“Of course, at my death she will have a few thousands, upon whose interest we live.”
“Will she?” said Clive quietly.
“Yes; and you, Mr Reed, it is my duty as a father to ask you a question or two. Will your position as manager of this mine enable you to keep her, not in affluence, but modest comfort?”
“I think so, sir,” said Clive, smiling.
“That’s well. But there, if—I say if this goes on, she shall have half my shares at once. A fair white virgin shall go to the altar with so many ‘White Virgins’ in her train.”
“My dear Major Gurdon,” said Clive, grasping the old officer’s hand, “don’t you know?”
“Know—know, sir! What?”
“That exactly one-third of the ‘White Virgin’ shares are mine, beside a great deal of property my father left. I suppose I am what people call a very rich man.”
“What!” cried the Major, literally dazed, “and you work like you do?”
“And why not? It is for myself—for the shareholders—for you. It was my father’s wish, sir, that this mine should prove to be a great success, and it is my sacred duty to make it so.”