“That is very kind and generous of you, Cousin George,” she answered, with sincerity, “and I’m sure I don’t know why you should do it—for a second cousin once removed. But why on my wedding-day with Rupert particularly?”
“I have told you, because I wish it, and why not with him? Do you dislike the man?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I have not fallen in love; I am not given that way.”
He looked her straight in the eyes.
“No,” he answered, “because you have always been ‘in love,’ as you call it, with that rascal Dick. Now, don’t trouble to fence with me, for I know. Dick can be communicative at times—after dinner.”
Edith did not try to fence, only she said, with some bitterness and colouring a little:
“Then that’s the worst thing I have heard about him yet, which is saying a good deal.”
“Yes; never trust a man who brags of his conquests. Listen, Edith! I help Dick because he amuses me, and is useful. That’s why I am going to make him a member of Parliament. Now I can’t prevent your marrying him, if you like, and are fool enough, which to me is inconceivable. But if you do, out goes Dick, and there will be no £25,000 paid to your trustees.”
“That’s rather hard, isn’t it, Cousin George?”
“No; it is merciful. Edith, I will not allow you to marry that worthless, unstable scamp of a fellow if I can help it, and for your own sake, because I am fond of you.”