“You won’t do anything to help me then?”

“I will, at any rate, do nothing to mar you.  And, to tell the truth, I must think over the matter fully before I can decide what I had better say to Bell about it.  From her not speaking to me—­”

“I think she ought to have told you.”

“No, Mr Dale.  Had she accepted him, of course she would have told me.  Had she thought of doing so she might probably have consulted me.  But if she made up her mind that she must reject him—­”

“She oughtn’t to have made up her mind.”

“But if she did, it seems natural to me that she should speak of it to no one.  She might probably think that Bernard would be as well pleased that it should not be known.”

“Psha,—­known!—­of course it will be known.  As you want time to consider of it, I will say nothing more now.  If she were my daughter, I should have no hesitation in telling her what I thought best for her welfare.”

“I have none; though I may have some in making up my mind as to what is best for her welfare.  But, Mr Dale, you may be sure of this; I will speak to her very earnestly of your kindness and love for her.  And I wish you would believe that I feel your regard for her very strongly.”

In answer to this he merely shook his head, and hummed and hawed.  “You would be glad to see them married, as regards yourself?” he asked.

“Certainly I would,” said Mrs Dale.  “I have always liked Bernard, and I believe my girl would be safe with him.  But then, you see, it’s a question on which my own likings or dislikings should not have any bearing.”

And so they parted, the squire making his way back again through the drawing-room window.  He was not above half pleased with his interview; but then he was a man for whom half-pleasure almost sufficed.  He rarely indulged any expectation that people would make themselves agreeable to him.  Mrs Dale, since she had come to the Small House, had never been a source of satisfaction to him, but he did not on that account regret that he had brought her there.  He was a constant man; urgent in carrying out his own plans, but not sanguine in doing so, and by no means apt to expect that all things would go smooth with him.  He had made up his mind that his nephew and his niece should be married, and should he ultimately fail in this, such failure would probably embitter his future life;—­but it was not in the nature of the man to be angry in the meantime, or to fume and scold because he met with opposition.  He had told Mrs Dale that he loved Bell dearly.  So he did, though he seldom spoke to her with much show of special regard, and never was soft and tender with her.  But, on the other hand, he did not now love her the less because she opposed his wishes.  He was a constant, undemonstrative man, given rather to brooding than to thinking; harder in his words than in his thoughts, with more of heart than others believed, or than he himself knew; but, above all, he was a man who having once desired a thing would desire it always.