes into His world with equal claim upon His people; perhaps it was my duty to have told him this, only I am always a coward before Major Clifton, and never can say the right thing at the right time to _him_, as I can to others.” “You love him! That is the reason! And you are a fool if you do not know it, or a hypocrite if, knowing it, you deny it. But he _despises_ your love! He said to you, himself, that no _gentleman_ would be likely to be a suitor for your hand!” “I know he did, lady. His care for me makes him say rough, blunt things sometimes. I can bear them from him.” “You love him! Deny it, if you dare! But you are an idiot! an idiot! if you do not take _his hint_ to conquer that passion! He said it was not likely that any gentleman would ever become a suitor for your hand! _he_ is a gentleman—therefore he can never stoop to _you_! You do not answer me! Do you, perchance, deceive yourself with the idea that he ever will?” “Lady—_no_, I do not deceive myself with the idea that he will ever ‘stoop’ to marry me. The woman that Major Clifton shall marry, if he ever marries, will be quite worthy of him, and that will preclude the idea of his ‘stooping’ to her.” “And that woman will not be _you_, presumptuous girl. Do you dare to hope it will? Speak! Answer me!” “Lady!” said Catherine, in a tone of grave and dignified rebuke, “considering the recent bereavement of Major Clifton, the discussion into which you have drawn me is indelicate, to use no harsher term!” “‘Recent!’ It is of five months’ standing! You evade my question! You evade _all_ my questions! I asked you if you loved him! Answer me!” “Lady! long ago my heart became too unruly for my own management, and I gave it, with all its desires and affections, to God. I love nothing out of Him!” “And do you expect Archer Clifton will ever marry you? Answer that!” “Madam, I expect nothing.” “Do you hope it, then?” “Lady, I hope nothing.” “You prevaricate, girl! Do you _wish_ it then?” “Madam, I only wish that God may appoint all times, seasons and events in my life—making me humble, generous and grateful in prosperity, if it comes; and strong, courageous and patient in adversity, if, as is most likely, _that_ comes!” “Humph—would it make you happy to be the wife of Archer Clifton?” “Mrs. Clifton, you have no right to ask me that question!” “Yet I _do_ ask you, and I insist upon a reply!” “And I decline giving it.”