It was no use to try and hide a sniff, so Mr. Congreve made a savage thrust at his eyes and wiped them both, blew his nose long and earnestly, coughed several times without any apparent necessity, and then subsided into a chair.
"I suppose you are right, Elizabeth Dering, and I like you better for it, though,—God bless my soul!—to think of you and the little girls working for bread and butter, while I count my hundreds of thousands and lay up in ease and laziness. Why, it makes me feel as I never supposed I could feel over any sorrow or privation that might come to Daniel Lathrop's daughter. But you're not like your father, no, you're not, and I'm glad of it, and if I had it to do over again, I would not banish Robert for marrying you."
If Mrs. Dering felt any resentment at the thrust against her father, she gave no evidence of it, but only thought with a quiet joy, mingled with a little longing, "If Robert was only here to hear him say it."
"I want to make another offer to you," said Mr. Congreve, tapping his stick lightly on the floor, and keeping his eyes averted, "and before I make it, I want to ask that you do not decide too quick. Take all the time you want, and whatever your decision will be, it will affect my happiness quite as much as it does yours."
He stopped there, and looked at her closely, as though contemplating a possible refusal; then went on interrogatively:
"You are going to work at something that will take all of your time, and, perhaps, keep you away from home; your daughters are going to work, such of them as are able, but, from my observation, there are three of them who can do nothing in a business line. Two of them, the twins, are strong and healthy and can look after themselves, but the third, Jean, what will you do with her?"
"You have touched the point that constitutes my greatest worry and perplexity," answered Mrs. Dering, quite unconscious of the thoughts in his mind. "Jean is so delicate and frail that she requires constant attention; she is a child, and must be amused, and because of her affliction she can never be unattended. I have always taught her, and being fond of her books, she is much farther advanced than most children of her age, and I regret beyond all expression that she will have to fall behind now, she——"
"No, she won't," cried Mr. Congreve, who had been growing more excited as the speech progressed, and who now jumped out of his chair with every indication of breaking into a jig. "I assure you she won't, only let me have her; she shall have the best governess and attendant that money can bring. Every luxury and comfort that can be thought of, every wish gratified as soon as expressed and I—I—"
He was obliged to stop to get his breath, and grow a little more quiet, for Mrs. Dering was leaning back in her chair, quite white with amaze and contending emotions; so Mr. Congreve settled abruptly into a chair and smoothed his voice and manner down several degrees.
"I didn't mean to startle you," he continued. "I know it is sudden and, indeed, I am quite as astonished as you are; I am, indeed; but the moment I looked at the child last night, there was something in her face and manner, that reminded me so strongly of my own little Mabel, that my heart, old and dried up as it is, went right out to her. You know, Elizabeth Dering, how I loved my child. She would have been a woman now had she lived, but the Lord saw fit to take her, and—and—I—where's my snuff-box?—I suppose, of course, 'twas best; but here's your little one, yours and Robert's, afflicted like my little Mabel, and I am able to do everything by her that the sick and afflicted need. She shall travel, have the best of medical attention, and if the dear good Lord sees fit, perhaps she may be cured."