“Still, I shall require a thousand pounds.”
The Duchess had just left her husband with this question to consider. He did not want to part with a thousand pounds, and he did not want to part with Annabel. She was the brightest element in his life. She had become dear to him, and the thought of her fortune made his financial difficulties easier to bear. For the encumbrances which the times forced him to lay on his estate need not embarrass Piers; Annabel’s money would easily remove them.
He was under the influence of these conflicting emotions, when Piers entered the room, with a brusque hurry quite at variance with his natural placid manner. The Duke started at the clash of the door. It gave him a twinge of pain; it dissipated his reveries; and he asked petulantly, “What brings you here so early, and so noisily, Piers?”
“I am in great trouble, sir. Squire Atheling–”
“Squire Atheling again! I am weary of the man!”
“He has forbidden me to see Miss Atheling.”
“He has done quite right. I did not expect so much propriety from him.”
“Until you give your consent to our marriage.”
“Why, then, you will see her no more, Piers. I will never give it. Never! We need not multiply words. You will marry Annabel.”
“Suppose Annabel will not marry me?”