"I want to write a few lines to my mother, after I've had a little talk with Mr. Stevens—then I'm entirely at your disposal," said Austin, as she lighted their cigars and rose to leave them.
"I'm glad some one wants to talk to me," murmured Uncle Mat meekly.
Sylvia hugged him and kissed the top of his head. "You dear jealous old thing! I've got some telephoning and notes to attend to myself. Come and knock on my door when you're ready, Austin."
"You have a good deal of courage," remarked Uncle Mat, nodding in
Sylvia's direction as she went down the hall.
"Perhaps you think effrontery would be the better word."
"Not at all, my dear boy—you misunderstand me completely. Sylvia's the dearest thing in the world to me, and I've been worrying a good deal about her remarriage, which I knew was bound to come sooner or later. I'm more than satisfied and pleased at her choice—I'm relieved."
"Thank you. It's good to know you feel that way, even if I don't deserve it."
"You do deserve it. In speaking of courage, I meant that the poor husband of a rich wife always has a good deal to contend with; and aside from the money question, you're supersensitive about what you consider your lack of advantages and polish—though Heaven knows you don't need to be!" he added, glancing with satisfaction at the handsome, well-groomed figure stretched out before him. "I never saw any one pick up the veneer of good society, so called, as rapidly as you have. It shows that real good breeding was back of it all the time."
"I guess I'd better go and write my letter," laughed Austin, "before you flatter me into having an awfully swelled head. But I want to tell you first—I'm not a pauper any more. I've got twenty thousand dollars of my own—an old aunt has died and left most of her will in my favor. I've taken capital, and paid off all our debts—except what we owe to Sylvia. She can give me that for a wedding present if she wants to. It's queer how much less sore I am about her money now that I've got a little of my own! There are one or two things that I want to buy for her, and I want to pay my own expenses and Peter's on a trip through western New York farms this summer. The rest I must invest as well as I can, to bring me in a little regular income. I'm sure, now that the farm and the family are perfectly free of debt, that I can earn enough to add quite a little to it every year. If Sylvia lost every cent she had, we could get married just the same, and though she'd have to live simply and quietly, she wouldn't suffer. I thought you would help me with investments—or take me to some other man who would."
"I will, indeed—if you don't spend all your time, as Sylvia fully intends you shall, making love to her. This changes the outlook wonderfully—clears the sky for both of you! It's bad for a man to be wholly dependent on his wife, and scarcely less bad for her. But there's another matter—"