“It seems rather larger to me, sir,” I answered, “than the farm at Clawbonny. Perhaps there may be six or eight hundred acres of the sort of land you mention; though the whole island must contain several thousands—possibly four, or five.”
“Well, four or five thousand acres of land make a good estate—but, as I see Emily is getting frightened, and is nervous under the apprehension of falling heir to such extensive possessions, I will say no more about them.”
No more was said, and we finished our breakfasts, conversing of the past, rather than of the future. The Major and Marble went to stroll along the groves, in the direction of the wreck; while I persuaded Emily to put on her hat and stroll—the other way.
“This is a singular notion of my father's,” my fair companion remarked, after a moment of musing; “nor is it the first time, I do assure you, on which he has mentioned it. While we were here before, he spoke of it daily.”
“The scheme might do well enough for two ardent lovers,” said I, laughing; “but would scarcely be Wise for an elderly gentleman and his daughter. I can imagine that two young people, warmly attached to each other, might get along in such a place for a year or two, without hanging themselves; but I fancy even love would tire out, after a while, and they would set about building a boat, in which to be off.”
“You are not very romantic, I perceive, Mr. Wallingford,” Emily answered, and I thought a little reproachfully. “Now, I own that to my taste, I could be happy anywhere—here, as well as in London, surrounded by my nearest and dearest friends.”
“Surrounded! Ay, that would be a very different matter. Let me have your father, yourself, honest Marble, good Mr. Hardinge, Rupert, dear, dear Grace, and Lucy, with Neb and some others of my own blacks, and I should ask no better home. The island is only in twenty, has plenty of shade some delicious fruits, and Would be easily tilled—one might do here, I acknowledge, and it would be pleasant to found a colony.”
“And who are all these people you love so well, Mr. Wallingford, that their presence would make a desert island pleasant?”
“In the first place, Major Merton is a half-pay officer in the British service, who has been appointed to some civil station in India”—I answered, gallantly. “He is a respectable, agreeable, well-informed gentleman, a little turned of fifty, who might act as Judge and Chancellor. Then he has a daughter—”
“I know more of her and her bad qualities than you do yourself, Sire—but who are Rupert, and Grace, and Lucy—dear, dear Grace, especially?”