It is, as a matter of course, quite impossible. You
understand that; do you not?' When she did not answer him at
once, he repeated the question. 'I ask you whether you do not feel
that it is altogether impossible?'
'No, papa,' she said, in the lowest possible whisper, but still in
such a whisper that he could hear the word, and with so much
clearness that he could judge from her face the obstinacy of her
mind.
'Then, Mary, it becomes my duty to tell you that it is quite
impossible. I will not have it thought of. There must be an end of
it.'
'Why, papa?'
'Why! I am astonished that you should ask me why.'
'I should not have allowed him, papa, to go to you unless I had,--
unless I had loved him.'
'Then you must conquer your love. It is disgraceful and must be
conquered.'
'Disgraceful!'
'Yes. I am sorry to use such word to my own child, but it is so.
If you will promise to be guided by me in this matter, if you will
undertake not to see him any more, I will,--if not forget it,--at
any rate pardon it, and be silent. I will excuse it because you
were young, and were thrown imprudently in his way.
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