“Foster? That idea? Of course, sir; and I should like to see you display a little more warmth respecting the carrying out of your father’s wishes. There, I’m not going to scold now you have come down; but just keep my last letter in mind. A bright, pretty young wife with two thousand a year and more to come later on, is not to be sneered at, my boy, and you must not quite bury yourself in London over your hospital work.”
He turned sharply.
“Really, Beck,” he cried, “I’m afraid I have behaved very rudely to you.”
“Very, sir,” thought the young man. “Don’t mention it, sir,” he said aloud.
“Let’s see: you are coming with us this morning?”
“I think you asked me to come, Mr Elthorne,” said Beck quietly.
“To be sure—of course—I am very forgetful. Come in—come in. Oh, by the way, would you mind telling your father that I cannot accede to his request. I think I have done quite enough for those people, and they must now shift for themselves. One wants to be charitable, but even charity has its limits. Come, you folks, breakfast, breakfast,” he cried cheerily, as Sir Cheltnam and Alison came up with Isabel.
“Poor Beck is right,” thought Neil, as he saw his father’s particularly cordial greeting of the baronet. “It is time to speak. But too late, I fear, after all.”
“Ah, Neil, my dear,” cried Aunt Anne, kissing him affectionately. “I’m so glad to see you home again. I hope you slept comfortably. And how is poor Maria?”
“Getting well fast, Aunt, dear.”