“Oh, Henry! for shame!” cried Mrs Doctor. “There! I’ll say no more, only that I hardly forgive you, Hilton; and I tell you frankly that you have won a far better wife than you deserve!”
“Then I’m sure we shall be the best of friends over it, Mrs Bolter!” said Hilton, merrily, “for I have been repeating that sentiment almost word for word.”
“There, there, there—the young people know best,” said the doctor. “I congratulate you both; and I must be off now to see Perowne. But here is somebody coming. Mrs Barlow, I believe.”
“Henry, pray say I’m out!” cried Mrs Bolter, starting up. “I really cannot meet that woman to-day!” and she made for the door.
“It’s all right. Don’t go, my dear; it’s only Stuart,” said the doctor, chuckling.
“And you said it was that horrible Mrs Barlow on purpose to frighten me! It’s a very great shame—it is indeed!”
“Ye’re right, Mrs Bolter,” said the little dry Scotch merchant, appearing in the doorway; “it is a great shame! After all my care and devotion, and the money I have spent in her education, here’s this foolish girl takes a fancy to a red coat, and says she shan’t be happy without she marries it!”
“Pray, pray, papa! No, dear father, don’t talk like that!” said Grey, crossing to him, as he took a chair, and resting her hand upon his shoulder.
“Oh, but it’s enough to make any man speak!” he cried. “I suppose it’s natural though, Mrs Bolter?”
“Of course it is, Mr Stuart; and if Captain Hilton undertakes to make her a good husband, why you must be very thankful.”