“Well, not all,” he said, laughing. “A great many, though, for you are horribly transparent. But why?”
“Because you have been thoroughly expressing my wishes. Do not think me foolish, but I do, indeed, think it would be better that there should be no intimacy between the families.”
“Foolish!” he laughed. “Why, that would be like blaming myself. But there, I don’t think we need trouble ourselves; for I suppose they will be very grand, and take up only with the county families and grandees from London; they will not want our society. And do you know, dear, we shall have to pinch and save no end, for I have been investing heaps of money in a speculation—one, though, that is certain to pay. Iron mines, you know, that were found last year at Blankesley. Capital thing it is to be, so they tell me.”
“But was it not foolish?” said Mrs Norton. “Had we not enough, dear?”
“Well, yes,” he said, rather impatiently; “enough for ourselves, but we have the child to think of. You do not suppose he will be content to lead his fathers dreary life.”
“Dreary, Philip?”
“Well, no—not dreary. I don’t mean that; but quiet, retired existence; and besides, a little to do with this iron affair—a little occupation—will be the making of me. I’ve grown so rusty,” he said, laughing, “that I have run to iron to polish it off.”
That same night a similar conversation took place at the Castle, where, in quiet, well-chosen words, Sir Murray expressed a wish that there might be no communication held with the inmates of the Hall.
“Do you doubt me, Murray?” said Lady Gernon, rising, and standing looking down upon her husband, as he leaned back in his chair.
“Doubt you!” he said, almost angrily. “My dear Lady Gernon, what a question!”