“This is very sudden—isn’t that the right thing to say? But might I ask why?”
“For two reasons. Because it is to your interest, and, a better one still, because I wish it.”
“Let me see,” said Edith. “What are you and I to each other? Second cousins once removed, I think?”
“Yes; second cousins once removed, and more—friends,” he answered, with slow emphasis.
“Well, has a second cousin once removed and a friend the right to tell a woman whom she must marry?”
“Certainly, under the circumstances. This fellow will probably be my heir; I must face that fact, for Tabitha will scarcely get over those habits of hers now—at any rate, the doctors don’t think so. So I wish him to marry someone for whom I have affection, especially as I expect that notwithstanding his religious tomfooleries, etc., he is the sort of man who makes a good husband.”
“And supposing the doctors are wrong about Tabitha?” asked Edith calmly, for these two did not shrink from plain speaking.
“If so, you must still be provided for, and, my dear Edith, allow me to remark that you are not quite a chicken, and, for some cause or other, have not provided for yourself so far.”
“I don’t think I should live in any great luxury on Rupert’s pay,” she suggested, “even if he were willing to share it with me.”
“Perhaps not; but on the day of your wedding with him I pay to the account of your trustees £25,000, and there may be more, whatever happens—when I get to sleep at last.”