Dearest Priscilla,
I do so wish that you could be with me, so that I
could talk to you again. Aunt Stanbury is the
most affectionate and kindest friend in the world;
but she has always been so able to have her own way,
because she is both clever and good, that I find myself
almost like a baby with her. She has been talking
to me again about Mr Gibson; and it seems that Mr
Gibson really does mean it. It is certainly very
strange; but I do think now that it is true.
He is to come on Friday. It seems very odd that
it should all be settled for him in that way; but then
Aunt Stanbury is so clever at settling things!
He sat next to me almost all the evening yesterday
but he didn’t say anything about it, except
that he hoped I agreed with him about going to church,
and all that. I suppose I do; and I am quite sure
that if I were to be a clergyman’s wife, I should
endeavour to do whatever my husband thought right
about religion. One ought to try to do so, even
if the clergyman is not one’s husband. Mr
Burgess has come, and he was so very amusing all the
evening, that perhaps that was the reason Mr Gibson
said so little. Mr Burgess is a very nice man,
and I think Aunt Stanbury is more fond of him than
of anybody. He is not at all the sort of person
that I expected.
But if Mr Gibson does come on Friday, and do really
mean it, what am I to say to him? Aunt Stanbury
will be very angry if I do not take her advice.
I am quite sure that she intends it all for my happiness;
and then, of course, she knows so much more about
the world than I do. She asks me what it is that
I expect. Of course, I do not expect anything.
It is a great compliment from Mr Gibson, who is a clergyman,
and thought well of by everybody. And nothing
could be more respectable. Aunt Stanbury says
that with the money she would give us we should be
quite comfortable; and she wants us to live in this
house. She says that there are thirty girls round
Exeter who would give their eyes for such a chance;
and, looking at it in that light, of course, it is
a very great thing for me. Only think how poor
we have been! And then, dear Priscilla, perhaps
he would let me be good to you and dear mamma!
But, of course, he will ask me whether I love him;
and what am I to say? Aunt Stanbury says that
I am to love him. “Begin to love him at
once,” she said this morning. I would if
I could, partly for her sake, and because I do feel
that it would be so respectable. When I think
of it, it does seem such a pity that poor I should
throw away such a chance. And I must say that
Mr Gibson is very good, and most obliging; and everybody
says that he has an excellent temper, and that he is
a most prudent, well-dispositioned man. I declare,
dear Priscilla, when I think of it, I cannot bring
myself to believe that such a man should want me to
be his wife.
