“Then what do you propose to do?” asked a querulous voice from the sofa.
“It is you, dearest Amy, not I, who will move in the affair.”
“Oh, impossible—out of the question,” she protested with waving hands.
“Yes, it is the most sensible and easiest solution. Were I to interfere, it would add fuel to the flame—if flame there be—and Letty is so devoted to you that she will listen to whatever you say, with patience and attention. You can tell her that your nephew’s regiment is next on the Roster for foreign service, and will not return for years and years.”
“But he is only going to Gibraltar and Egypt,” objected Mrs. Denton.
“And India,” amended the visitor in her most trenchant and matter-of-fact manner. “Assure her that his prospects are excellent, but that marriage would destroy them; that he has no money, and no thought of taking a wife——”
“I’m afraid that last would not be true.”
“Well, please say whatever you think best,” said Mrs. Fen irritably; “but do not leave one little chink of hope. Believe me it will be the truest kindness! When you reflect over what I have said, I know you will see that I am right.”
“Yes, Dorothy,” assented Mrs. Denton; “I am aware that you have more practical common sense than all the rest of us put together—but—there is something beside common sense, isn’t there?—love—constancy?”
“Oh, my dearest friend, the real name for your something is ‘Nonsense.’” Then, standing up and arranging her boa, she added impressively, “Surely, Amy, you have your boy’s interest at heart, and is it to his interest, that he should marry a girl who has not a penny piece, and comes of a notoriously consumptive family?”