“He owes me £50,000, with interest, on various notes,” said the Jew. “If his ships arrive safely, then I am safe, although there will be a very little margin left for Master Phillip when the other debts are paid. Let us hope, Mr. Sloman, that the ships will arrive safe, or else—I don’t mind confessing it to you, you know, Mr. Sloman—I am a ruined man.”
By some mysterious means old Sir Andrew had obtained an inkling of the true state of affairs, and when Phillip paid his usual evening visit to his fair daughter Fanny, who was always elaborately dressed, and in waiting for her husband-lover, the old gentleman’s manner materially changed.
Nor did he smile so benignly and fatherly upon the young man as was his wont.
“You must not give too much encouragement to young Redgill, Fanny,” said Sir Andrew, with much solemnity, on one occasion, while walking the room in a perturbed state of mind, “for it might turn out that he isn’t worth one penny.”
His daughter only smiled at her father’s fears, and when her husband lover came she received him in the drawing-room with more marked tokens of attachment than ever, with this difference, that the fond parent did not retire so far into the back drawing-room as of yore, but remained within earshot of all that transpired between the young people.
“Love laughs at locks,” it is said.
And so it happened with Phillip and his young wife.
They spoke in enigmas, and passed an hour or two each evening as happily as if the old folks were miles distant.
In truth, Miss Fanny’s evening walks became more frequent since her flying visit with Phillip to the country, so that man and wife often met clandestinely, unknown to her parents, and their invariable success in eluding her natural guardians often caused much merriment and satisfaction between Fanny and Phillip.
On one occasion the footman informed Phillip that Sir Andrew desired to see him in the library.