“I must say,” returned Alick, in the same grave tone, “that if you wished for the care of an old man, I should have thought my uncle the more agreeable of the two.”
“He is little past fifty. You are very hard on him.”
“On the contrary, I am sorry for him. You will always find it good for him to do whatever suits yourself.”
“Alick?” said his sister mournfully, “you have never forgotten or forgiven my girlish bits of neglect after your wound.”
“No, Bessie,” he said, holding her hand kindly, “it is not the neglect or the girlishness, but the excuses to me, still more to my uncle, and most of all to yourself. They are what make me afraid for you in what you are going to take upon yourself.”
She did not answer immediately, and he pursued—“Are you driven to this by dislike to living at Bishopsworthy? If so, do not be afraid to tell me. I will make any arrangement, if you would prefer living with Jane. We agreed once that it would be too expensive, but now I could let you have another hundred a year.”
“As if I would allow that, Alick! No, indeed! Lord Keith means you to have all my share.”
“Does he? There are more words than one to that question. And pray is he going to provide properly for his poor daughter in the West Indies?”
“I hope to induce him to take her into favour.”
“Eh? and to make him give up to Colin Keith that Auchinvar estate that he ought to have had when Archie Keith died?”