There was something like a groan here, and the lady gazed wildly at her husband.
“Of course I thought of claiming the title; but I met you and your son, and I said to myself, ‘Why should I make his family wretched?’ Then, as you know, while I was in doubt, Love came and cleared away the difficulty and decided me. If I had claimed the title it would have been for Veronica’s sake. Well, Denis loves her; and in due time—a long time hence, if your husband will study his health and not cut his life short by passion and apoplexy—Denis will be My Lord,—my child My Lady. That is enough for me. I am contented to be the Doctor and go on as the naturalist still.”
“But—but—” faltered the lady. “My husband—Mr Rolleston, if what you say is true—”
“He knows it is true. But not Mr Rolleston,—Lord Pinemount still. Madam, I tell you I am very rich, and my wants are very few. The title is nothing to me. Yes, it is—it is my one secret. There, Pinemount, am I an impostor now?”
“I am stunned,” faltered the bearer of the title.
“Bah! that will soon go off. Lady Pinemount, our esteem, I am sure, is mutual, and I believe you like your son’s choice.”
“Indeed, indeed I do!” cried Lady Pinemount eagerly.
“You would not be a woman if you did not,” said the Doctor warmly. “There, Pinemount, you may take my word—the more easily that you see I want nothing from you but your cousinship. Still the family lawyers can see papers that would convince the greatest sceptic living. Let bygones be forgotten. Give me your hand.”
The said hand was raised doubtingly, but it was seized and warmly grasped.
“Now then,” said the Doctor, “I promised your son to bring you up to ask my child to be your son’s wife.”