‘It is not folly,’ was again his impassioned answer. ‘My words may be foolish, but my feelings are at this moment wise. I cannot for ten times all your fortune, told a hundred times, endure to think I may be induced to barter my heart. It may be that I am ungrateful; if so, as I can never feel otherwise upon the subject than I do, send me away, as unworthy longer to share your favour; but worthy I shall nevertheless be of something still better.’
‘Young man, you will be more reasonable to-morrow,’ said his uncle, contemptuously, and immediately left the room. Walkinshaw at the same moment also took his hat, and, rushing towards the door, quitted the house; but in turning suddenly round the corner, he ran against Robina, who, having some idea of the object of his visit, had been listening at the window to their conversation.
CHAPTER LXVIII
The agitation in which Walkinshaw was at the moment when he encountered Robina, prevented him from being surprised at meeting her, and also from suspecting the cause which had taken her to that particular place so late in the evening. The young lady was more cool and collected, as we believe young ladies always are on such occasions, and she was the first who spoke.
‘Where are you running so fast?’ said she. ‘I thought you would have stayed tea. Will you not go back with me? My mother expects you.’
‘Your father does not,’ replied Walkinshaw tersely; ‘and I wish it had been my fortune never to have set my foot within his door.’
‘Dear me!’ exclaimed Miss Robina, as artfully as if she had known nothing, nor overheard every word which had passed. ‘What has happened? I hope nothing has occurred to occasion any quarrel between you. Do think, James, how prejudicial it must be to your interests to quarrel with my father.’
‘Curse that eternal word “interests”!’ was the unceremonious answer. ‘Your father seems to think that human beings have nothing but interests; that the heart keeps a ledger, and values everything in pounds sterling. Our best affections, our dearest feelings, are with him only as tare, that should pass for nothing in the weight of moral obligations.’
‘But stop,’ said Robina, ‘don’t be in such a hurry; tell me what all this means—what has affections and dear feelings to do with your counting-house affairs?—I thought you and he never spoke of anything but rum puncheons and sugar cargoes.’
‘He is incapable of knowing the value of anything less tangible and vendible!’ exclaimed her cousin—‘but I have done with both him and you.’