Elizabeth smiled. The colour had come back to her cheeks, the brightness to her eyes. She was the incarnation of splendid health and happiness. Percival looked from her to Brian, remarking silently the gravity and nobleness of his expression and the singular refinement of his features, which could be seen so much more plainly, now that he had returned to his old fashion of wearing a moustache and small pointed beard, instead of the disfiguring mass of hair with which he had once striven to disguise his face. Percival was clean shaven, except for the heavy, black moustache, which he fingered as he spoke.
"You are my children by adoption," he said, cheerfully, "and I am going to speak to you as a grandfather might. Elizabeth, my opinion is, that if you want to avoid vexatious delays, you had better get married to this gentleman here before you present yourself in Scotland at all. You have no idea how much it would simplify matters. Brian won't suggest such a thing; he is afraid you will think that he wants to make ducks and drakes of your money——"
"His money," said Elizabeth.
"Well, his or yours, or that Italian fellow's—I don't see that it matters much. Why don't you stop in London, get a special licence, and be married from Vivian's house? I know he would be delighted."
"It is easy to make the suggestion," said Brian, "but perhaps Elizabeth would not like such haste."
"I will do what you like," said Elizabeth.
"Let me congratulate you," remarked Percival to Brian; "you are about to marry that treasure amongst wives—a woman who tries to please you and not herself. Well, I have broken the ice, settle the matter as you please."
"No, Percival, don't go," said Elizabeth. But he laughed, shook his head, and left them to themselves.
As usual he went to Angela, and allowed himself to look as gloomy as he chose. She asked him what was the matter.
"I have been playing the heavy father, and giving away the bride," he said. And then he told her what he had advised.