“Unless he wins the heart of the daughter of the principal partner, and you have been so hardhearted as to cut that chance of promotion from under his feet. Well, these are the contrarieties of life, but they tumble into shape somehow at the end, so keep a good heart, my dear.”
He said it with an odd quaver in the cheery voice, although neither of the two noticed it. They were thinking of themselves with the unconscious egotism of youth. There were all sorts of tender visions flitting about among the soft shadowy ferns, and some not less tender than the rest that they were dim with age and years. Marion went on after a momentary pause:—
“I suppose his best chance lies with Mr Tregennas.”
“Yes and no, and no more than yes, I take it. If Marmaduke will stick to his business and not allow imaginary prospects to unsettle him, they may do him no harm. But it’s ill waiting for dead men’s shoes, especially if you do not step into them at the last. There is nothing so likely to sour a man’s life.”
“There cannot be doubt when he has promised,” Marion said, turning towards him with a movement which was abrupt enough to betray a little anxiety in the words.
“He has, has he?”
“Yes, indeed. Marmaduke has often told me how much Mr Tregennas said, and no one, no one could be so cruel as not to keep to his word in such a matter!”
“Not intentionally,—at least, not many men. But, my dear Miss Marion, you never will be an old lawyer, and so I don’t promise that you will ever find out how much of what we hear depends upon what we think, or how much of what we say depends upon what we believe we ought to have said. Now, you have not gone into such ecstasies as I expected over my Farleyense, but by to-morrow my imagination will have supplied all your deficiencies, and yours will make you ready to swear that you were as prettily enthusiastic as the occasion demanded.”
“I beg your pardon,” said Marion, smiling.
“Don’t do that. Have I not just explained to you the recipe for harmonising the minor discords of one’s life? There is some happy stuff in our composition—vanity, if you will—which fills up what is wanting.”