As to my father, he was certainly vexed and put out at first. But day
by day my lady-love won more and more of his heart. One evening, a
week later, he disappeared mysteriously after dinner, and then
returned to the dining-room, carrying some old morocco cases.
"My dear boy," he said, in an almost faltering voice, "I never dared
to hope my dear wife's diamonds would be so worthily worn by yours.
Your choice has made an old man very happy, sir. For a thoroughly
high-bred tone, for intelligence, indeed, I may say, brilliancy of
mind, and for every womanly grace and virtue, I have seen no one to
approach her since your mother's death. I should have loved little
Polly very much, but your choice has been a higher one--more
refined--more refined. For, strictly between ourselves, my dear boy,
our dear little Polly has, now and then, just a thought too much of
your Aunt Maria about her."
The Rector and Maria were made happy. My father "carried it through,"
by my desire. Uncle Ascott was delighted, and became a benefactor to
the parish; but it took Aunt Maria some years to forget that the
patronised curate had scorned the wife she had provided for him, only
to marry her own daughter.
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