“You know,” he said, “that my boy Michael could not possibly marry at present, deeply as he loves Florence, were she not an heiress.”
“I quite understand that,” said Mrs Fortescue.
“You, my dear madam, probably know something of what her expectations are. She is a very young girl, only eighteen, but there is no sense in her waiting to marry until she is twenty-one; for marriage, as a rule, has an equal effect with coming of age, as far as money is concerned. Can you give me the least idea what she is likely to inherit?”
“No; I can’t,” said Mrs Fortescue bluntly. “I have often and often tried to find out, but have never succeeded. My idea, however, is—seeing that the girls have been spared no expense whatever since the death of their parents, and knowing that their parents, during their lifetime, were very well off—that they will both be rich. I know that Mr Timmins has spent hundreds a year on their education, and as to the amount he has devoted to their dress, it has really amazed me, although it has been no affair of mine. Florence now possesses a set of sealskin which would delight any duchess in the land, and there was a little talk last year of giving her a similar set of chinchilla. She looks better in furs than her sister, who requires altogether a simpler style of dress. The girls travelled up to town first-class to-day and were met by Mr Timmins’ man—his confidential clerk: that I happen to know; but I have not the slightest idea whether Florence Heathcote’s fortune represents a pound a year, or two or three thousand.”
“Two or three thousand!” murmured the Major.
A greedy look came into his old eyes. He suddenly rose to his feet.
“I am very much obliged,” he said. “You have frankly told me all you know.”
“Most frankly; most unreservedly. You will regard our conversation as confidential?”
“Certainly: it would not be fair to mention it to anybody else until the week for which Florence has stipulated expires,” said the old man. “But now; let me assure you, that were the dear girl blessed with nothing at all in the way of money she would be equally precious both to my son and to me.”
“Oh, you old hypocrite!” murmured Mrs Fortescue under her breath, but she did not say the words aloud: people don’t in polite society.