“That’s right, Hilton. And you ken,” he continued, getting excited and a little more Scottish of accent—“ye ken that when puir Perowne failed, he owed me nearly sax hundred pounds?”
“I did hear so, sir.”
“Well, I meant to give little Grey here that for a wedding-portion, and now it’s all gone.”
“I’m glad of it, sir,” cried Hilton, warmly, “for I am only a poor fellow with my pay and a couple of hundred a year besides; but in a very few years’ time I shall be in the receipt of another two hundred and fifty a year, so that we shall not hurt.”
Grey crossed to him, and put her arm through his, as she nodded and smiled in his face.
“Ye’re a pair o’ feckless babies!” cried old Stuart. “So ye mean to say ye’ll be content to begin life on nothing but what ye’ve got, Hilton?”
“To be sure, sir! Why not?”
“To be sure! Why not?” said Mrs Bolter. “I don’t approve of people marrying for money, Mr Stuart; and I’m glad they act in so honest a spirit! Do you know, Mr Hilton, I began my life out here hating Helen Perowne, and thoroughly disliking you; and now, do you know, she has made me love her; and as for you, I never liked you half so well before, and I wish you both every joy, and as happy a life as I live myself when Henry stays at home, and does not glory in teasing me in every way he can!”
“Thank you, Mrs Bolter!” cried Hilton, warmly. “I don’t wonder, though, that you should dislike me, for I did not show you a very pleasant side of my character.”
“Well,” said old Stuart, rising, “you and I may as well be off, doctor. Poor Perowne will be glad to hear you chat a bit about Helen; and as for you two young and foolish people, why—ha! ha! ha! you had better make friends with the doctor. He has always been petting my little girl; now’s the time for him to do something a little more solid.”