"There, Guy; that's my ward, Adela Chenevix; she has 20,000£. a year, and is cousin to the Premier. Now do you understand?"
Guy looked round helplessly. He was a student—a scholar—with half a dozen languages at his finger-ends, but not one of them came to his aid at that moment.
"Do you understand, Guy?"
"You want me to marry her?" he said at last.
"Yes. Aymer ought to have had the first chance; but you, Guy, you will be a greater man than Aymer would ever be."
In this assertion I think Sir Aymer was wrong. Guy had not the making of a great man about him. His cleverness was all of the most dreamy and unpractical kind, and he had not even readiness enough to temporise with his father, as his brother had tried to advise him to do. Aymer could not have done worse, and would probably have done better.
"I cannot do it, Sir Aymer."
"Nonsense! Stay here a while, and see her; she's a very good girl I believe, and she's certainly very pretty. I don't want you to marry her to-morrow morning. You're six and thirty—you ought to marry: don't be a fool!"
"I cannot do it!" repeated Guy.
"Why not?"