"Ah! you think so," said Harry the Wise. "But if you were to hear to-morrow that Sir Louis Scatcherd were master of the whole place, and be d–––– to him, you would feel very uncomfortable." Had Harry known how near Sir Louis was to his last struggle, he would not have spoken of him in this manner. "That's all very fine talk, but it won't bear wear and tear. You do care for Greshamsbury if you are the fellow I take you to be: care for it very much; and you care too for your father being Gresham of Greshamsbury."
"This won't affect my father at all."
"Ah, but it will affect him very much. If you were to marry Miss Thorne to-morrow, there would at once be an end to any hope of your saving the property."
"And do you mean to say I'm to be a liar to her for such reasons as that? Why, Harry, I should be as bad as Moffat. Only it would be ten times more cowardly, as she has no brother."
"I must differ from you there altogether; but mind, I don't mean to say anything. Tell me that you have made up your mind to marry her, and I'll stick to you through thick and thin. But if you ask my advice, why, I must give it. It is quite a different affair to that of Moffat's. He had lots of tin, everything he could want, and there could be no reason why he should not marry,—except that he was a snob, of whom your sister was well quit. But this is very different. If I, as your friend, were to put it to Miss Thorne, what do you think she would say herself?"
"She would say whatever she thought best for me."
"Exactly: because she is a trump. And I say the same. There can be no doubt about it, Frank, my boy: such a marriage would be very foolish for you both; very foolish. Nobody can admire Miss Thorne more than I do; but you oughtn't to be a marrying man for the next ten years, unless you get a fortune. If you tell her the truth, and if she's the girl I take her to be, she'll not accuse you of being false. She'll peak for a while; and so will you, old chap. But others have had to do that before you. They have got over it, and so will you."
Such was the spoken wisdom of Harry Baker, and who can say that he was wrong? Frank sat a while on his rustle seat, paring his nails with his penknife, and then looking up, he thus thanked his friend:—
"I'm sure you mean well, Harry; and I'm much obliged to you. I dare say you're right too. But, somehow, it doesn't come home to me. And what is more, after what has passed, I could not tell her that I wish to part from her. I could not do it. And besides, I have that sort of feeling, that if I heard she was to marry any one else, I am sure I should blow his brains out. Either his or my own."
"Well, Frank, you may count on me for anything, except the last proposition:" and so they shook hands, and Frank rode back to Greshamsbury.