Here our conference ended, for it was now high time to prepare for church. Every one attended the morning service, except my uncle, who hardly ever goes, and Mr. Wilmot, who stayed at home with him to enjoy a quiet game of cribbage. In the afternoon Miss Wilmot and Lord Lowborough likewise excused themselves from attending; but Mr. Huntingdon vouchsafed to accompany us again. Whether it was to ingratiate himself with my aunt I cannot tell, but, if so, he certainly should have behaved better. I must confess, I did not like his conduct during service at all. Holding his prayer-book upside down, or open at any place but the right, he did nothing but stare about him, unless he happened to catch my aunt’s eye or mine, and then he would drop his own on his book, with a puritanical air of mock solemnity that would have been ludicrous, if it had not been too provoking. Once, during the sermon, after attentively regarding Mr. Leighton for a few minutes, he suddenly produced his gold pencil-case and snatched up a Bible. Perceiving that I observed the movement, he whispered that he was going to make a note of the sermon; but instead of that, as I sat next him, I could not help seeing that he was making a caricature of the preacher, giving to the respectable, pious, elderly gentleman, the air and aspect of a most absurd old hypocrite. And yet, upon his return, he talked to my aunt about the sermon with a degree of modest, serious discrimination that tempted me to believe he had really attended to and profited by the discourse.
Just before dinner my uncle called me into the library for the discussion of a very important matter, which was dismissed in few words.
“Now, Nell,” said he, “this young Huntingdon has been asking for you: what must I say about it? Your aunt would answer ‘no’—but what say you?”
“I say yes, uncle,” replied I, without a moment’s hesitation; for I had thoroughly made up my mind on the subject.
“Very good!” cried he. “Now that’s a good honest answer—wonderful for a girl!—Well, I’ll write to your father to-morrow. He’s sure to give his consent; so you may look on the matter as settled. You’d have done a deal better if you’d taken Wilmot, I can tell you; but that you won’t believe. At your time of life, it’s love that rules the roast: at mine, it’s solid, serviceable gold. I suppose now, you’d never dream of looking into the state of your husband’s finances, or troubling your head about settlements, or anything of that sort?”
“I don’t think I should.”
“Well, be thankful, then, that you’ve wiser heads to think for you. I haven’t had time, yet, to examine thoroughly into this young rascal’s affairs, but I see that a great part of his father’s fine property has been squandered away;—but still, I think, there’s a pretty fair share of it left, and a little careful nursing may make a handsome thing of it yet; and then we must persuade your father to give you a decent fortune, as he has only one besides yourself to care for;—and, if you behave well, who knows but what I may be induced to remember you in my will!” continued he, putting his fingers to his nose, with a knowing wink.
“Thanks, uncle, for that and all your kindness,” replied I.
“Well, and I questioned this young spark on the matter of settlements,” continued he; “and he seemed disposed to be generous enough on that point—”
“I knew he would!” said I. “But pray don’t trouble your head—or his, or mine about that; for all I have will be his, and all he has will be mine; and what more could either of us require?” And I was about to make my exit, but he called me back.