"I used to think so. I had so sore a lesson of poverty in my youth, that it gave me an almost morbid terror of it, not for myself, but for any woman I cared for. Once I would not have done as Dalziel has for the world. Now I have changed my mind. At any rate, David will not have one misfortune to contend with. He has a thoroughly good opinion of himself, poor fellow! He will not suffer from that horrible self-distrust which makes some men let themselves drift on and on with the tide, instead of taking the rudder into their own hands and steering straight on—direct for the haven where they would be. Oh, that I had done it."
He spoke passionately, and then sat silent. At last, muttering something about "begging her pardon," and "taking a liberty," he changed the conversation into another channel, by asking whether this marriage, when it happened—which, of course could not be just immediately—would make any difference to her circumstances.
Some difference, she explained, because the girls would receive their little fortunes whenever they came of age or married, and the sisters would not like to be parted; besides, Helen's money would help the establishment. Probably, whenever David married, he would take them both away; indeed, he had said as much.
"And then shall you stay on here?"
"I may, for I have a small income of my own; besides, there are your two little boys, and I might find two or three more. But I do not trouble myself much about the future. One thing is certain, I need never work as hard as I have done all my life."
"Have you worked so very hard, then, my poor—"
He left the sentence unfinished; his hand, half extended, was drawn back, for the three young people were seen coming down the garden, followed by the two boys, returning from their classes. It was nearly dinner-time, and people must dine, even though in love; and boys must be kept to their school work, and all the daily duties of life must be done. Well, perhaps, for many of us, that such should be! I think it was as well for poor Fortune Williams.
The girls had come in wet through, with one of those sudden "haars" which are not uncommon at St. Andrews in spring, and it seemed likely to last all day. Mr. Roy looked out of the window at it with a slightly dolorous air.
"I suppose I am rather de trop here, but really I wish you would not turn me out. In weather like this our hotel coffee-room is just a trifle dull, isn't it, Dalziel? And, Miss Williams, your parlor looks so comfortable. Will you let me stay?"
He made the request with a simplicity quite pathetic. One of the most lovable things about this man—is it not in all men?—was, that with all his shrewdness and cleverness, and his having been knocked up and down the world for so many years, he still kept a directness and simpleness of character almost child-like.