One afternoon his daughter and I were alone together, playing a duet, when I asked her if she would have me, and she laughingly declined. I remember being so little hurt by the refusal that I said: "That is not the proper way to refuse an, offer; you ought to express a little regret--you might say, at least, that you are sorry." Then the young lady laughed again, and said: "Very well, I will say that I am sorry, if you wish it." And so we parted, without any further expression of sentiment on either side.
I never could understand why men make themselves wretched after a refusal. It only proves that the young lady does not care very much for one, and it is infinitely better that she should let him know that before marriage than after. It was soon quite clear to me that, in this case, the young lady's decision had been the wise one. We were not really suited for each other, and we should never have been happy, both of us, in the same kind of existence. Perhaps she was rather difficult to please, or indifferent to marriage, for she never accepted anybody, and is living still (1889) in happy independence as an old maid, within a short distance of Hellifield Peel. I had a little indirect evidence, thirty years afterwards, that she had not forgotten me. Most likely she will survive me and read this. If she does, let the page convey a complete acknowledgment of her good sense.
This was the only offer of marriage I ever made in England. There was a certain very wealthy heiress whose uncle was extremely kind to me, and he pushed his kindness so far as to wish me to marry her. She was well-bred, her manners were quite equal to her fortune, and she had a good appearance, but the idea of marriage did not occur to either of us. Some time afterwards, her uncle said to a friend of mine: "I cannot understand Hamerton; I wanted him to marry my niece, and he has gone and married a French woman." "Oh!" said the other, "that was only to improve his French!"
There was another case that I would have passed in silence, had not people in Lancashire persistently circulated a story of an offer and a refusal. A young lady, also a rich heiress, though not quite so rich as the other, had a property a few miles distant from mine. She was a very attractive girl, very pretty, and extremely intelligent, and we were very good friends. To say, in this case, that the idea of marriage never occurred would he untrue; but when I first knew her she was hardly more than a child, and afterwards it became apparent to me that to live happily in her house I should have to stifle all my opinions on important subjects, so I never made the offer that our friends and perhaps she herself expected. Whether she would have accepted me or not is quite another question. Had I made any proposal I should have accompanied it by a very plain statement of my obnoxious opinions on religion and politics, and these would almost certainly have produced a rupture. After my marriage, and before hers, we met again in the old friendly way. I was paying a call with my wife, in a country house in Lancashire, when a carriage came up the drive--_her_ carriage--and the lady of the house, extremely fluttered, asked me if I had no objection to meet Miss ----. "On the contrary," I said, "I like to meet old friends." The young lady visibly enjoyed the humor of the situation, and the embarrassment of our hostess. We talked easily in the old way, and afterwards my wife and I left on foot, and _her_ carriage passed us, rather stately, with servants in livery. "There goes your most dangerous rival," I said to my wife, and told her what story there was to tell. "She is much prettier than I am," was the modest answer, "and evidently a good deal richer; and she is a charming person." In due time Miss ---- married very suitably. Her husband is a good Churchman and Conservative, who takes a proper interest in the pursuits belonging to his station.