The squire winced.
“Yes, most. But not Olivia. She cares nothing for it. She would be as contented in one of the keeper’s cots as here at the Grange or at The Maples—that is, so far as money is concerned. But all this is premature and useless talk. You have not spoken to her yet, you say. It will be time to—to talk of the financial part of the subject after——”
He paused and suppressed a sigh.
“No, I don’t agree with you, sir,” said Bartley Bradstone, with an air of great respect, but eyeing the grave, sad-faced old man out of the corner of his restless, suspicious eyes. “I like everything to be fair and aboveboard——”
“Fair and aboveboard!” echoed the squire, almost angrily.
“I—I mean straightforward and plain,” stammered Bartley Bradstone. “I must tell you what I intend to do if Olivia accepts me and becomes my wife——”
The squire rose and leaned his elbow on the mantelshelf and his head on his hand, and seemed engaged in some mental struggle for a moment; then he raised his head, and looking every inch the true-hearted English gentleman, he said:
“Wait a moment, if you please, Bradstone. Before you say any more, I think—I am sure—it is my duty to be as plain and straightforward—aye, to use your own words, as ‘fair and aboveboard’ as you are. I have to tell you this: You may suppose, and very naturally, that as the daughter of the lord of the manor, of a man with a large estate and occupying a prominent place in the county, Olivia will have a dowry suitable to her position.”
Bartley Bradstone opened his mouth; but the squire, with a gesture of gentle dignity, motioned him to silence.
“Hear me out. I find it difficult to tell you what I have to tell you. I say that it is only reasonable that you should suppose my daughter would come to you with a marriage portion suited to her rank in life. I am sorry, bitterly sorry, to tell you that Olivia will go to the man she marries with empty hands!”