In the Dead of Night: A Novel. Volume 2 (of 3)

Within a week of Tom Bristow’s first visit to Pincote, and his introduction to the Copes, father and son, Mr. Cope, junior, found himself, much to his disgust, fairly on his way to New York. He would gladly have rebelled against the parental dictum in this matter, if he had dared to do so; but he knew of old how worse than useless it would be for him to offer the slightest opposition to his father’s wishes.
“You will go and say goodbye to Miss Culpepper as a matter of course,” said Mr. Cope to him. “But don’t grow too sentimental over the parting. Do it in an easy, smiling way, as if you were merely going out of town for a few days. Don’t make any promises—don’t talk about the future—and, above all, don’t say a word about marriage. Of course, you will have to write to her occasionally while you are away. Just a few lines, you know, to say how you are, and all that. No mawkish silly love-nonsense, but a sensible, manly letter; and be wisely reticent as to the date of your return. Very sorry, but you don’t know how much longer your business may detain you—you know the sort of thing I mean.”
When the idea had first entered Mr. Cope’s mind that it would be an excellent thing if he could only succeed in getting his son engaged to Squire Culpepper’s only child, it had not been without an ulterior eye to the fortune which that young lady would one day call her own that he had been induced to press forward the scheme to a successful issue. By marrying Miss Culpepper, his son would be enabled to take up a position in county society such as he could never hope to attain either by his own merits, which were of the most moderate kind, or from his father’s money bags alone. But dearly as Mr. Cope loved position, he loved money still better; and it was no part of his programme that his son should marry a pauper, even though that pauper could trace back her pedigree to the Conqueror. And yet, if the squire went on speculating as madly as he was evidently doing now, it seemed only too probable that pauperism, or something very much like it, would be the result, as far as Miss Culpepper was concerned. Instead of having a fortune of at least twenty thousand pounds, as she ought to have, would she come in for as many pence when the old man died? Mr. Cope groaned in spirit as he asked himself the question, and he became more determined than ever to carry out his policy of waiting and watching, before allowing the engagement of the young people to reach a point that would render a subsequent rupture impossible without open scandal—and scandal was a bugbear of which the banker stood in extreme dread.