“But what if she should refuse, sir?” asked Biddenden anxiously.
“Then I’ll leave my money to the Foundling Hospital, or some such thing!” replied Mr. Penicuik. “She won’t be such a zany!”
“Am I correct in assuming, sir, that Kitty has no fortune of her own?” demanded Hugh.
“Not a farthing piece,” said Mr. Penicuik cheerfully.
Hugh’s eyes flashed. “And you say you do not compel her! I marvel at you, sir! I may say that I am profoundly shocked! Without fortune, what hope can any female, circumstanced as Kitty is, have of achieving a respectable alliance?”
“She can’t have any, of course,” said Mr. Penicuik becoming momently more affable as his great-nephew’s choler rose.
“No, indeed!” exclaimed Lord Biddenden, almost shuddering at the thought of marriage with a portionless female. “Really, Hugh, you go too far! I don’t know where you learned your fantastic notions! One would say there had never been a marriage arranged before, yet you must be well aware that in our circle such things are always done! Your own sisters—”
“I have yet to learn that my sisters were forced into marriages that were distasteful to them!”
Mr. Penicuik opened his snuff-box again. “What makes you think marriage to one of you would be distasteful to the girl?” he asked blandly. “Maybe she don’t fancy you, but that ain’t to say there isn’t one amongst you she might not be glad to pick. She don’t know any other men, so there’s bound to be.” Inhaling too large a pinch of Nut Brown, he sneezed violently several times. When he had recovered from this seizure, he said: “Going to be open with you! Everyone knows the Charings: good stock, fit to couple with any family! The thing is, Kitty has French blood in her.”
This information was well known to the company, but he disclosed it with all the air of one making a damaging admission. “Evron was the name. Never knew much about the family myself. They were emigrés, but not noble—at least, if they were it’s more than Tom ever told me. They won’t trouble you: I saw to that! Fellow who said he was Kitty’s uncle came here once—oh, years ago! Brought his sons with him: couple of scrubby schoolboys, they were. I soon sent him to the rightabout: a very neat article I thought him! No use his trying to bamboozle me, and so I told him! A sponge, that’s what he was, if he wasn’t worse. However, to the best of my belief he took himself off to France again. I never heard any more of him, at all events. But Desirée—Kitty’s mother—” He broke off, and his gaze, which had been flickering from Biddenden’s face to the Reverend Hugh’s, transferred itself to the smouldering logs in the grate. He did not finish his sentence, but said, after a pause: “Pretty little thing, Kitty, but she’ll never be the equal of her mother. Favours poor Tom too much. Got something of her mother’s look: I see it now and then: but Des—Mrs. Charing—Well, never mind! That ain’t to the purpose.” He stretched out his hand towards the bell-rope, and pulled it vigorously. “I’ll have her in,” he said. “But, mind, now! I ain’t compelling her to choose any of you three—well, she can’t choose you, George, because you’re married already! I don’t know what brings you here: I never invited you!”