He was just the same as of old, and made his congratulations in his dry, reedy voice, which recalled to Esmeralda the voyage to England, and made her laugh at him in her old way.
“I’ve come down on business, as of course you know, Miss Chetwynde,” he said, as they sat together in the library, where he had asked to see her on the evening of his arrival.
“Yes?” said Esmeralda, vaguely wondering why he wanted to bother her, and how soon she could get back to the terrace, where Trafford—her Trafford—would be waiting for her.
“I want to talk to you about the marriage settlements,” said Mr. Pinchook.
“Marriage!” echoed Esmeralda. “Why—why—we are not going to be married yet, are we?”
“You should know better than I,” said Mr. Pinchook, dryly. “Lady Wyndover speaks of an early marriage; and, if you will allow me to say so, I think it can not be too early. Why should you wait?”
Esmeralda looked straight over his head.
“Well?”
“Well, I have seen the marquis’s lawyer,” continued Mr. Pinchook, “and I learn from him that it is proposed that one half of your fortune should be settled on you for your own use, and that the remainder should pass to the Belfayre estates, to become, in short, the property of the marquis.”
“Well?” said Esmeralda, indifferently.