“So it is all on your side,” observed A. Z., with some surprise.
“I don’t know, but I am afraid so. If it will not bore you, I should like to explain, and ask your advice——”
“Stay,” cried A. Z., “I don’t at all know this Hildegarde, and I now do know something of you and your family, and shall therefore certainly recommend you to break off the affair, if you can do so with honour; and that you can do so is scarcely to be doubted, if you imagine her indifferent to you.”
“But suppose she had been indifferent only because I said I could not marry.”
“It would prove that she is as prudent as she is pretty, and that is saying a great deal,” answered A. Z., gayly; “and as you can not marry, the least said about the matter the better.”
“You do not quite understand the state of the case,” began Hamilton. “You see I have a grand uncle——”
“Called Jack,” observed A. Z.
“Exactly,” said Hamilton; “and this Uncle Jack made a fortune in India, in those times when fortunes were to be made there, and added to this fortune by speculations in the funds at the end of the last war; we have consequently a great respect for him.”
“Of course,” said A. Z.; “people always have a respect for rich uncles, both in books and real life. I never had one, but I can imagine the thing.”
“As he had no children,” continued Hamilton, “my father prudently chose him as godfather to his eldest son, who was accordingly afflicted with the name of John, but even in his earliest youth it was found that the name would not cover the multitude of his sins, poor fellow, and while I was still a mere child my uncle declared that John would inherit from his father more than he would ever deserve, and that I, and I alone, should be his heir. He defrayed all the expenses of my education, gave me ponies, and pocket money, and would have paid my debts, I do believe, without hesitation, if I had had any at Cambridge. Since I have been here, too, he has sent me large remittances through my father, and latterly, I suspect, forbidden the words of wisdom which usually accompanied them. The first letter I ever received from him was the day before yesterday; he had heard—more than was necessary, more than was true—of Hildegarde, and you can imagine his proposing to send me money to buy off—to pay—to satisfy—pshaw! where is the letter? You must read it, or you will never understand——”