“Harrington’s his name, my lady. Don’t know whether you ever heard of it.”
Lady Jocelyn flung herself back in her chair. “The queerest thing I ever met!” said she.
“Thousand a year to start with,” Old Tom went on, “and if she marries—I mean if he marries her, I’ll settle a thousand per ann. on the first baby-boy or gal.”
“Hum! Is this gross collusion, Mr. Tom?” Lady Jocelyn inquired.
“What does that mean?”
“Have you spoken of this before to any one?”
“I haven’t, my lady. Decided on it this morning. Hem! you got a son, too. He’s fond of a young gal, or he ought to be. I’ll settle him when I’ve settled the daughter.”
“Harry is strongly attached to a dozen, I believe,” said his mother. “Well, Tom, we’ll think of it. I may as well tell you: Rose has just been here to inform me that this Mr. Harrington has turned her head, and that she has given her troth, and all that sort of thing. I believe such was not to be laid to my charge in my day.”
“You were open enough, my lady,” said Old Tom. “She’s fond of the young fellow? She’ll have a pill to swallow! poor young woman!”
Old Tom visibly chuckled. Lady Jocelyn had a momentary temptation to lead him out, but she did not like the subject well enough to play with it.