"Of course you have a right to do as you please, you
are of full age, and I cannot expect that you will consider me or your
family in your matrimonial engagements, but at the same time I think
it is my duty to point out to you what it is that you are doing. You
are refusing one of the finest matches in England in order to marry a
broken-down, middle-aged, half-pay colonel, a man who can hardly
support you, whose part in life is played, or who is apparently too
idle to seek another."
Here Ida's eyes flashed ominously, but she made no comment, being
apparently afraid to trust herself to speak.
"You are doing this," went on her father, working himself up as he
spoke, "in the face of my wishes, and with a knowledge that your
action will bring your family, to say nothing of your father, to utter
and irretrievable ruin."
"Surely, father, surely," broke in Ida, almost in a cry, "you would
not have me marry one man when I love another. When I made the promise
I had not become attached to Colonel Quaritch."
"Love! pshaw!" said her father. "Don't talk to me in that sentimental
and school-girl way--you are too old for it. I am a plain man, and I
believe in family affection and in /duty/, Ida. /Love/, as you call
it, is only too often another word for self-will and selfishness and
other things that we are better without.
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