But he did not even then go to rest, but lay still scheming, scheming, scheming, about the property. There was now another letter to be written, for the writing of which he would not again summon Mr. Merton. He was half ashamed to do so, and at last sent for his sister. "Martha," said he, "I want you to write a letter for me."
"Mr. Merton has been writing letters for you all the morning."
"That's just the reason why you should write one now. I am still in some slight degree afraid of his authority, but I am not at all afraid of yours."
"You ought to be quiet, John; indeed you ought."
"And, in order that I may be quiet, you must write this letter. It's nothing particular, or I should not have asked you to do it. It's only an invitation."
"An invitation to ask somebody here?"
"Yes; to ask somebody to come here. I don't know whether he'll come."
"Do I know him?"
"I hope you may, if he comes. He's a very good-looking young man, if that is anything."
"Don't talk nonsense, John."