"I thought her charming. Don't you love Mrs. Dallow?" Mr. Carteret profoundly asked.
"Don't put it to me so to-day, for I feel sore and injured. I don't think she has treated me well."
"You should have held her—you shouldn't have let her go," the old man returned with unexpected fire.
His visitor flushed at this, so strange was it to receive a lesson in energy from a dying octogenarian. Yet after an instant Nick answered with due modesty: "I haven't been clever enough, no doubt."
"Don't say that, don't say that—!" Mr. Carteret shrunk from the thought. "Don't think I can allow you any easing-off of that sort. I know how well you've done. You're taking your place. Several gentlemen have told me. Hasn't she felt a scruple, knowing my settlement on you to depend——?" he pursued.
"Oh she hasn't known—hasn't known anything about it."
"I don't understand; though I think you explained somewhat a year ago"—the poor gentleman gave it up. "I think she wanted to speak to me—of any intentions I might have in regard to you—the day she was here. Very nicely, very properly she'd have done it, I'm sure. I think her idea was that I ought to make any settlement quite independent of your marrying her or not marrying her. But I tried to convey to her—I don't know whether she understood me—that I liked her too much for that, I wanted too much to make sure of her."
"To make sure of me, you mean," said Nick. "And now after all you see you haven't."
"Well, perhaps it was that," sighed the old man confusedly.
"All this is very bad for you—we'll talk again," Nick urged.