Were you my own daughter, Mildred, I could give you to that lad, with as much freedom as I would give him my estate, were he my son." Mildred smiled--and it was archly, though not without a shade of sorrow, too--but she had sufficient self-command, to keep her feelings to herself, and too much maiden reserve not to shrink from betraying her weakness to one who, after all, was little more than a stranger.
"I dare say, sir," she answered, with an equivocation which was perhaps venial, "that your knowledge of the world has judged both these gentlemen, rightly.

Mr.Thomas Wychecombe, notwithstanding all you heard from my poor father, is not likely to think seriously of me; and I will answer for my own feelings as regards _him_.

I am, in no manner, a proper person to become Lady Wychecombe; and, I trust, I should have the prudence to decline the honour were it even offered to me.

Believe me, sir, my father would have held a different language to-night, had it not been for Sir Wycherly's wine, and the many loyal toasts that were drunk.
He _must_ be conscious, in his reflecting moments, that a child of his is unsuited to so high a station.

Our prospects in life were once better than they are now, Admiral Bluewater; but they have never been such as to raise these high expectations in us." "An officer's daughter may always claim to be a gentlewoman, my dear; and, as such, you might become the wife of a duke, did he love you.
Since I find my warning unnecessary, however, we will change the discourse.