Grace happened to have a headache next morning, and did not come down to breakfast: but it was Saturday, and Mr. Carden always lunched at home on that day. So did Grace, because it was one of Little's days. This gave Mr. Carden the opportunity he wanted. When they were alone he fixed¹ his eyes on his daughter, and said quietly, “What is your opinion of—a jilt?”  
“A heartless, abominable² creature,” replied Grace, as glibly³ as if she was repeating some familiar catechism.
 
“Would you like to be called one?”
 
“Oh, papa!”
 
“Is there nobody who has the right to apply the term to you?”
 
“I hope not.” (Red.)
 
“You encouraged Mr. Coventry's addresses?”
 
“I am afraid I did not discourage them, as I wish I had. It is so hard to foresee every thing.”
 
“Pray do you remember the fifth day of last December?”
 
“Can I ever forget it?” (Redder.)
 
“Is it true that Mr. Coventry proposed for you, that day?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“And you accepted him.”
 
“No; no. Then he has told you so? How ungenerous! All I did was, I hesitated, and cried, and didn't say 'no,' downright—like a fool. Oh, papa, have pity on me, and save me.” And now she was pale.
 
Mr. Carden's paternal⁴ heart was touched by this appeal, but he was determined⁵ to know the whole truth. “You could love him, in time, I suppose?”
 
“Never.”
 
“Why?”
 
“Because—”
 
“Now tell me the truth. Have you another attachment⁶?”
 
“Yes, dear papa.” (In a whisper and as red as fire.)
 
“Somebody of whom you are not proud.”
 
“I AM proud of him. He is Mr. Coventry's superior. He is everybody's superior in everything in the world.”
 
“No, Grace, you can hardly be proud of your attachment; if you had been, you would not have hidden it all this time from your father.” And Mr. Carden sighed.
 
Grace burst out crying, and flung herself on her knees and clung, sobbing⁷, to him.
 
“There, there,” said he, “I don't want to reproach you; but to advise you.”
 
“Oh, papa! Take and kill me. Do: I want to die.”
 
“Foolish child! Be calm now; and let us talk sense.”
 
At this moment there was a peculiar⁸ ring at the door, a ring not violent, but vigorous.
 
Grace started and looked terrified: “Papa!” said she, “say what you like to me, but do not affront⁹ HIM; for you might just as well take that knife and stab your daughter to the heart. I love him so. Have pity on me.”
 
The servant announced “Mr. Little!”
 
Grace started up, and stood with her hand gripping the chair; her cheek was pale, and her eyes glittered; she looked wild, and evidently strained up to defend her lover.
 
All this did not escape Mr. Carden. He said gently, “Show him into the library.” Then to Grace as soon as the servant had retired¹⁰, “Come here, my child.”
 
She knelt at his knees again, and turned her imploring¹¹, streaming eyes up to him.
 
“Is it really so serious as all this?”
 
“Papa, words cannot tell you how I love. But if you affront him, and he leaves me, you will see how I love him; you will know, by my grave-side, how I love him.”
 
“Then I suppose I must swallow my disappointment how I can.”
 
“It shall be no disappointment; he will do you honor and me too.”
 
“But he can't make a settlement on his wife, and no man shall marry my daughter till he can do that.”
 
“We can wait,” said Grace, humbly¹².
 
“Yes, wait—till you and your love are both worn out.”
 
“I shall wear out before my love.”
 
Mr. Carden looked at her, as she knelt before him, and his heart was very much softened¹³. “Will you listen to reason at all?” said he.
 
“From you, I will, dear papa.” She added, swiftly, “and then you will listen to affection, will you not?”
 
“Yes. Promise me there shall be no formal engagement, and I will let him come now and then.”
 
This proposal, though not very pleasant, relieved Grace of such terrible fears, that she consented eagerly.
 
Mr. Carden then kissed her, and rose, to go to young Little; but, before he had taken three steps, she caught him by the arm, and said, imploringly¹⁴, “Pray remember while you are speaking to him that you would not have me to bestow¹⁵ on any man but for him; for he saved my life, and Mr. Coventry's too. Mr. Coventry forgets that: but don't you: and, if you wound him, you wound me; he carries my heart in his <............