“Mother,” said he, “always believes things are safe.”
His uncle looked through him with his keen, half-suffering glance, and up went the corners of his mouth.
“She's splendid,” he said.
“Yes,” said Shelton, “splendid.”
The transaction, however, did not interest him; his uncle's judgment in such matters had a breezy soundness he would never dream of questioning.
“Well, about your settlement”; and, touching a bell three times, Mr. Paramor walked up and down the room. “Bring me the draft of Mr. Richard's marriage settlement.”
The stalwart commissionaire reappearing with a document—“Now then, Dick,” said Mr. Paramor. “She 's not bringing anything into settlement, I understand; how 's that?”
“I did n't want it,” replied Shelton, unaccountably ashamed.
Mr. Paramor's lips quivered; he drew the draft closer, took up a blue pencil, and, squeezing Shelton's arm, began to read. The latter, following his uncle's rapid exposition of the clauses, was relieved when he paused suddenly.
“If you die and she marries again,” said Mr. Paramor, “she forfeits her life interest—see?”