“I cannot help thinking that he admires her, Richard; but I am sure Eve thinks of no one but you.”
“Then curse him, he shall see me marry her,” said Richard, eagerly. “You want it to be, mother, and it shall be—soon. Eve won’t mind, and you’ll settle it all with her, and then I’m not going to have him here any more.”
“Don’t talk like that, my boy,” said Mrs Glaire; “but I do think it would be for your happiness if you were married.”
As she spoke, the question seemed to be asked her—Was it for Eve’s good? and a cold, chilly feeling of misery came over her, as she felt that she was destroying the young life of the girl who had been to her almost more than a daughter.
“That’s settled then, is it, mother?” said Richard, lightly.
“Yes, my boy, indeed yes,” said Mrs Glaire, throwing off her momentary feeling of depression, and telling herself that it was for the best, and that so good a wife should be the saving of her son. Besides, it was for this that she had been working, and now that there was to be the fruition of her hopes, she felt that she must not hang back.
Richard was already out on the lawn, going up to where the vicar and Eve were talking about flowers, and it galled the young man to see the bright happy look pass away as he approached, and not come back.
The vicar spoke pleasantly to Richard, but the replies were monosyllables, and an awkward pause was ended by the coming of Mrs Glaire, who soon after returned into the house with their visitor, while Richard led his cousin down to the bottom of the garden, and, to her surprise, asked her to sit down.
“Look here, Eve,” he said, shortly, “I’ve been talking to the old lady about our being married.”
“Our being married, Richard?” said Eve, turning pale and starting.