“No, Mr. Berkins is a man of tact, however you may laugh at him for having shot your partridge. He spoke to your Aunt Mary, or rather she spoke to him. Ah, clever woman, your Aunt Mary, wonderful manner, wonderful will, when she wants a thing done it must be done. Your poor mother—I mean no disparagement—but I must say she couldn't compare with her for determination; Sally reminds me of her, but Sally's determination is misdirected, deplorably misdirected; it is directed against me, entirely against me. She must be made submissive; when I spoke to Aunt Mary about her, she said her spirit must be broken; and if she were here she'd break it. If she were here things would be very different, your sisters wouldn't be flirting with all the little clerks in the Southdown Road; but I am alone. I have no one to turn to.”
“You were telling me that Berkins had spoken to Aunt Mary about Grace.”
“Your Aunt Mary spoke to Berkins about Grace; she told him he ought to be thinking of marrying; that he wanted a wife. Then the conversation turned on my daughters, and Mary no doubt mentioned that at my death they would all have large fortunes.”
“Ah, so it is the money that Berkins is after.”
“Money comes first. If a man can make a settlement he will naturally demand a—that is to say he will naturally look forward, he will consider what her prospects are; not her immediate prospects, that would be mercenary, but her future prospects.”
Willy smiled. “And what did Berkins say?”
“He said he wanted to marry, and he spoke of Grace; he said he admired her. I shouldn't be surprised if we saw him at church to-day.”
“Are you going to ask him to lunch?”
“Certainly, if he's there.” Then, after a long silence, Mr. Brookes said: “He'll come in here to smoke. Of course you'll leave us alone. Do you mind leaving out your cigars?”
“I have only half a box left; I think really you might keep some in the house to supply your own guests with. You always object if I interfere with your things.”