“I’ll have him to dinner when I go up to town, and get you to meet him,” said Grenfell. “It must be on a Sunday, though, for Cecil shuns all others, which he calls dun-days, to distinguish from Sundays.”
“I’d like to wipe off every shilling he owes. I’d like to set a fellow like that clear with the world.”
“I’ll tell him you said so. It will go a very long way towards acquiring his esteem.”
“Well, I declare it’s a thing I’d do, if I had my property. I’ve heard wonderful stories about him.”
“And he could tell you still more wonderful ones himself. He’s one of those men”—here Grenfell’s voice became authoritative and collected—“one of those men who, if he saw himself in such a position as yours, would no more doubt as to what he would do, than he would hesitate taking a fair fence in a fox-hunt.”
“And what would he do in my place?”
“He’d reason out the thing, somewhat in this way: ‘If I suffer the old cove to marry this girl, he’ll either hamper the estate with a heavy settlement, or, mayhap, alienate it altogether. I’ll marry her myself, or, if she’ll not consent, I’ll carry her off. Abduction looks very big in the law-books, but it’s a light offence, except where the woman is intractable.’”
“And, would you carry her off?”
“St. John would, I’ll take my oath on it!”
“And not marry her?”