“Enough of this, Tom—you will go to Biberry, I take it for granted?”
“You have forgotten the fee. Under the new code, compensation is a matter of previous agreement.”
“You shall have a pleasant excursion, over good roads, in the month of May, in an easy carriage, and drawn by a pair of as spirited horses as ever trotted on the Third Avenue.”
“The animals you have just purchased in honour of Mrs. Updyke that is—Mrs. McBrain that is to be—” touching tho bell, and adding to the very respectable black who immediately answered the summons, “Tell Master Jack and Miss Sarah I wish to see them. So, Ned, you have let the widow know all about it, and she does not pout or look distrustful—that is a good symptom, at least.”
“I would not marry a jealous woman, if I never had a wife!”
“Then you will never marry at all. Why, Dr. McBrain, it is in the nature of woman to be distrustful—to be jealous—to fancy things that are merely figments of the brain.”
“You know nothing about them, and would be wisest to be silent—but here are the young people already, to ask your pleasure.”
“Sarah, my dear,” resumed the uncle in a kind and affectionate tone of voice, one that the old bachelor almost universally held towards that particular relative, “I must give you a little trouble. Go into my room, child, and put up, in my smallest travelling bag, a clean shirt, a handkerchief or two, three or four collars, and a change all round, for a short expedition into the country.”
“Country! Do you quit us to-day, sir?”
“Within an hour, at latest,” looking at his watch. “If we leave the door at ten, we can reach Biberry before the inquest reassembles. You told those capital beasts of yours, Ned, to come here?”