He kissed her, and parting her hair, looked with parental fondness at her white brow, and her deep clear eyes.

“You shall never leave me, for the worse,” said he:  “but you are sure to marry some day, and therefore it is my duty to look favorably on a downright good match.  Well, my dear, such a match offers itself.  I have a proposal for you.”

“I am sorry to hear it.”

“Wait till you hear who it is.  It is Mr. Coventry, of Bollinghope.”

Grace sighed, and looked very uncomfortable.

“Why, what is the matter? you always used to like him.”

“So I do now; but not for a husband.”

“I see no one to whom I could resign you so willingly.  He is well born and connected, has a good estate, not too far from your poor father.”

“Dear papa!”

“He speaks pure English:  now these Hillsborough manufacturers, with their provincial twang, are hardly presentable in London society.”

“Dear papa, Mr. Coventry is an accomplished gentleman, who has done me the highest honor he can.  You must decline him very politely:  but, between ourselves, I am a little angry with him, because he knows I do not love him; and I am afraid he has made this offer to you, thinking you might be tempted to constrain my affections:  but you won’t do that, my own papa, will you? you will not make your child unhappy, who loves you?”

“No, no.  I will never let you make an imprudent match; but I won’t force you into a good one.”

“And you know I shall never marry without your consent, papa.  But I’m only nineteen, and I don’t want to be driven away to Bollinghope.”

“And I’m sure I don’t want to drive you away anywhere.  Mine will be a dull, miserable home without you.  Only please tell me what to say to him.”

“Oh, I leave that to you.  I have often admired the way you soften your refusals.  ’Le seigneur Jupiter sait dorer la pillule’—­there, that’s Moliere.”

“Well, I suppose I must say—­”

“Let me see what he says first.”

She scanned the letter closely, to see whether there was any thing that could point to Henry Little.  But there was not a word to indicate he feared a rival, though the letter was any thing but presumptuous.

Then Grace coaxed her father, and told him she feared her inexperience had made her indiscreet.  She had liked Mr. Coventry’s conversation, and perhaps had, inadvertently, given him more encouragement than she intended:  would he be a good, kind papa, and get her out of the scrape, as creditably as he could?  She relied on his superior wisdom.  So then he kissed her, and said he would do his best.

He wrote a kind, smooth letter, gilding and double-gilding the pill.  He said, amongst the rest, that there appeared to be no ground of refusal, except a strong disinclination to enter the wedded state.  “I believe there is no one she likes as well as you; and, as for myself, I know no gentleman to whom I would so gladly confide my daughter’s happiness,” etc., etc.