“You shall be his little wife—you would like to be his little wife?”
“Wife! why, poor mamma is a wife, and she is not so happy as I am.”
“Your mamma has bad health, my dear,” said Lord Vargrave, a little discomposed. “But it is a fine thing to be a wife and have a carriage of your own, and a fine house, and jewels, and plenty of money, and be your own mistress; and Lumley will love you dearly.”
“Oh, yes, I should like all that.”
“And you will have a protector, child, when I am no more.”
The tone, rather than the words, of her stepfather struck a damp into that childish heart. Evelyn lifted her eyes, gazed at him earnestly, and then, throwing her arms round him, burst into tears.
Lord Vargrave wiped his own eyes, and covered her with kisses.
“Yes, you shall be Lumley’s wife, his honoured wife, heiress to my rank as to my fortunes.”
“I will do all that papa wishes.”
“You will be Lady Vargrave, then, and Lumley will be your husband,” said the stepfather, impressively. “Think over what I have said. Now let us join mamma. But, as I live, here is Lumley himself. However, it is not yet the time to sound him:—I hope that he has no chance with that Lady Florence.”