“She likes him, she is quite what we would have her, and he is interested in her. My dear, I have seen—I have watched for a year.”
He put his hand on hers.
“My wife, you are a goodly prophet.”
When Archdeacon Varcoe entered his study on returning, he sat down in a chair, and brooded long. “She must be told,” he said at last, aloud. “Yes, yes, at once. God help us both!”
CHAPTER VII. WHEREIN THE SEAL OF HIS HERITAGE IS SET
“Sophie, when you talk with the man, remember that you are near fifty, and faded. Don’t be sentimental.” So said Mrs. Gasgoyne to Lady Dargan, as they saw Gaston coming down the ballroom with Captain Maudsley.
“Reine, you try one’s patience. People would say you were not quite disinterested.”
“You mean Delia! Now, listen. I haven’t any wish but that Gaston Belward shall see Delia very seldom indeed. He will inherit the property no doubt, and Sir William told me that he had settled a decent fortune on him; but for Delia—no—no—no. Strange, isn’t it, when Lady Harriet over there aches for him, Indian blood and all? And why? Because this is a good property, and the fellow is distinguished and romantic-looking: but he is impossible—perfectly impossible. Every line of his face says shipwreck.”
“You are not usually so prophetic.”