Florence, who saw this, immediately proceeded to set his mind at rest by telling a number of stories anent the difficulties of the country, and the number of men that had come out in the morning in all the pride of their scarlet, and had returned bemudded and besmirched after a visit to the bottom of the brook, all of which anecdotes she referred to Mr. Wilton for verification.
After dinner Mr. Simpson made the running very strongly with Mildred, much to Jack's disgust; and as he found that, do what he would, he was unable to get a word in edgeways without having his eyes nearly put out by the glitter of the City gentleman's diamond stud, he took refuge behind the paper, which position, notwithstanding Mildred's glance of entreaty, he maintained resolutely till the appearance of candles and the Colonel's orders for the morning warned everybody that it was bedtime.
"Good-night, Jack, my boy," said his uncle, after the ladies had retired. "I shan't come to the smoking-room to-night. Mind, breakfast at nine sharp. I have ordered a real flyer for you to-morrow, and I want you to keep up your reputation and show them the way, also to give an eye to Milly. I can trust her with most horses, but Birdcatcher is, as you know, an awkward customer if he gets his temper up. Mr. Simpson," turning to his guest, "you will find everything in the smoking-room. Jack and Tom will show you where it is. I am rather tired, and will wish you good-night and good sport to-morrow."
"Tom," said Jack to his brother-in-law, "you take Simpson to the den. I'm off to bed; you will excuse my not coming. I've a bad headache, and I want to look over a case I have in hand which is rather important. Good-night, old man; good-night, Simpson;" and with that he retired, muttering to himself: "How the deuce Uncle George could have invited such a cad down here I can't think."
On arriving in his room he found his sister waiting for him, and she immediately commenced: "Dear old Jack, I knew you would not smoke to-night, for I saw you were put out. You need not be afraid about Milly and Mr. Simpson; she detests him. If Uncle George thinks she will ever marry a man like that he is mistaken."
"What's the odds, Florence," said Jack in a desponding tone; "it is no use denying the fact that I am awfully fond of Milly, but what chance have I, as poor as a church mouse, against a man rolling in wealth? And even if she doesn't marry Simpson, some other rich son of a gun will be after her, and it will break my heart to see her married. By-the-way, how can uncle ever tolerate such a vulgarian as Simpson?"
"'Money makes the mare to go,'" replied his sister; "and I fancy Uncle George has been spending a little too much lately. But cheer up, Jack dear; perhaps our old Indian will die, and leave you a heap of money. Meanwhile, rely on me to keep off all intruders: 'Trespassers will be prosecuted,' and all that sort of thing; spring-guns and the extreme penalty of the law, you know."
"Florence, you are a darling," said Jack, kissing her; "but you can't kill the Nabob, and even a woman's wit can't keep Milly under lock and key till your pauper brother makes enough money to enable him to see papa in the study without feeling that he may be shown out of the door by the butler."
"Si c'est possible c'est fait, si c'est impossible cela ce fera," laughed Florence, as she left her brother to think over what she had said.
The old Indian, Sandford by name, was the great hope of both Jack and his sister. He was their mother's only brother, and though he had been home but once in forty years, an event which occurred some nine years back, he had on that occasion intimated that Jack was to be his heir, and when driven to India by what he called "the cursed climate and infernal fogs" of his native country, he had left a thousand pounds to be used for Jack's advancement in life, and regularly every Christmas a letter arrived from Simla to Jack, enclosing an order on Messrs. Drummond for two hundred pounds, bearing the simple signature "John Sandford."