The Parson O' Dumford

“No, no, Dick dear. Don’t ask me. Let me tell father all about it.”

“What?” he cried.

“Let me tell father all about it, and I’m sure he’ll be pleased.”

“My dear little Daisy, how well you are named,” he cried, playfully; and as he looked lovingly down upon her, the foolish girl began to compare him with the lover of her mother’s choice – a man who was nearly always blackened with his labours, and heavy and rough spoken, while here was Richard Glaire professing that he worshipped her, and looking, in her eyes, so handsome in his fashionably-cut blue coat with the rosebud in the button-hole, and wearing patent leather boots as tight as the lemon gloves upon his well-formed hands.

“I can’t help my name,” she said, coquettishly.

“I wouldn’t have it changed for the world, my little pet,” he whispered, playing with her dimpled chin; “only you are as fresh as a daisy.”

“What do you mean, Dick?” she said, nestling to him.

“Why you are so young and innocent. Look here, my darling: don’t you see how I’m placed? My mother wants me to marry Eve.”

“But you don’t really, really, really, care the least little bit for her, do you, Mr Richard?”

“‘Mr Richard!’” reproachfully.

“Dear Dick, then,” she whispered, colouring up, and glancing fondly at him, half ashamed though the while at her boldness.

“Of course I don’t love her. Haven’t I sworn a hundred times that I love only you, and that I want you to be my darling little wife?”

“Yes, yes,” said the girl, softly.

“Well, then, my darling, if you go and tell your father, the first thing he’ll do will be to go and tell my mother, and then there’ll be no end of a row.”

“But she loves you very much, Dick.”

“Worships me,” said Dick, complacently.

“Of course,” said the girl, softly; and her foolish little eyes seemed to say, “She couldn’t help it,” while she continued, “and she’d let you do as you like, Dick.”

“Well, but you see the devil of it is, Daisy, that I promised her I wouldn’t see you any more.”

“Why did you do that?” said the girl, sharply.

“To save rows – I hate a bother.”

“Richard, you were ashamed of me, and wouldn’t own me,” said Daisy, bursting into tears.

“Oh, what a silly, hard-hearted, cruel little blossom it is,” said Richard, trying to console her, but only to be pushed away. “All I did and said was to save bother, and not upset the old girl. That’s why I want it all kept quiet. Here, as I tell you, I could be waiting for you over at Chorley, we could pop into the mail as it came through, off up to London, be married by licence, and then the old folks would be in a bit of a temper for a week, and as pleased as Punch afterwards.”

“Oh, no, Richard, I couldn’t, couldn’t do that,” said the girl, panting with excitement.

“Yes, you could,” he said, “and come back after a trip to Paris, eh, Daisy? where you should have the run of the fashions. What would they all say when you came back a regular lady, and I took you to the house?”

“Oh, Dick, dear Dick, don’t ask me,” moaned the poor girl, whose young head was in a whirl. “I couldn’t – indeed I couldn’t be so wicked.”

“So wicked! no, of course not,” said Richard, derisively – “a wicked little creature. Oh, dear, what would become of you if you married Richard Glaire!”

“You’re teasing me,” she said, “and it’s very cruel of you.”

“Horribly,” said Richard. “But you will come, Daisy?”

“I couldn’t, I couldn’t,” faltered the girl.

“Yes, you could, you little goose.”

“Dick, my own handsome, brave Dick,” she whispered, “let me tell father.”

He drew back from her coldly.

“You want to be very obedient, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes, dear Richard,” she said, looking at him appealingly.

“You set such a good example, Daisy, that I must be very good too.”

“Yes, dear,” she said, innocently.

“Yes,” he said, with a sneer; “so you go and tell your father like a good little child, and I’ll be a good boy, too, and go and tell my mother, and she’ll scold me and say I’ve been very naughty, and make me marry Eve.”

“Oh, Richard, Richard, how can you be so cruel?” cried the poor girl, reproachfully.

“It isn’t I; it’s you,” he said, smiling with satisfaction as he saw what a plaything the girl’s heart was in his hands. “Are you going to tell your father?”

“Oh, no, Dick, not if you say I mustn’t.”

“Well, that’s what I do say,” he exclaimed sharply.

“Very well, Dick,” she said, sadly.

“And look here, Daisy, my own little one,” he whispered, kissing her tear-wet face, “some day, when I ask you, it shall be as I say, eh?”

“Oh, Dick, darling, I’ll do anything you wish but that. Don’t ask me to run away.”

“Do you want to break off our match?” he said, bitterly.

“Oh, no – no: – no – no.”

“Do you want to make my home miserable?”

“You know I don’t, Richard.”

“Because, I tell you I know my mother will never consent to it unless she is forced.”

“But you are your own master now, Richard,” she pleaded.