“It’s my wish that you should stay at home. A poor man may go to sea, because he stands a chance to come home rich; but a man who has money in hand and in prospect, if he goes to sea, he is a fool. Follow your profession as long as you require it, but no longer.”
“Why then do you work so hard, my dear sir,” said Isabel, leaning over the old gentleman, and kissing him, in gratitude for his decision. “Surely you can afford to relax a little now?”
“Why do I work so hard, Isabel?” replied Mr Forster, looking up at her through his spectacles. “Why you expect to have a family, do you not?”
Isabel blushed; the expectation was undeniable.
“Well, then, I presume the children will have no objection to find a few thousands more to be divided among them by-and-bye—will they, daughter?”
The conversation was interrupted by the entry of a servant with a letter; Mr Forster broke the seal, and looked at the signature.
“Humph! from the proud old marquis. ‘Very sorry, for a short period, to have fallen in your good opinion—should have rejoiced to have called Newton my son-in-law!’—Humph! ‘Family pride all assumed—Newton’s happiness at stake—trust the deceit will be pardoned, and a renewal of former intimacy.’ Why, Newton, is all this true?”
“Ask Isabel, sir,” replied, Newton, smiling.
“Well, then, Isabel, is all this true?”
“Ask Newton, sir,” replied Isabel, kissing him. “The fact is, my dear sir, I could not afford to part with Newton, even to please you, so we made up a little plot.”