“You correspond with her?”
“I write to her now and then, and she sends me a duty letter, as I call it, once a month. I generally read a line or two and throw them aside.”
“Has she any love affair?” inquired Mr. Black thoughtfully.
“Of course not. A girl in a French boarding-school might as well be in a convent, as far as love affairs are concerned. What are you thinking of, Craven?” and Lady Wynde looked at him jealously.
The glow on Craven Black’s face deepened, as he hastened to answer:
“I was thinking what if this girl were to take a liking to my son Rufus? If we could bring about a marriage between her and Rufus, we should retain her fortune in the family, and Rufus should agree to allow us ten thousand a year for using our influence with her. What do you think?”
Lady Wynde looked startled—pleased.
“The very thing!” she exclaimed. “I have been thinking that I should not long be allowed to remain mistress of Hawkhurst after Neva’s return. An heiress like her will not want for suitors, and she will marry, and I cannot prevent it. The proper way is to direct her marriage for our own benefit. Is Rufus likely to please a romantic school-girl?”
“I think he cannot fail to please her. He is not yet one and twenty, well-looking, accomplished, well educated, rather weak-willed and easily governed, and like clay in my hands. He has romantic notions about love and marriage, and if he is on the ground first I am sure he will win the girl’s heart. I had a quarrel with him some weeks ago, and he went away from me at my command, and has taken cheap rooms somewhere and is trying to live by painting cheap pictures, or some such thing. I’ll send for him, and have him up at Wyndham directly.”
“Why did you quarrel with him, Craven? I thought you were so fond of him.”