"Whew-w-w," whistled Harcourt; "is that the case? Well, now I am surprised."
"It is, indeed."
"And he has agreed to the marriage?"
"He knows of it, and has not disagreed. Indeed, he made some peddling little offer about money."
"But what has he said to you about it?"
"Nothing, not a word. I have only seen him once since Christmas, and then I did not speak of it; nor did he."
Harcourt asked fifty other questions on the matter, all eagerly, as though he considered this newly-learned fact to be of the greatest importance: all of which Bertram answered, till at last he was tired of talking of his uncle.
"I cannot see that it makes any difference," said he, "whose granddaughter she is."
"But it does make the greatest difference. I own that I am surprised now that Miss Waddington should wish to delay the marriage. I thought I understood her feelings and conduct on the matter, and must say that I regarded them as admirable. But I cannot quite understand her now. It certainly seems to me that with such a guarantee as that she needs be afraid of nothing. Whichever of you he selected, it would come to the same thing."
"Harcourt, if she would marry me to-morrow because by doing so she would make sure of my uncle's money, by heaven, I would not take her! If she will not take me for myself, and what I can do for her, she may let me alone." Thus majestically spoke Bertram, sitting with his friend on the side of a Scottish mountain, with a flask of brandy and a case of sandwiches between them.