“You are disturbed, belle-mere,—has he been vexing you?”
“He—Dalibard? No, indeed; we were only this morning discussing matters of business.”
“Business,—that means money.”
“Truly,” said Lucretia, “money does make the staple of life’s business. In spite of his new appointment, your father needs some sums in hand,—favours are to be bought, opportunities for speculation occur, and—”
“And my father,” interrupted Gabriel, “wishes your consent to raise the rest of your portion?”
Lucretia looked surprised, but answered quietly: “He had my consent long since; but the trustees to the marriage-settlement—mere men of business, my uncle’s bankers; for I had lost all claim on my kindred—refuse, or at least interpose such difficulties as amount to refusal.”
“But that reply came some days since,” said Gabriel, musingly.
“How did you know,—did your father tell you?”
“Poor belle-mere!” said Gabriel, almost with pity; “can you live in this house and not watch all that passes,—every stranger, every message, every letter? But what, then, does he wish with you?”
“He has suggested my returning to England and seeing the trustees myself. His interest can obtain my passport.”