“There is no end to my power,” said the old man, solemnly; “no limit to my goodness, no bounds to my love for my poor niece. Are you in a hurry, my poor niece? Shall we have his commission down to-morrow, or wait a month?”
“To-morrow? is it possible? Oh, yes! I count the minutes till I say to his sister, 'There, Miss Dodd, I have friends who value me too highly to let me lie under these galling obligations.' Dear, dear uncle, I don't mind being under them to you, because I love you” (kisses).
“And not Mr. Dodd?”
“No, dear; and that is the reason I would rather give him a ship than—the only other thing that would make him happy. And really, but for your goodness, I should have been tempted to—ha! ha! Oh, I am so happy now. No; much as I admire my preserver's courage and delicacy and unselfishness and goodness, I don't love him; so, but for this, he MUST have been unhappy for life, and then I should have been miserable forever.”
“Perfectly clear and satisfactory, my dear. Now, if the commission is to be down to-morrow, you must not stay here, because I have other letters to write, to go by the same courier that takes my application for the ship.”
“And do you really think I will go till I have kissed you, Uncle Bazalgette?”
“On a subject so important, I hardly venture to give an opin—hallo! kissing, indeed? Why, it is like a young wolf flying at horseflesh.”
“Then that will teach you not to be kinder to me than anybody else is.”
Lucy ran out radiant and into the garden. Here she encountered Kenealy, and, coming on him with a blaze of beauty and triumph, fired a resolution that had smoldered in him a day or two.
He twirled his mustache and—popped briefly.