d his daughter, and was very vehement in her
arguments against the marriage.

'Your fears, madam,' said Dodbury calmly, 'are at least premature.
However passionately your son may express himself in reference to my
daughter, she, I know, feels what is due to herself, as well as to Mr
and Mrs Hardman. She would never consent to become a member of a
family in which she would not be cordially received. Besides, I have
yet to learn that she reciprocates the attachment which you say Mr
Herbert evinces for her.'

The correct light in which Dodbury thus considered the matter, induced
Mrs Hardman to change her policy. After complimenting the lawyer and
Catherine for their honourable forbearance, she went on to say that
she unhappily had but little influence over her son. 'Would _you_,
therefore, endeavour to point out to him the folly of his persistence
in following a young lady whom he can never marry?' Dodbury promised
to do so, and the lady departed so well pleased with the interview,
that she wrote to Lady Elizabeth Plympton, inviting her to spend the
ensuing month at Coote-down.

That day, after hearing the most favourable report of Catherine's
recovery which had yet been made, Dodbury invited Herbert to dine
with him. After the cloth was removed, the subject of the morning's
conversation with Mrs Hardman was introduced. Herbert stammered and
blushed: he was not prepared to talk about it just then, and endeavoured
to change the topic more than once; but Dodbury kept to the point, till
Herbert owned, in fervent and glowing words, that Catherine had
completely won his heart, and that he would rather die than be forced
into a match with another woman.

'All which,' replied the matter-of-fact man of parchment, 'is very
spirited and romantic, no doubt. But let us look at the affair with
calm and clear eyes. You profess to love my child with strong and
unquenchable passion?'

'Profess! Do you doubt me?'

'I do not doubt that you are perfectly in earnest _now_; but my
knowledge of mankind forbids my putting much faith in the endurance of
the sort of feeling with which you profess--I cannot give up the word,
you see--to be inspired. My child, so says the world, is
beautiful--very beautiful. Yours may be a mere passion for her
beauty.'

'You wrong me,' replied the young man; 'I have known and admired her
long enough to appreciate her intrinsic worth. Her image is as dear to
me as my own life'

Dodbury bent on his young f