*Perhaps even this faint attempt at self-analysis was due to the influence of Dr. Whately. For, by nature, young ladies of this age seldom turn the eye inward.
“Well, darling, then why have a secret? Why not trust me, your friend as well as your mother?”
“Ah! why, indeed? I am a puzzle to myself. I wanted you to know, and yet I could not tell you. I kept giving you hints, and hoped so you would take them, and make me speak out. But when I tried to tell you plump, something kept pull--pull--pulling me inside, and I couldn't. Mark my words! some day it will turn out that I am neither more nor less than a fool.”
Mrs. Dodd slighted this ingenious solution. She said, after a moment's reflection, that the fault of this misunderstanding lay between the two. “I remember now I have had many hints; my mind must surely have gone to sleep. I was a poor simple woman who thought her daughter was to be always a child. And you were very wrong to go and set a limit to your mother's love: there is none--none whatever.” She added: “I must import a little prudence and respect for the world's opinion into this new connection; but whoever you love shall find no enemy in me.”
Next day Alfred came to know his fate. He was received with ceremonious courtesy. At first he was a good deal embarrassed, but this was no sooner seen than it was relieved by Mrs. Dodd with tact and gentleness. When her turn came, she said, “Your papa? Of course you have communicated this step to him?”
Alfred looked a little confused, and said, “No: he left for London two days ago, as it happens.”
“That is unfortunate,” said Mrs. Dodd. “Your best plan would be to write to him at once. I need hardly tell you that we shall enter no family without an invitation from its head.”
Alfred replied that he was well aware of that, and that he knew his father, and could answer for him. “No doubt,” said Mrs. Dodd, “but, as a matter of reasonable form, I prefer he should answer for himself.” Alfred would write by this post. “It is a mere form,” said he, “for my father has but one answer to his children, 'Please yourselves.' He sometimes adds, 'and how much money shall you want?' These are his two formulae.”
He then delivered a glowing eulogy on his father; and Mrs. Dodd, to whom the boy's character was now a grave and anxious study, saw with no common satisfaction his cheek flush and his eyes moisten as he dwelt on the calm, sober, unvarying affection, and reasonable indulgence he and his sister had met with all their lives from the best of parents. Returning to the topic of topics, he proposed an engagement. “I have a ring in my pocket,” said this brisk wooer, looking down. But this Mrs. Dodd thought premature and unnecessary. “You are nearly of age,” said she, “and then you will be able to marry, if you are in the same mind.” But, upon being warmly pressed, she half conceded even this. “Well,” said she, “on receiving your father's consent, you can _propose_ an engagement to Julia, and she shall use her own judgment; but, until then, you will not even mention such a thing to her. May I count on so much forbearance from you, sir?”