What was
more natural than that this inn-keeper's daughter should be engaged to
marry her father's friend--a man apparently well-to-do, and with a
prospect of doing better? What could be more unreasonable than for Mr.
Richard Yorke, a young gentleman whose only hope in life was to marry a
girl--or an old woman, for that matter--with a good fortune, to be
irritated at such intelligence, especially after an acquaintance with
this "Miss Harry" of about three hours at most? After a minute or two of
reflection the idea seemed to strike even himself in the same light; for
he gave a short sharp laugh, and said what a fool he was, and then lit
his pipe. Even tobacco, however, that balm of hurt minds, did not
altogether soothe him. He could think of nothing but this young girl,
whose beauty had bewitched him, and to whose courage and presence of
mind he owed his life. He had sworn to himself--and there was no
necessity to repeat it--that he meant her no harm. Indeed, it would not
be less than she deserved to ask her to be his wife. Perhaps, if this
mine, in which her father had a share, should turn out well, she would
not be so bad a match, even in point of money; but to this he did not
attach much importance. He was indulging in a dream, which he fondly
imagined was unselfish and honorable to himself in a high degree.
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