On the first day of his return the peer was anxious to learn upon what footing the cousins were—if Allan had made a proposal, or 'even opened the trenches,' and if so, with what success. On these points he was enlightened by Lady Aberfeldie, and, though not very much surprised to find matters as they were, he trusted to propinquity and cousinly feeling of intercourse, as trump cards in the game, and was sure that all would come right in the end, and before Allan's leave of absence was out.
There was no selfishness in this desire of Lord Aberfeldie. He had no power to alter the matter as it stood, for if she did not marry Allan if he was willing to marry her, 'then and in that case,' as the will had it, her patrimony would be lost even to herself. Allan's death alone would save it for her.
Great indeed, thought the girl with bitterness, must have been her father's regard for the house of Aberfeldie!
'What friends—such lovers we might be but for the confounded plans of that eccentric old fellow!' was the ever-recurring thought of Allan.
'You are at least fond of her?' said the peer, as he and his son smoked their cigars together on the terrace that overlooked the far-stretching vista of the Carse of Gowrie, then bathed in the ruddy splendour of the setting sun.
'Fond of Olive! Yes, as much as she will permit me to be. She is my cousin, of course,' replied Allan.
'There is something evasive—doubtful—in your answer; but you must at some time or other propose to her. You know precisely the terms of her father's remarkable will.'
'Yes, and that it hangs like a millstone round the necks of us both, rendering what may be the dearest wish of our hearts liable, perhaps, to the grossest misconstruction. She has more than once told Eveline that to gain freedom of action she would face poverty—anything.'
'Tuts! Romantic rant! Much she knows of what poverty is. But why should she even think of facing it?'
'To be free and unfettered, as I have said.'