“I believe the old man’s jealous of me. He says I’m over here too often—that people are beginning to talk, and all manner of rot. I’m almost sure he wants to marry you himself.”
“My dear boy, you’re dreaming. Do you think that I would abandon my independence, and all my advanced theories on women, to adopt your uncle’s musty, antediluvian ideas? Not a bit of it. Why I’d sooner marry you, if the worst came to the worst, though even that wouldn’t suit me either.”
“It would suit me,” muttered Ronald, “just down to the ground.”
The uncle’s sight had of late been failing him, owing to some weakness or lesion of the nerve that no spectacles could remedy. Under these circumstances, his favourite amanuensis was Ronald; for, though I regret to say it, his sister’s spelling was occasionally defective, and his uncle was particular above all things that his correspondence should be strictly orthographic. Not that this characteristic could be imputed to Miss Heyward as a fault, especially in these days, when even Peeresses (I am told) have adopted phonetic spelling, and orthography has been relegated to our village schools as the symbol of a lower and less intellectual class. But the uncle was conservative in everything but politics, and regarded the innovation as a forecast of the nation’s decadence.
One morning he called Ronald into his study, with a thoughtful, pre-occupied air that betokened business of more than average importance.
“Ronald, I’m thinking of marrying—and who do you suppose is my choice? A great friend of yours by the way, Mrs. Thorpe. I like her amazingly; a most well-bred woman, who will look famously at the head of my table. Then again, she’s got money, though it’s true I don’t want it. And her property marches with mine; and we’ll enclose it all in a ring fence, and have the finest estate in the county. She’s got a few crotchets, I know, but they’ll soon be ousted when she’s found a sensible man to advise her. I grant I’m a trifle old for her, but people think nothing of that in these days when the fault is on the right side. What do you say to it? a good idea, isn’t it?”
“Very good indeed, sir,” said Ronald—demurely, but doubtingly.
“You ain’t very hearty about it, Ronald. I expected you to jump at the suggestion. Indeed, I thought you were a little gone on her yourself, and would have welcomed her warmly for your aunt. You’re across at her house pretty well every day.”
“Yes, sir, I am; and I do like her very much. Indeed, I wouldn’t have minded marrying her myself.”
“Good Lord! if that doesn’t beat everything! A mere boy like you, without a penny in the world except what you get from me—and I’m not dead yet by a long way, Ronald—you to be in love with the richest woman in the county! God bless me! What are the boys coming to? But there—it’s nonsense. Put it out of your head, my lad, and sit down and write what I tell you.”