“Yes, Harry Dasent,” he said, drawing himself up. “He is my poor dead wife’s son, my dear, and it so happens that he is giving colour to the idea by his absence from home on one of his reckless, ne’er-do-weel expeditions; but between ourselves, my child, I’d rather see you married to Claud Wilton, your cousin, than to him; and,” he added warmly, “I think I would sooner follow you to your grave than—Yes—what is it?”
“I beg pardon, sir,” said the housekeeper, “but the dinner’s spoiling, and I’ve been waiting half an hour and more for you to ring.”
“Then bring it up directly, Mrs Plant, for we are terribly ready.”
“Yes, sir.”
“At least I am, my dear; I was faint for want of it when I came in. Shall we shelve the unpleasant business now?”
“It is so dreadful,” said Kate.
“Well, yes, it is; so it used to be with the poor folks who were besieged by the enemy. You are besieged, but you have a strong castle in which to defend yourself, and you can laugh your enemies to scorn. Really, Kate, my child, this is something like being cursed by a fortune.”
She nodded her head quickly.
“Money is useful, of course, and I once had a very eager longing to possess it; but, like a great many other things, when once it is possessed it is—well, only so much hard cash, after all. It won’t buy the love and esteem of your fellow-creatures. Do you know, my dear, if it were not for something I should be ready to say to you—‘Let Uncle James have your paltry fortune and pay off his debts.’ That’s what he wants, not you. As for Claud, he’d break your heart in a month.”
“Could I deliver the money over to him?” said Kate, looking anxiously in her new guardian’s face.