With the elder branch of the Kingsworths they had only a little occasional intercourse, as these were settled far away in the North at a place called Silthorpe, where they were solicitors of good standing, and with a large business. The Kingsworths were fair fresh-coloured people, with dark eyes and aquiline noses. They were slightly made and mostly of middle height, and were proud of their resemblance to the family type. James, the elder of those two brothers, was the handsomer, and George the more thoughtful looking of the two. He was writing a letter; while his brother, turning over the newspaper, looking out of window, and idly stirring the fire, seemed rather at a loss for some amusement.
“I declare, George,” he said, presently, “I am lost in admiration of your good luck.”
“Well,” said George, good-humouredly, “if you think I am lucky I am the last person to deny it. I am—successful.”
“That you should have succeeded in engaging yourself to an heiress! a lady, and a very handsome girl into the bargain. Why—if I could have done such a thing, then I should have won pardon for all my offences, retrieved my character for good sense, got my debts paid—”
“With the heiress’s money?”
“No, no, don’t you suppose my father would pay them twenty times over if I had done such a clever thing as to get engaged to Miss Lacy?”
“You don’t seem to give my father much reason to think there is any use in paying them,” said George, gravely.
James shrugged his shoulders, then said abruptly, “Where shall you live after your marriage?”
“I believe,” returned George, as he sealed his letter, “that my father, feeling the want of a mistress to his house, is very anxious that we should live here. Mary would be like a daughter to him.”
James’ brow darkened. “I don’t think I like that arrangement,” he said shortly. “I should find myself de trop.”