“Is it right of Forgue, if he’s going to marry you, to kiss Eppy?—That’s what I want to know!”
“He is not going to marry me.”
“He would, if you told him you wished it. Papa wishes it.”
“How do you know that?”
“From many things. Once I heard him say, ‘Afterwards, when the house is our own,’ and I asked him what he meant, and he said, ‘When Forgue marries Arctura, then the castle will be Forgue’s. That is how it ought to be, you know! Property and title ought never to be parted.’”
The hot blood rose to Arctura’s temples: was she a mere wrappage to her property—the paper of the parcel! But she called to mind how strange her uncle was: but for that, could he have been so imprudent as to talk in such a way to a boy whose simplicity rendered the confidence dangerous?
“You would not like having to give away your castle—would you, Arkie?” he went on.
“Not to any one I did not love.”
“If I were you, I would not marry, but keep my castle to myself. I don’t see why Forgue should have your castle!”
“You think I should make my castle my husband?”