"I came to speak to you about Angel," he said. "I do not know if Lena told you that I am to take charge of her."
"By Jove! No, not a word," rejoined the widower, and his eyes glistened. "Man alive, you don't mean that you are in earnest?"
"Yes," assented his visitor; "I propose to educate her, and as soon as I can find a school and a travelling companion, to send her to England."
"Uncommonly handsome of you, I must say," exclaimed her stepfather. "It will cost you a couple of hundred a year."
"Then you are satisfied that I relieve you of the child?" continued Gascoigne, ignoring the money question.
"Satisfied," repeated his host; "satisfied, my dear fellow, is not the word that expresses my feelings—devoutly thankful—happy—enchanted—is more like it. My poor wife and I never agreed about the child. I may say that she was the only subject on which we ever disagreed. From my point of view she is a headstrong, malicious little devil, who cannot be trusted her own length—you never know what mine she will explode on you! My poor Lena held another opinion, and believed her to be 'a little saint.'"
"Perhaps she is something between the two extremes," suggested her cousin drily.
His companion's answer was a doubtful grunt, as he paced the room tugging at his moustache. "I've been making plans," he resumed, now pointing to a table littered with letters and officials; "I've decided to chuck the service. This has been a great blow, and sickened me with India. How can I soldier, and lug a family about with me? I shall go and settle on my own property in New Zealand. Of course, I am bound to marry again—this seems a heartless thing to say, and Lena only dead a week, but what am I to do with all the children? It is a necessity from a common-sense point of view—a housekeeper and a governess would entail no end of bother and er—er——"
"Expense," suggested his companion sarcastically.
"Expense! Just so," seizing the word, "and I've been wondering what I'm to do with Angel, badgering my brains with all sorts of schemes, when in you walk and take her off my hands. It seems almost like a miracle—the interposition of Providence," he added piously; "and now I understand why Lena was so anxious to see you."