It was the wisest thing which Edward Morgan could have done to go away and leave what he had it in his mind to say unsaid. Prudence missed him after he left, missed his kindly attentions, the quick thought for her comfort which forestalled her wishes, his pleasant companionship. He was a man who, if somewhat earnest, perhaps because of this earnestness, talked well on most subjects. He was neither brilliant nor very ready of speech. The quality Prudence liked best in him was his habit of treating her as an equal; he did not pursue the tactic of talking down to her. The latter was one of William’s unamiable eccentricities, and it annoyed Prudence the more because William at his wisest was never so profound as to be beyond the comprehension of the most ordinary intelligence.
In Mr Morgan’s presence William’s attitude towards her changed considerably; following Mr Morgan’s departure the increased deference of his manner moderated slightly since no definite proposal had resulted. William suspected that his sister’s chances were not so secure as he had believed. She was foolish enough, he decided, to lose this excellent opportunity of making a brilliant marriage. William was not so anxious to see his sister married as he was desirous of forming an alliance with the house of Morgan Bros. If she brought the matter off she would win his approbation and his unbounded respect. Something of what he felt on this head he managed to convey to her in an indirect manner which he considered tactful. He felt that his approval would have considerable weight with her.
“Morgan appears to have enjoyed his visit,” he remarked to her; “he was sorry to go. He is an uncommonly good fellow. I like him.”
“He’s a kind old thing,” said Prudence with a gleam of mischief in her eyes.
“Old! Nonsense!” William squared his heavy shoulders and regarded himself complacently in the overmantel. “He’s a younger man than I.”
“Well, yes.” Prudence surveyed William’s grey hairs with uncomplimentary attentiveness, surveyed his corpulent figure, and smiled. “He’s forty-two. I have his own word for that.”
“A man isn’t old at forty-two,” he said.
“He looks old though.”
“When a man has passed his first youth,” William observed sententiously, “he is—ahem!—more interesting, more reliable. He knows what he wants. I confess that Morgan inspires in me both confidence and liking. One can respect a man who has proved his worth.”
“He has proved an aptitude for making money,” Prudence allowed.