Col. G. You persist in misunderstanding me. This is not the service I mean. I scorn the fancy. This is only the means, as I told you plainly before, of finding out how I may serve him—of learning what he really needs—or most desires. If I fail in discovering how to recommend myself to him, I shall go back to India, and content myself with leaving him a tolerable fortune.
Mrs. C. How ever a hair-brained fellow like you, Walter, could have made such a soldier!—Why don't you tell your boy you love him, and have done with it?
Col. G. I will, as soon as I have proof to back the assertion.
Mrs. C. I tell you it is rank pride.
Col. G. It may be pride, sister; but it is the pride of a repentant thief who puts off his confession until he has the money in his hand to prove the genuineness of his sorrow.
Mrs. C. It never was of any use to argue with you, Walter; you know that, or at least I know it. So I give up.—I trust you have got over your prejudice against his profession. It is not my fault.
Col. G. In truth, I had forgotten the profession—as you call it—in watching the professor.
Mrs. C. And has it not once occurred to you to ask how he may take such watching?
Col. G. By the time he is aware of it, he will be ready to understand it.
Mrs. C. But suppose he should discover you before you have thus established your position?