"Has not Mrs. Templeton some connections that may be useful to you?"
"No, sir!" cried the uncle, in a voice of thunder.
"Sorry to hear it—but we cannot expect all things: you have married for love—you have a happy home, a charming wife—this is better than a title and a fine lady."
"Mr. Lumley Ferrers, you may spare me your consolations. My wife—"
"Loves you dearly, I dare say," said the imperturbable nephew. "She has so much sentiment, is so fond of poetry. Oh, yes, she must love one who has done so much for her."
"Done so much; what do you mean?"
"Why, with your fortune—your station—your just ambition—you, who might have married any one; nay, by remaining unmarried, have conciliated all my interested, selfish relations—hang them—you have married a lady without connections—and what more could you do for her?"
"Pooh, pooh; you don't know all."
Here Templeton stopped short, as if about to say too much, and frowned; then, after a pause, he resumed, "Lumley, I have married, it is true. You may not be my heir, but I will make it up to you—that is, if you deserve my affection."
"My dear unc—"