“Perfectly,” said Lally. “It is a large fortune, is it not?”
“It is a very fine income for a young lady,” assented Mr. Harris, “very fine indeed. Your expenditures need not be limited, you see. All reasonable desires can find perfect gratification upon your income, Miss Wroat. Should you desire it, you can take a house at Brighton for the season, or you might find an agreeable change in visiting your country place, although this is scarcely the season.”
“I like the country,” said Lally, “and I think it very pleasant in October.”
“Yes, so it is in Kent and Surrey, and the south of England,” said Mr. Harris, “but this is not a fancy seat, Miss Wroat, and it’s away off at the north—in Scotland, in fact, and on the sea coast. It’s fearfully wild in winter, I’m told, up there. The snow falls early, and the winds rage, and the thermometer falls below zero.”
“I was never in Scotland,” said Lally, a little flush of interest brightening her wan small face. “And I own a place up there—a farm perhaps?”
“Two or three farms, but the soil is sterile, and there is an old house in fine order.”
“Where is this place? Near Edinburgh?”
“Far north of Edinburgh, Miss Wroat. It’s near Inverness—away out of the world at this season, you see. I was up there last year with a shooting party, Mrs. Wroat kindly placing the house at my disposal. There’s capital shooting over the estate, and we had a good time, the house being furnished, and a steward residing in a cottage on the estate.”
“I should like to go up there,” said Lally. “Perhaps I will a little later—but not yet. I don’t mind the lateness of the season, Mr. Harris, and I am not afraid of cold and wind and snow, if I can have shelter and fires. In fact, I think I would like to hide myself in some far off hidden nook until I shall have learned to bear my trials with fortitude. Life is so very bitter to me, Mr. Harris.”
“Life bitter at seventeen!” said the lawyer, with an indulgent smile. “You have money, youth, beauty, and will have hosts of friends. You will learn, as we all do, sooner or later, Miss Wroat, to take the bitter with the sweet, and to thank God for all his goodness, instead of repining because one or two blessings are withheld out of so many given. But I will not bore you with a sermon. I have little more to say this morning except that, should you need me, I entreat that you will call upon me at any time. I will come to you at a moment’s notice. Is there anything I can now do for you?”