‘I thought,’ said she, after seating herself at the tea-table, ‘that my cousin would have stopped to-night; but I understand he has gone away.’

‘Perhaps,’ replied her father, ‘had you requested him, he might have stayed!’

‘I don’t think he would for me,’ was her answer.—‘He does not appear particularly satisfied when I attempt to interfere with any of his proceedings.’

‘Then you do sometimes attempt to interfere?’ said her father, somewhat surprised at the observation, and not suspecting that she had heard one word of what had passed, every syllable of which was carefully stored in the treasury of her bosom.

The young lady perceived that she was proceeding a little too quickly, and drew in her horns.

‘All,’ said she, ‘that I meant to remark was, that he is not very tractable, which I regret;’ and she contrived to give a sigh.

‘Why should you regret it so particularly?’ inquired her father, a little struck at the peculiar accent with which she had expressed herself.

‘I cannot tell,’ was her adroit reply; and then she added, in a brisker tone,—‘But I wonder what business I have to trouble myself about him?’

For some time her father made no return to this; but, pushing back his chair from the tea-table till he had reached the chimney-corner, he leant his elbow on the mantelpiece, and appeared for several minutes in a state of profound abstraction. In the meantime, Mrs. Walkinshaw had continued the conversation with her daughter, observing to her that she did, indeed, think her cousin must be a very headstrong lad; for he had spoken that night to her father in such a manner as had not only astonished but distressed him. ‘However,’ said she,—‘he is still a mere boy; and, I doubt not, will, before long is past, think better of what his uncle has been telling him.’

‘I am extremely sorry,’ replied Robina, with the very voice of the most artless sympathy, though, perhaps, a little more accentuated than simplicity would have employed—‘I am very sorry, indeed, that any difference has arisen between him and my father. I am sure I have always heard him spoken of as an amiable and very deserving young man. I trust it is of no particular consequence.’

‘It is of the utmost consequence,’ interposed her father; ‘and it is of more to you than to any other besides.’

‘To me, Sir! how is that possible?—What have I to do with him, or he with me? I am sure, except in being more deficient in his civilities than those of most of my acquaintance, I have had no occasion to remark anything particular in his behaviour or conduct towards me.’

‘I know it—I know it,’ exclaimed her father; ‘and therein lies the source of all my anxiety.’

‘I fear that I do not rightly understand you,’ said the cunning girl.

‘Nor do I almost wish that you ever should; but, nevertheless, my heart is so intent on the business, that I think, were you to second my endeavours, the scheme might be accomplished.’

‘The scheme?—What scheme?’ replied the most unaffected Robina.

‘In a word, child,’ said her father, ‘how would you like James as a husband?’

‘How can I tell?’ was her simple answer. ‘He has never given me any reason to think on the subject.’

‘You cannot, however, but long have seen that it was with me a favourite object?’

‘I confess it;—and, perhaps, I have myself,’ she said, with a second sigh—‘thought more of it than I ought to have done; but I have never had any encouragement from him.’

‘How unhappy am I,’ thought her father to himself—‘The poor thing is as much disposed to the match as my heart could hope for.—Surely, surely, by a little address and perseverance, the romantic boy may be brought to reason and to reflect;’ and he then said to her—‘My dear Robina, you have been the subject of my conversation with James this evening; but I am grieved to say, that his sentiments, at present, are neither favourable to your wishes nor to mine.—He seems enchanted by Mrs. Eadie’s relation, and talked so much nonsense on the subject that we almost quarrelled.’

‘I shall never accept of a divided heart,’ said the young lady despondingly; ‘and I entreat, my dear father, that you will never take another step in the business; for, as long as I can recollect, he has viewed me with eyes of aversion—and in all that time he has been the playmate, and the lover, perhaps, of Ellen Frazer.—Again I implore you to abandon every idea of promoting a union between him and me: It can never take place on his part but from the most sordid considerations of interest; nor on mine without feeling that I have been but as a bale bargained for.’

Her father listened with attention to what she said—it appeared reasonable—it was spirited; but there was something, nevertheless, in it which did not quite satisfy his mind, though the sense was clear and complete.

‘Of course,’ he replied, guardedly; ‘I should never require you to bestow your hand where you had not already given your affections; but it does not follow that because the headstrong boy is at this time taken up with Miss Frazer, that he is always to remain of the same mind. On the contrary, Robina, were you to exert a little address, I am sure you would soon draw him from that unfortunate attachment.’

‘What woman,’ said she, with an air of supreme dignity, ‘would submit to pilfer the betrothed affections of any man? No, sir, I cannot do that—nor ought I; and pardon me when I use the expression, nor will I. Had my cousin made himself more agreeable to me, I do not say that such would have been my sentiments; but having seen nothing in his behaviour that can lead me to hope from him anything but the same constancy in his dislike which I have ever experienced, I should think myself base, indeed, were I to allow you to expect that I may alter my opinion.’

Nothing further passed at that time; for to leave the impression which she intended to produce as strong as possible, she immediately rose and left the room. Her father soon after also quitted his seat, and after taking two or three turns across the floor, went to his own apartment.

‘I am the most unfortunate of men,’ said he to himself, ‘and my poor Robina is no less frustrated in her affections. I cannot, however, believe that the boy is so entirely destitute of prudence as not to think of what I have told him. I must give him time. Old heads do not grow on young shoulders. But it never occurred to me that Robina was attached to him; on the contrary, I have always thought that the distaste was stronger on her part than on his. But it is of no use to vex myself on the subject. Let me rest satisfied to-night with having ascertained that at least on Robina’s part there is no objection to the match. My endeavours hereafter must be directed to detach James from the girl Frazer. It will, however, be no easy task, for he is ardent and enthusiastic, and she has undoubtedly many of those graces which readiest find favour in a young man’s eye.’

He then hastily rose, and hurriedly paced the room.

‘Why am I cursed,’ he exclaimed, ‘with this joyless and barren fate? Were Robina a son, all my anxieties would be hushed; but with her my interest in the estate of my ancestors terminates. Her mother, however, may yet’—and he paused. ‘It is very weak,’ he added in a moment after, ‘to indulge in these reflections. I have a plain task before me, and instead of speculating on hopes and chances, I ought to set earnestly about it, and leave no stone unturned till I have performed it thoroughly.’

With this he composed his mind for the remainder of the evening, and when he again joined Robina and her mother, the conversation by all parties was studiously directed to indifferent topics.